The Monster Children Guide To Working A Music Festival
It is summer in the Northern Hemisphere and that can mean only three things: sunburns, music festivals, and sunburns at music festivals.
Personally, I think that music festivals are not the best format for seeing your favorite band, but they are a great format for seeing eleven of your favorite bands before sundown and then skipping Snow Patrol to go do ketamine with strangers in a porta potty off by the churro stand.
While we write and film and record and produce quite a bit of content geared toward preparing the average moronic punter (you) to pursue the treacherous endeavor of surviving a weekend at a music festival, this article is a bit more inside-baseball; it is targeted at fellow music journalists and photographers, and those who would hope to be either one day, aimed at equipping them with tips and tricks of the trade that we ourselves had to learn atop many a vacant tarmac and under many a medical tent.
That disclosure having been adequately disclosed, there is still a lot of knowledge to be gained in this piece by the average attendee. For example, who to make friends with and why, how to fake credentials, and to sneak or not to sneak (and if to sneak, how to sneak).
Apply for press credentials:
If you work at a magazine, are a freelancer writer or photographer for a publication, or at the very least, know someone who is and who will vouch for you, you begin with the music festival’s application page. The application is not difficult, do not fear it. Most importantly, be honest. Fill out the application, be as precise as possible, and do your best to sound like a professional and not like you are simply looking for a strategy through which you may get close enough to Natalie from Weyes Blood to ask her to marry you.
For freelancers, secure a platform that agrees to publish your write up or photography before applying. As an editor, there is nothing that I like less than receiving emails from venues and festivals asking me to verify the credentials of someone whose pitches I have never accepted and whom I have no relationship with whatsoever. I will reply and say that no, they do not work for us, and no, you should not give them free tickets to your event, nor should you allow them to purchase tickets because they are a security risk.
Alright, maybe try and sneak in with fake credentials:
Let’s say you go through the application process and your application is denied. This can happen for any number of reasons. Perhaps they have reached their press comp limit. Perhaps you applied too late or your coverage wasn’t appealing enough. Perhaps they don’t like you. Perhaps you’re just an asshole. Well, now what? If for some reason you are absolutely determined to get in there because you promised and were already paid for coverage or sneaking into the festival is part of your Vice-esque cosplay badassery, we recommend you visit your local Kinkos. Kinkos is still around, right? What am I thinking of? What’s the other one? FedEx! Visit your local FedEx. There are dozens of press pass templates online for you to download and customize with your name, photo, and pretend outlet. Fill it out, print and laminate it at FedEx, throw a lanyard on it and you’re off to the races.
This has about a fifty-fifty chance of working, and I have found that the key to success is in your attitude when communicating with the literal gatekeepers. Usually, security guards and festival workers are out there in the heat, sweating and uncomfortable, far from the fun held within. They don’t want to be there, and they bond over their shared experience. That in mind, the attitude that you want to have when talking your way into a festival is precisely theirs. Your approach to them should include phrases like, ‘Ah yeah, I know, my boss just sent me down here,’ and, ‘no, please, don’t go out of your way or anything, I’m just trying to get this job over with,’ and, ‘the boss is really breathing down my neck, you know what I mean?’ A sense of camaraderie is what you are trying to build here.
Do not under any circumstances be demanding or unkind, do not in any way separate yourself from who you are communicating with. The dynamic should not be you against them, the dynamic should be the both of you against the bullshit capitalist system that compels the both of you to be there in the blistering heat and the arbitrary, abstract rules about who is and isn’t allowed to walk around in a fucking field while four different songs blare simultaneously and incomprehensibly. You are on the same team. Remember that.
Never fuck with a boutique festival:
A vitally important note: do not fuck with a boutique festival. Do not fuck with an independent festival. If you are going to rip someone off, only rip off the behemoths. Never fuck with Kilby Block Party, but you can 100% tell Glasto or Lolla to fuck off in the same way that you can steal from a Walmart but if you snatch and grab from the local drug store owned and operated by Mr. and Mrs. Fratelli, you are a piece of shit. Walmart and Glastonbury can afford one freebie. KBP, an exciting and burgeoning festival, shouldn’t have to. I mean, neither are great, but do what you will.
Interviews:
If you are a writer hoping to snag a spontaneous interview with Black Sabbath or SZA, let me be the very first to tell you that that is not going to happen. They are not going to talk to you backstage. More likely, you will not even make it through their entourage of security and random hangers-on to get close enough to ask. Furthermore, the festival will not help you arrange a God damn thing. Set up all interviews beforehand, and make sure that you get the phone number of someone to contact on the grounds day of. I have been hung out to dry by too many distant PR people than I can count who guaranteed me their artist would meet me by the Ferris Wheel at three, only for me to ride alone, interviewing myself like a shitty, less talented but just as moody Childish Gambino.
