CityLife

Mad Ferret

MY body aches especially around the shins and shoulders, my eyes are dark and sore, and though it’s only 10pm bed is calling louder than those fricking Canada geese outside my window at 4am every morning during mating season.

The whole situation smacks of karma. It’s the inevitable price I deserve to pay for having had such an amazing time at Mad Ferret over the previous two days.

If I rewind back to Friday afternoon feel rest assured that I felt more healthy, but certainly less happy.

By this time the bright sunny morning skies were hidden under grey cloud, but there was no threat of rain coming along to turn Platt Fields into a Somme battlefield.

It was still warm, people were happy and there was no chance that the palpable level of excitement was going to be dimmed or drowned.

And there’s nothing like that initial feeling of holding a pint of beer in your hand at the start of what promises to be a phenomenal time.

The first and most obvious thing that hits you on both days is the sheer amount of interaction going on between the punters and the festival itself.

Of course there are lots performers. Bands and DJs are everywhere either onstage or awaiting their turn (the festival has a distinctly urban vibe), silver-painted girls on stilts wander around as do a pair of Japanese geishas drawing eyes and slack-jawed expressions.

Then there’s the small ski run where people gather hopefully watching for skiers or snowboarders to wipe themselves out and do some serious self-inflicted damage – a hope intermittently satisfied.

But then a lot of the festival is dedicated towards getting the festival-goers to participate with the location and décor.

In the garden next to a wry sign saying “Help Yourself To A Creative Mess”, there’s clay for people to mould, hoops for hula, and fire sticks for twirling.

In other areas graffiti artists are decorating freestanding boards, and then there are the more tacky Blackpool-esque games such as the one where you have to mallet the ferret as it drops out an opaque pipe. And here we come to the true genius of the festival.

The audience are not simply spectators but are a key element of the entertainment up front. From as little as playing silly games to the fact that a lot of people personally know and support the musicians onstage we’re all in it together.

Saying that, the music is of fundamental importance. If that fails then it doesn’t matter how good everything else is, the festival fails. It doesn’t fail, far from it in fact, it succeeds impressively.

The most striking thing has to be the sheer diversity of genres on display. From hip hop to indie, from jazz to drum n bass, from folk to country and soul it’s all covered. A one trick pony this is not.

For me at least it starts off with some gold old drum 'n' bass from DJ Hype and then after a long wander I end up in The Caribbean Umbrella Collective Tent watching the frankly bizarre Thingumybob & Thingumyjigs work their way through a set that largely concerned itself with different animals and the noises they make all played out from behind some mightily impressive award winning moustaches.

A frankly storming DJ set from Pendulum & MC Jakes in the Metropolis Arena wraps up Friday night the highlights being some old skool Prodigy classics.

There’s something very odd going on on Saturday that I can’t put my finger on until a friend points out that there’s amplified music being played, because there’s a wedding going on at the church next door!

The sun’s out and the silence is filled with gentle acoustic acts. When the power finally comes back on it’s vaguely disconcerting just because it seems a shame to spoil the peace.

That sense of shame quickly disperses when I catch Melodica Melody & Me the first truly brilliant new band of the festival.

They sound like a slightly more upbeat, less melancholic version of Noah & The Whale the main noticeable difference being that Noah & The Whale have never got the whole audience bouncing to then participate in the most gentlemanly, civilised stage invasion ever to be witnessed.

This is what stage invasions would have been like in Victorian times.

Back to the main stage Books, the winner of the Ferret Factor battle of the bands vaguely entertain with their Kings of Leon-style stadium rock.

The feral screaming in one track is spine tingling but the rest of the set is a bit mannered and epic.

The Gentlemen’s Dub Club who follow later are brilliant, a massive festival band and undeniably joyous, but it’s Roots Manuva who is the real star of the whole weekend.

The UK’s finest hip-hop star reminds Manchester why he’s so well respected with an electrifying set. I’m pretty tired at this point so it’s also nice to see someone who play at a low speed that I still have the energy to dance to.

Movements is great, but Witness The Fitness is even better, and would have been a fine end to the festival if The Streets weren’t playing.

However The Streets are playing and while much of it reminds you of his cheeky cockney charm, and Cry Your Eyes Mate of his distinctive grasp of melody they are definitely not the high point of the show especially when he says, “Anyone taste the food here, it’s s**t”. What did he expect caviar and crème brulee?

And that’s it, in a nutshell Manchester’s finest weekend that’s felt more like a giant dreamy carnival than a music showcase.

So much the better! It’s time for me to rest my weary body now. Night night!

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