KEY POINTS:
What you need
Due to the price of tickets - as well as the cost of fried goods, alcoholic beverages, festival paraphernalia, and "herbal" cattle wormers when inside the gates - fiscal irresponsibility is essential for those hoping to get the most out of their summer festival.
In fact, Reserve Bank Governor Alan Bollard advises concert-goers to adhere to the "Every Whim" policy: want it, buy it, ingest it, enjoy it, worry about it when you're sober.
Revellers should don either the hottest new season attire or a highly impractical yet hilarious novelty ensemble. Fashionistas say large sombreros and fake moustaches are, like, so totally in this season. Do not wear sandals with velcro.
A pair of large, spongy, fluorescent earplugs that constantly fall out of your ears (or are occasionally lost within them). These will quickly become covered in ear wax, and, with the complete loss of treble associated with such crude hearing-protection devices, are likely to make music sound as if you're listening to it underwater.
Most importantly, a selection of smuggled contraband.
What to do
If bringing a chilly-bin, prepare for the festival by taking one large watermelon, injecting it with a few bottles of vodka and leaving the booze to infuse for between four to 14 days.
This old chestnut is likely to promote suspicion from "highly trained" security guards, however, so to avoid any cross examination or cavity-searching, try injecting smaller, less conspicuous fruit with alcohol. Cherries laced with bourbon, perhaps? Apricots laced with gin, maybe? Or how about apples laced with whisky? They won't suspect a thing. And you'll be getting sozzled for next to nothing.
Alcohol receptacles should be hidden in whatever nooks and crannies you can find or make, such as hollowed-out loaves and Bibles, or hollowed-out wooden legs and cushions. "Nature's glove box" should only be used when security at your chosen event is extra tight.
At non-BYO events, smuggling purists may prefer to tape a hip flask to the crotch region.
Obviously, as Mother always said, it is irresponsible not to eat while binge-drinking, so, for nourishment throughout the event, nutritionists advise sticking to a diet of saturated fats, Mr Whippy ice cream (always with Flake), and energy drinks.
If frugal (or attending a music festival with parents), pre-purchased sustenance will be required. For simplicity's sake, take alcohol-infused fruit, a plastic knife, coleslaw, shaved ham (avoid hairy ham) and some form of loaf and attempt to make a "sandwich". Pick sandwich up off the grass. Remove grass from sandwich. Eat sandwich anyway. Lose all semblance of willpower. Spend the money you saved at the supermarket on rounds of overpriced beer and hot chips later in the day.
As alcohol dulls the senses, drunkards regularly miss important vibrating cellphone communiques, which means a simpler, more organic back-up plan may be required to find those lost in the throng.
"The Emu", for example, which consists of raising the right arm above the head, forming a beak with the fingers and making loud, oppressive emu-like noises to attract the attention of other "emus" in your crew (or, if wearing baggy pants and listening to drum'n'bass, your "kru") was recently voted the most effective emergency signal by an international panel of experts.
In cramped dancing conditions, effective barging through the writhing, seething masses to get to the booze tent, the toilets or the St John Ambulance - and back again - requires a complete disregard for manners and/or the concept of personal space. Small, drunk and aggressive humans often prove best at this. Use their low centre of gravity and pugnacity to clear yourself a path.
Whether young or old, "cutting shapes" - or, as academics refer to it, "dancing" - is an integral part of the festival experience. If old, pretend you're still young, wobble your knees, twist your hips, dip your partner, have a few more drinks and proceed to do the generic (or perhaps it's genetic?) dance that everyone over the age of 40 can't help but do. It has no name, but everyone knows it.
Only those blessed with powerful calves and good balance should attempt to dance on a slope, and the "forbidden dance of love" is only to be attempted under the cloak of darkness, in a Portaloo, or behind the bushes.
If sandwiched between sweaty, smelly humans close to the stage, extend both the index finger and the little finger of the same hand to create "the Horn". Jump up and down repeatedly. For those with slightly more room to move, assume the "power stance" and display air guitar moves (compulsory at all Shihad concerts).
Nothing says "I'm having a really, really good time at this music festival" like a series of shrill pea blasts into the ears of those nearby, so blow your whistle relentlessly throughout the day. Inspire even more festival frivolity by waving glowsticks, lighters or cellphones at the same time. Use silver lead paint to colour your entire body.