Photo pits:
The photo pit is that slice of real estate between the stage and the barrier that holds back the insatiable crowd. It is as close as you can possible get to the artist as they are performing and is also very likely full of people dressed in all black with a DSLR holstered on either side of their hip like an old western Getty Images gunslinger that swears they saw Nirvana in ‘94 and will tell you all about it. Be sure to stay out of these people’s way as all eighteen of them photograph the exact same moments from the exact same angle at the exact same time, moving like a school of fish who possess absolutely no innovative vision, dotted by trendy-looking men feeling unique with their Polaroid cameras, all of whom are boxing out the teenage girl who thought shooting Vampire Weekend for her high school paper would be the gig of a lifetime, feebly attempting to shoot her DSLR with built-in flash through the LCD screen rather than the viewfinder. Bless all of their hearts.
What advice can we offer you in the face of this trite onslaught? Stay out of the school of fish. Find your space, find your angle, sit and wait for your moment. As an editor, I can say that I will take one unique photo over a dozen that look just like whatever Pitchfork put up that day. Try strange angles, strange formats, and remember to work through the whole band. Don’t sit on the lead singer or the guitarist, and don’t linger on the face. Work the entirety of access you’re given, shooting the band from the side, from below, from above, from behind. Additionally, pay attention to the crowd. What good is a photo of the band if we can’t see the energy that their music is putting into the people watching? If there’s a mosh pit, shoot it. If there are people on the barrier crying, shoot it. If there is a crowd surfer, shoot it. Those are the photos that tell the story.
Reviews:
Who the fuck reads live reviews anymore? Well, apart from me. I have no idea. I am an avid live review reader simply because I enjoy allegory, which is often what live reviews become. However, not since the days of cokemachineglow have I read a live review that truly made me feel as though I were there, and I missed out on something - for better or for worse - special.
If you are lucky enough to be writing a live review, we recommend that you actually pay attention. Lately, live reviews have amounted to ‘yeah, they rip!’ which is not very informative and is a signal to the reader that they were on Instagram until the band played its viral banger, at which point the Instagram camera was opened, held up in the air for the chorus, and then lowered for the remainder of the performance. I would take this a step further. I love a notepad and paper, because it forces me to physically engage with what I am feeling as I watch an artist on stage that no one has ever heard of try to win over a foreign and often indifferent crowd. It is an art worthy of observation.
Security guards are actually your best friends:
Security guards are often dicks, so do your best to ensure that when they exercise that dick muscle, that it is pointed toward others and not you. Bring them bottles of water from back stage with words like, ‘it’s hot out here, man, stay hydrated,’ and, ‘do you happen to have any earplugs?’ Even, ‘do you like this band?’ Anything to get to chatting. Again, you’re on the same team. It isn’t you against security, it’s you and security against those who would fuck with you. Be kind, be friendly, be humble. Laugh. Smile. Make jokes. Ask questions. Pretend to be a people person.
Why is this so important? Because when the time comes, they’re on your side. When they kick the photographers out of the photo pit after the first three songs, they’ll skip you. When you’re trying to get side stage, they’ll give you a thumbs up. When you need to get across the festival grounds in two minutes, they’re calling you a golf cart escort. Security and stagehands are the ones who truly decide on access, and as a person covering the festival, access is the most valuable thing in your world. Therefore, security and stagehands are the most valuable people in your world.
AAA:
Whether by permission or charisma, you got all access. First of all, congrats. Second of all, this can be very easily and quickly and arbitrarily rescinded. Be cool. Do your best not to be noticed. Just enjoy. When I reached out to artists and festival organizers asking for tips on how to behave backstage, the most common response was, ‘don’t ask anyone for a fucking selfie,’ which feels like it should go without saying, but you’d be surprised. We won’t embarrass you by lingering on it, but you should probably stop doing that.
Take a moment to appreciate it:
As the sun sets on the world and, from your perch on the side of the festival’s main stage, you look out upon a crowd of thousands of people sharing in a unifying love of music, indulging in this one moment with this one song and this one chorus, remember that these are the good times. This is what it is about. This is why you do what you do. You are experiencing sensations of sight and of sound that few even know exists, let alone something that many experience, and even better, you’re getting paid for it.
Additional tips:
There is nowhere to store your backpack.
There are no charging stations.
You need more film than you think you need.
Don’t be rude to anybody ever.
Be humble. Be humble. Be humble.
The most you can say is, ‘hey, big fan.’
Bring a bag that won’t get ripped off of you in a mosh pit.
Bring your second most expensive camera, never your first.
COMFORTABLE SHOES.
You will need to shit and it will be uncomfortable, so bring Pepto and a roll of toilet paper.
Be patient when photographing.
Stay hydrated. Electrolytes. A bottle of water an hour.
Do NOT steal that golf cart.
Only take drugs with bands that you like.
Remember people’s names. Security guards, catering, festival ticket takers - everyone.
Don’t lie unless you have to, and if you have to, make sure you can back it up.
You have one shot. Make it count. Ask the question.