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Outta Oxegen

• Stuart Bailie
• 10 Jul 07, 11:21 AM

My festival clothes have been through the wash twice now, but the persistent slime of the Oxegen site will not be moved. My bones are sore, my boots may never be functional again and the waterproof claims of my impermeable jacket have been exposed to ridicule. Every July I make a bedraggled exit from Punchestown, vowing that I'll pass on the following year - leaving the work to a younger folk, more tolerant of the catering vans, the latrines and the parade of young artist with skinny legs and scrappy songs.

The Oxegen landscape had the consistency of well-churned butter when we arrived on Saturday morning. By Sunday night, we were shin-deep in foul-smelling gruel, splishing everywhere. And of course there's a breed of festival person - in tabloid speak, a "reveller" - who thinks it's amusing to dive into the schuck.

We don't call them revellers, we know them as Munchies. By day, they wear sports shirts and they spend the summer season in packs, swillling beer and being loud. They don't care for music, but Oxegen is regarded as a midsummer rite. Munchies buy comedy hats, they wallow in the mire and they think it's really funny to grab unsuspecting girls and to hurl them into the mud.

Music writers often resort to war metaphors when they describe festivals. It's was just like Apocalypse Now, they say. Or maybe the siege of Stalingrad. The worst moments of Oxegen certainly seemed like the last helicopter out of Saigon. But then the lucky people of Vietnam didn't have to contend with Muse guitar solos. Or the chuffing Sawdoctors.

Still, I was in the photo pit of the Pet Sounds tent when Brian Wilson arrived. I was maybe six feet away from one of the greatest composers of the last century, watching him play 'Wouldn't it Be Nice', the extended 'Smile' version of 'Heroes And Villains' and a sublime 'God Only Knows'. That's a moment to keep for perpetuity.

I'm also glad to have watched Rufus Wainwright warbling the John McCormack weepie, 'Mecuslah', and to have seen the Brazilian delerium of CSS. Those Romany punks Gogol Bordello were better than I'd hoped, while the arrival of The Arcade Fire was a masterclass in how to make a sound that's fresh and wondrous and weird again. At the side of the stage Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon were getting lost in the music, and we were in that zone also.

You can follow our reports on Radio Ulster's ATL site, including reviews, photos, news stories and vido clips. There is footage of myself interviewing Sinead O' Connor. Her hair is a stately shade of grey these days, but the eyes still regard you like a Vulcan mind probe. She's class.

So maybe it wasn't so bad. In time, Oxegen 2007 will become another campaign story, the essence of myth and monsoon, cleaned up in the spin cycle. Onwards to the Sperrins and the festival promise of , July 21, replete with Oppenheimer, Duke Special and more.

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