Hippies are to outdoor festivals what raspberry is to Coke. Beware of smelly, rogue dreads, flaming fire pois or exceedingly wide hemp pant legs flying about your face on the dance floor. Unless you're willing to talk about the intricacies of the cosmos, the inherent evil of the capitalist system or the "skanking rhythms of the quintessential New Zealand sound", never venture to their house bus for a piece of cake.
Much like the offensive cacophony that can be heard when standing between two different musical zones, sparks often fly when rival cliques (oldies v young'uns, bogans v metrosexuals, mods v rockers, emos v their own self-loathing) cross creative swords at the same event.
If boring, tell those standing up and enjoying themselves in front to show some respect and sit down so the people sitting quietly behind can enjoy the show, too. If disrespectful, continue to dance "at them" in an overly suggestive manner, blow your whistle in their face, throw an empty plastic cup in their general direction and tell them to pack up their picnic basket and go listen to Amici or Il Divo - the equivalent of Crazy Frog for the elderly - at a winery.
Later in the day, as the sun's intensity slowly lessens, you should feel a faint buzz of warmth over the unshielded regions of the body. Lament your inability to slop, despite full comprehension of slipping and slapping techniques.
Throbbing should gradually increase until the whole body is pulsating with radiation. Soon enough, movement will be painful, sleeping will be uncomfortable, and, for the next few days, ruthless friends will attempt to slap your third-degree burns.
On the bright side, peeling off a large sheet of post-sunburn skin was ranked as one of the favourites in a recent survey of New Zealanders' favourite summer leisure activities.
If it's wet, embrace the mud. Remarkably, all New Zealand festival-goers are impervious to hypothermia during the months of January, February and March.
As for Christian music festivals, make a point of not going until they give Palestine back.
What to say
When a musician on stage asks the crowd "Are you ready to rock?", "Is everyone out there having a pleasant time?" or "When I say hey, you say ho", respond accordingly with a loud "Wooooo", "Yeeeahhhh" or "Hoooo". For variety, try screaming in a high-pitched American accent: "Play it againnn", "Allrigheeet", or "Let in rayyyne".
Bemoan the growing prevalence of festival tickets being sold on online auction sites and say: "Ruthless scalpers who purchase as many tickets as possible and sell them at an inflated price to those who missed out on the initial ticket runs are ruining these events for true music fans. Since when has music been about duping consumers to make truckloads of money?"
If looking for love, introduce yourself to fellow carousers in the middle of the dance floor and say: "This band is great, don't you think?" Repeat yourself. Repeat yourself again. Smile, nod head and say: "Uh huh. Yeah, I totally agree", despite not having heard a thing. Try other banal conversation-starters and shuffle uncomfortably from left to right, then either give up and try your luck at the surprisingly fertile flirtile gold-mine that is the Portaloo queue, or slip them the tongue and see what happens.
Meddling, worrisome and mood-dampening festival-goers should approach those dancing directly in front of - or occasionally sleeping in - the massive speaker-stacks and say: "Do you know that prolonged exposure to music over 85 decibels could be causing irreversible damage to your hearing?" Give up on your futile crusade, throw away your ineffective, wax-laden, fluorescent earplugs, join the fray and say: "Bah! Why change my behaviour when I can rely on scientists to come up with a cure for my debilitating case of tinnitus."
Bemoan the need to traipse to the hot, smelly Portaloos every 10 minutes and say: "I honestly think there is a business opportunity here for someone who wants to start inserting catheters at these bloody festivals."
If heckling DJs, say: "Hey Dick Jockey, play something we can dance to? Have you got the one that goes doot de doot doot dee doot?"
If heckling bands, rappers or solo artists, say: "Hey, you on stage, didn't anyone tell you that singing is the lowest form of communication?"
If returning from a supposedly alcohol-free (and perhaps multi-day) dance party say: "Honestly Mum, it's the music that keeps us awake all night. It's a spiritual thing". Or: "No, Mum, you've got it all wrong - I was at a stance party, not a dance party."
When discussing the calibre of today's current crop of musicians with younger whippersnappers, those with more length to the tooth should start every sentence with: "Back in my day ..." Younger whippersnappers should disregard everything that is said after this phrase is uttered.
- OTAGO DAILY TIMES
