Just when you thought it safe, back comes Feile '97. Only this time around it isn't called Feile '97, it's called The Day Trip To Tipp, a moniker somewhat less celebratory and adventurous but packed with hidden meanings for those in the know, nonetheless.
There was a time when Feile and the trips to Tipp actually meant something. When it started in the summer of 1990, it was held over three days and nights and the amount of Irish rock talent on display (17 acts out of 21) indicated that indigenous talent had finally come home to roost. I remember feeling a certain pride at watching bands such as An Emotional Fish and Something Happens work the Semple Stadium in Thurles like seasoned professionals.
Backstage the atmosphere was equally joyous (if slightly more relaxed), the sunshine adding to the sense of victory. Three days of rock music, a festival for the masses, and overnight stays in dodgy hotel rooms with no running water. No sooner had Feile '90 packed up its tents and stage when it was announced that Feile '91 was already being planned. Better hotel rooms were booked months in advance.
Of course, the Feile experience for the majority of people had little to do with backstage passes and reasonably comfortable hotel rooms. I confess that the nearest I got to the ragged plain pop people of Ireland was while walking from the VIP car park to the VIP backstage area and, to be honest, even that was too much for me. Being older (and in theory, more sensible) than the teenagers, twentysomethings and thirtysomethings meant that I no longer wanted to experience sleep deprivation, four to a one-man tent and youths with acoustic guitars serenading me with their unique vocal renditions of Saw Doctors' songs. I could get that at home, thank you very much.
That said, my own Feile experiences were just as valid, for even I could understand the communality of the events. For a brief period, Feile was the festival for the young Irish and if they wanted to go bananas in the company of their friends, away from the watchful eyes of mum and dad, then so be it. Feile '91 was when it became serious. Almost double the number of acts performed (38, with 20 Irish bands), and it catapulted itself into the international rock arena. Van Morrison came back for a second helping, The Saw Doctors stole the show (again) and Feile was still fresh and interesting enough to stand on its own. I saw a young couple rolling around in the mud and simultaneously envied them their exuberance and wondered what their respective parents would say at the state of their jeans when they got home - unless they were brother and sister, of course, which to be honest was unlikely, seeing as they were locked in a muddy, lip-eating contest.
Feile '92 was the year when the Irish contingent dropped to 15 (out of 35), a not too implausible option considering the lack of emerging or even semi-successful Irish groups available. The Saw Doctors shot their way up the bill, making them an undeniably strong people's favourite. David Byrne unwittingly engineered one of Feile's absurdly defining moments when the crowd caught the mood and threw hundreds of paper cups in the air. But moments like these clouded issues such as the mess in and around Thurles, the amount of people in a drunken stupor outside and inside the stadium and the paucity of new bands to keep the throng sated.
Matters improved for Feile '93 (headliners INXS, Chris de Burgh and Iggy Pop cut across taste barriers, proving that when it comes to stadium rock, pretty much everything sounds the same). Feile '94 was dreadful - no Big Bang finale, rain, muck and a mere two days' worth of open-air rock 'n' roll revelry for the kids.
Things change, of course. Feile as a community event finished the year it moved from Thurles, easily its spiritual home. This year, it returns there with a good bill put together to appeal to Feile '90's younger siblings, so who knows what might happen to its status as a healthy two-fingered riposte to the establishment.
Me? Oh no! The thought of spending all day in a field watching grown men (and only one woman - Nina Persson of The Cardigans) go through the motions is too much to bear. Besides, won't the highlights be on television?
Tony Clayton-Lea presents Abbey Street, a three-hour music programme on Radio Ireland every Saturday morning, 9 a.m.-12.
