Two festivals, both alike in dignity (absolutely none), blah, blah, blah,
Romeo and Juliet reference.

Reading and Leeds are a pair of music festivals that share a line-up over the last long weekend of the summer in the UK. One’s up north (Leeds, Leeds, Leeds!) and the other’s down south (Reading, pronounced like the colour red—don’t worry lots of us have read Reading wrong and read it as read instead.) I’ve had the honour of going to both, but I’ll focus on Reading today.

It first pinged on my radar in 2006. I’d heard of the festival an ocean away thanks to my obsession with Fall Out Boy, but hadn’t paid it much mind until Brendon Urie, singer of Panic! At the Disco was knocked out cold by a bottle to the head (or “bottled.” Yes, it’s a verb. Concerning? Slightly.) With YouTube in its infancy, I was watching grainy footage of the incident within days and scrolling through the comments spouting that “bottling” was supposedly a tradition of Reading. I, of course, then had to know more about this ludicrous festival, where this was just “normal.”

Soon, I was scrolling through dingy forums, reading about this whole other experience of festivals I’d never known before. They had camping? Reading had been going since the 1970s? I couldn’t believe this. And the line-ups were just incredible—especially the lineup of 2006. In a matter of weeks Vans Warped Tour was no longer my ultimate-dream-festival to attend one day, Reading and Leeds had taken the lead. I then followed it for years, and unlike Vans Warped Tour (F in the chat, please), Reading continued to go strong, so 10 years later I was able to go.

Impressively enough, it was more than I’d imagined or read about. Usually, the legends you hear are a bit exaggerated and overhyped but Reading lived up to the hype. The atmosphere is something that buzzes, and you feel within a five-mile radius. The festival didn’t technically start until Friday, but even on Thursday when we’d arrived, the campsites were already filled up with people who’d been there since Tuesday (deeply committed to the sesh.) As we dragged our equipment on a thirty-minute walk, looking desperately for space, there was chaos on either side of the pathway. Tents were practically layered on top of other tents, multiple parties were happening in every direction, two guys were sat on chairs drinking ciders watching the newcomers join and my Ferris Bueller shirt earned me an approve chorus and cheers of, “Ferrrrisssss!” from them. Paintings on flags and the sides of tents were dedicated to favourite memes and toasts made in Harambe’s name could be heard all over.

As the festival goes on, this energy only grows. It gets pulled right into the arena, and usually reaches absolute peak on Sunday night. Fortunately, I did not witness any bottling of performers that year, although you definitely still had to watch your head while in the crowd. Empty cups of beer were chucked as far as they could go (which were then quickly collected into towering stacks by other festival goers as there was a 10 pence return on them). What I did get to witness were some amazing performances by—wouldn’t you know it—Fall Out Boy and Coheed and Cambria, two bands that had played that fateful 2006 show. It’s maybe a bit pathetic but I still go back and watch their sets on YouTube now when I start missing festivals again, like when I was writing this.

I’m currently dreaming of my next return to either Reading or Leeds.

Sure, people burn their tents down on Sunday night, and by Monday morning you’re surrounded by levels of carnage you’d never previously fathomed, but I cannot recommend another festival more.

(Except T in the Park, but that’s over.)

Tess

Tess is a long time attender of live music, from someone’s basement with questionable fire safety to sleeping in a muddy field for a week with tens of thousands of others- and questionable fire safety. Her favourite sport right now is parkour.