As a seasoned festival-goer and music journalist, I’ve wandered through countless fields, endured endless queues, and witnessed the evolution of the British festival scene. But as I arrived at We Out Here, set in the picturesque Dorset countryside, I sensed a shift. Perhaps it was the looming spectre of my mid-thirties, but this festival promised something different – a musical retreat for those of us caught between youthful abandon and impending responsibility.
The mid-thirties are a curious time. We’re no longer chasing the latest trends, yet we’re not ready to step away from the dance floor. We seek music that resonates on a deeper level, appreciating both the nostalgic hits of our youth and the cutting-edge sounds of today. We Out Here seems to understand this dichotomy perfectly, offering a carefully curated lineup that speaks to our maturing tastes.
But it’s not just the music that sets We Out Here apart. The festival has crafted an environment that caters to the evolving needs of the thirty-something festival-goer. The wellness area, complete with yoga sessions and meditation spaces, provides a much-needed respite from the main stages. It’s a tacit acknowledgment that we can no longer run on adrenaline alone – sometimes we need a moment of zen between sets.
The dedicated family zone is another brilliant idea. For those of us teetering on the edge of parenthood, it’s reassuring to see that festival life doesn’t have to end with the arrival of little ones. We Out Here has created a space where music lovers of all ages can coexist, fostering a sense of community that spans generations.
Musically, We Out Here exceeded all expectations. Surprisingly, my standout moments weren’t on the main stage but at the intimate Lush Life stage, tucked away at the far end of the festival. Mansur Brown delivered a captivating blend of genres, emotions, and sounds, creating a unique and immersive listening experience. On Sunday, Nabihah Iqbal’s wistful indie set was a refreshing alternative to the predominantly jazz-heavy lineup. Her excellent covers of Deftones and The Cure brought a touch of grunge to an otherwise non-grunge festival, drawing an impressive crowd. Ego Ella May offered a contemporary take on soul that felt both fresh and timeless. For jazz aficionados, Norma Winstone’s set was a must-see; her long and storied career resonated in every note.
On the main stage, Sampha’s soul-stirring performance was a highlight, with his haunting vocals weaving through R&B and electronic textures. Floating Points mesmerised with his intricate, jazz-influenced electronic soundscapes, while Matthew Halsall’s experimental approach challenged and intrigued in equal measure. On the final day, André 3000’s performance was a mesmerizing display of artistic evolution, as he captivated the audience with his experimental sounds and innovative approach to music.
At Rhythm Corner, heavyweights like Joy Orbison, Nick León, and Shanti Celeste kept us dancing into the early morning. On Saturday, Laurent Garnier’s eclectic journey through electronic music history was nothing short of masterful.
As I reflect on my We Out Here experience, I’m struck by a realization. After nearly a decade of covering music festivals, I had begun to find them an insufferable drag – overcrowded, over-regulated, and lacking in genuine spirit. We Out Here has rekindled my faith in the festival experience. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel stifled by oppressive security or hemmed in by endless queues. Instead, I found myself immersed in a celebration of music that felt both familiar and exciting.
We Out Here has achieved something remarkable – it’s created a festival that grows with its audience. It understands that while our tastes may have refined, our love for music and community hasn’t diminished. As I packed up my tent, I felt a sensation I hadn’t experienced in years: genuine excitement for next year’s festival. We Out Here hasn’t just put on a good show; it’s rewritten the rulebook for what a modern music festival can be. And for this jaded music journalist on the cusp of his mid-thirties, that’s nothing short of revolutionary.
Cover Photo by Jake Phillips Davis
