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Reece Jordan

Reece Jordan


Total Article : 200

About Me:18-year-old sixth form student, studying English Literature, History and Government and Politics. My articles will broadly cover topics from the current affairs of politics to reviews of books and albums, as well as adding my own creative pieces, whether it be short fiction or general opinion.

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Lost Village Festival

Lost Village Festival

Last weekend I went to Lost Village, a festival in Lincolnshire. Only now has the haziness begun to clear, the hangover slowly subsided and the memories begun to crystallise that I feel I can – at least timidly and head-scratchingly – write a review of it. I suppose the consequential state I’m in speaks volumes of the type of festival it was. Nevertheless, a few details are worth going into.


Firstly, Lost Village is a festival that primarily revolves around dance music. Its five (or six – the haziness hasn’t quite deserted me fully) stages were usually headed by someone behind the decks, although its main stage – The Burial Ground – would host live acts, such as Jordan Rakei, Franc Moody, Ibibio Sound Machine and Fatima. The host of DJs were of the biggest names around: The Black Madonna; Honey Dijon; Hunee; Four Tet; Mr. Scruff; Artwork; Dixon; Mall Grab; Denis Sulta, the list goes on. Overall, the sets were brilliantly good. Of notable exception were The Black Madonna, who held full command of The Burial Ground on the Thursday night, Folamour, Dan Shake, Palms Trax; but most of all, without a shadow of a doubt, the best set of the entire weekend has to go to Gerd Janson at the Junkyard stage to close off a brilliant Saturday. He didn’t play one bad song his entire set, and his closer (DJ Koze’s ingenious take on Gladys Knight & the Pips’s ‘Neither One of Us (Wants to Be the First to Say Goodbye)’, ‘Pick Up’), will forever remain the memory-inducing soundtrack to the weekend.


Something must be said about the stage set-ups. As festivals go, it has to be one of the best around. The aforementioned Burial Ground was perhaps the most standard set-up – it was basically a tent with a great sound system that was centred at the beginning of the arena. Before you got to that, though, you could turn left and make your way to the Junkyard, my favourite stage. Fit with abandoned cars, – which you could get inside as well as on top of, something that made for a great experience when the crowd was really packed, but came off as almost derisory to Earl Jeffers’s empty one – records, mannequins and umbrellas in the trees, bars and toilets at the back, it seemed like perfectly controlled chaos.


 If you follow down the arena you come across an array of food, from burritos to duck wraps, to Vietnamese dishes (with a side order of out-their-face staff), to bao (bao? Yeah, I dunno either) and finally a cheese toastie. It’s an eclectic mix, and far from your standard burger and chips at other festivals. For the toffs, of which there were quite a few, there’s a £70-a-head banquet. It looked nice enough, but, alas, my pauper ways inhibited me. Carrying on further and you come to a circus-type bar. 


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