Saturday is the sun’s day and thousands of sweaty, canvas shelters simultaneously give birth to myriad Homo sapiens who emerge, blinking, into the fresh Wiltshire wilds. Rushing headlong into life are the Dhoad Gypsies of Rajasthan – an exotic and colourful assortment of lively characters who, rather unsurprisingly, blast out traditional songs from their homeland. Sensing the audience’s inability to dance to the music, tabla maestro Rahis Bharti invites the splendidly attired Lakshmi on to show us how it’s done. After a stunning display that sweeps away Solomon Burke‘s aurally salacious display from the night before, a fakir demonstrates methods to improve posture – by balancing a large clay pot atop glasses stacked on his head. As though this were not suitably impressive, he dances the duration of a song with the weight before coming to a standstill on a bed of nails. Pot removed, the slight man then blows billows of fire into the reverential crowd and though I pause to ponder if this all serves to perpetuate stereotypes, I suspect that I maybe somewhat incorrectly prejudging a collective intelligence.
Indeed, if it’s cranial heft I’m after, China’s Mamer is ready to deliver that and more on the Siam stage. Playing a jaw harp for a full five minutes unaccompanied while manipulating it to sound more like a Cylon playing a 303 synthesizer than one of the world’s oldest instruments threatens to momentarily empty the tent, but this is merely the start of a slow burn. With three two-string dombras, a bass guitar and percussionist, Mamer performs one of the most dynamic sets seen at Charlton Park yet. As people leave in search of more immediate, thrusting sounds that don’t drone and slap, Mamer’s translator notes, “Our music – it isn’t for dancing.” Leaving spiritually fulfilled and culturally enriched, I spend a little time watching adults shopping for new, stupid hats or trying curried goat while children scavenge for discarded cups to exchange them for 10p each or hurl their new multi-coloured diabolos wildly into the air. There is a queue at the ‘Medicine Man’ stall and he seems to be rapidly running out of sun-lotion.
As the sun begins to set slowly in the West, I head over to the foreboding Big Red Tent as Chicago’s Hypnotic Brass Ensemble take up their shiny, metallic instruments and bellow, somewhat misguidedly, “HELLO LONDON!” It takes a short while to rectify the error and a lack of sleep is cited as the reason for the mistake. “I get two hours sleep every 13 days,” claims one of the nine. Regardless, as the rain comes down, the tent’s audience grows, and the ensemble blow the roof off with their explosive show. Combining hip-hop showmanship with jazz cool, the excitement all round is tangible. Treating us to new songs ‘Fire’ and ‘Kryptonite‘ alongside their staples ‘Baliky Bone‘ and ‘War’, a cordial British tone somehow seeps through the multiple, falling brass harmonies and interweaving melodies. Closing the show with a little Chicago house threatens to turn the weary rabble to lava, but a satisfied and thrilled throng mob the brothers at the end to grasp CDs and hands.
Trudging across wet grass back to the Siam tent, Cuba’s Orishas start well with some technical turntablism and well-delivered rhymes, but there simply isn’t enough to keep me interested, with their clinical brand of hip-pop serving to perplex rather than amaze.
As the main man behind WOMAD, I feel I owe it to Peter Gabriel to join with the hordes who have gathered to watch his headline set. As mystical strings announce his possible arrival, the set opens with Paul Simon‘s ‘Boy in the bubble’, which is hardly the most exciting proposal, but it is pleasingly well sung. The theme from Scrubs finale ‘The book of love’ follows and I dream of sitting on a sofa, changing channels and flicking Oreos at JD and Turk. Snapping out of this wondrous unreality, I realise that I’m in a damp field of people watching Peter Gabriel perform ‘Steam’. Plumes of dry ice are propelled skyward each time Gabriel says “Gimme Steam!”
I know my culture from my trash, so I leave the congregation in favour of the Red Tent where Snowboy (Mark Cotgrove) is spinning some original vinyl platters at 45rpm. Instantly warmed by the body heat generated by fierce drum breaks and grooves, the amusement is far from ending.