Covenanza 2023

 

When I snapped up tickets for this years Covenanza, and then quickly sorted out the flight, I was already in a state of advanced euphoria – induced senility. I must have been, because not only did I buy the ticket through Opodo, mistaking their website for Ryanair’s, I also didn’t notice that the flight out to Caracassone from Stansted was at 6:15 am on the Friday. We flew out on Friday and came back on Sunday, something brought about by our recent acquisition of a dog, and not wanting to be away from him for too long. This won’t be the case next year. I plan Thursday to Monday minimum. Anyway 6:15 am came into sharp relief very quickly, the only relief about leaving at this ungodly hour was that we are only a 40 minute drive from the airport. Of course we had to be there 2 hours before, which meant getting up at around 2:45 am. What was even worse was the weather. Apocalyptic rain of biblical flood proportions. Driving was terrible and when we finally got to the carpark we had to wade through a ridiculous amount of standing water. Once in Stansted we slalomed around the crashed out cadavers, got through security and went into the eating, duty free area. Hideous. Jam-packed with zombies. It could have been a Friday afternoon it was so rammed. The flight wasn’t full, which surprised me, but there were a fair few recognisable Covenanza attendees on it. Anyway, landed on time and it was boiling. The temperature during the day over the weekend was around 30-31 degrees, and it didn’t dip below 20 at night. We had to hang around an hour or two until we could go to our apartment, so we went to a cafe and walked up to the Canal du Midi near the train station. After that we went to our accommodation and crashed out. Knowing when to rest and then to roam was a difficult balancing act, but I think we got it right over the weekend, which was a holistically charged one, because we only went up to the chateau at 10 both evenings, missing any of the acts that came on before. On Friday we caught the end of Sons of Slough’s set, which sounded brilliant, and the same for Om Unit on the Saturday. Vox Low followed Sons of Slough, and Acid Claus were on after Om Unit. Everything was great. As far as the music goes a few observations. Vox Low felt like chug made flesh. They are a heavy, grinding, densely layered experience in which the feeling is of being chucked down the cosmic rabbit hole, having a skeleton transplant and then being sonically reassembled on the other side. Acid Claus were interesting. It’s difficult to shake the feeling that you’re not listening to a rave rendition of John Cooper Clarke who occasionally morphs into Jason Williamson. Great use of the vocoder, the girls could sing, and everyone had presence. They were fun. Sean Johnson closed proceedings on the Friday and was on blistering form. I’m a big fan, even though apart from last years festival, my only point of contact is the EBS series of mixes. I’ve never been to ALFOS in The UK, but this will change soon enough. I’m not going to get into the track id scenario, it was just a chuggy throb, but not necessarily linear. There were plenty of moments when the mould was broken and we went beyond the point of no return, only to be brought back onto solid ground. So many beans were being consumed, but no one was making a nuisance of themselves; oh, maybe that chubby bloke who didn’t seem to be able to stand upi straight for more than a few seconds and had the knack of walking in front of you every five minutes from any point in the chateau. Harmless buffoonery though. Just gently push him out of the way and watch him propel himself into the milieu, of which there were many. Ivan & Chloe on Saturday built it up very patiently. I recognised a tune, one that I have, but can’t remember what it is. Anyway, they were flawless and face melting. Not much more to say really. Everyone was in the moment and I was no exception. The music was deep, very danceable and narcotically influenced. One thing for next year though, The queue for wristbands and drinks tokens on Friday was a joke. It felt like we were in line for new passports and everything was incredibly slow. We returned the next afternoon for tokens, but couldn’t get any for the first night. We were also told by the lady managing the tokens on Saturday that the police had been in at around 2 am to stop any more booze being sold. I mean it probably didn’t matter by then as everyone was twatted, however, a more up for it, but simultaneously placid crowd would be difficult to find. I pondered the possibilities of the local bizzies using three dimensional profiling, by which everyone attending would be required to say how many kids and pets they have, and these wojuld be somehow holographically projected on on a 3d diais around their person. And I wasn’t even on drugs. We also squeezed in a couple of great meals. Friday night at Brasserie Des Platains, somewhere we discovered last year. Cheap as chips proper French brasserie scran, and on Saturday night Le Bistrot d’Alice, a real high quality temple of nosh. Both brilliant meals and really nice places to pass a couple of hours. Food is very important you know.