My introduction to European festivals came in the form of a wrist tan. It was the summer of 2006 and I still believed that glam rock was going to conquer the pop idiom. I was young, sheltered, devastatingly American, and spent mornings contemplating the multiple Placebo quote tattoos that would one day brand my upper thigh. My mother (seemingly to expand my musical horizons) shipped me to Belgium for Rock Werchter. The moment I arrived my mind and body flatlined. All these young-on-paper-mature-in-manner children building a genre-based ecosystem, each sporting cloth weavings of festival fonts found in isolated fields and urban centers throughout their continent. When the wristband was cut, yanked, burned off, the tan still remained. Each wristband a memory, a scar, a “this is a lifestyle choice” sermon.
It was decided. A European festival would be my yearly pilgrimage. Despite unsavory financial situations, lack of time, or generic half-baked excuses of why this year just wouldn’t work out, I would always return to those fields and urban centers to wash away the sins of my American realities.
This year I upped my game. This year, The Garden Festival is my pilgrimage of choice. Please excuse me as I revel in Balearic, Croatian splendor.
Croatia: a destination spot that has yet to be overrun by tourist cliches and cliche tourists. Garden Festival: a yearly event where DJs come to “hang” and “relax” and float from amply timed set never cut short by inappropriately timed interview requests. The fans: vinyl heads and their vinyl head significant others. This is the holy trifecta of festival supremacy.
The lineup so flawless, no need to plan my days around certain artists as every artist will be right on point.
Here is the proof….
For more information on The Garden Festival please visit http://thegardenfestival.eu/