Editorial: "What FEST means to me"

Today, we continue our series of editorials, which cover everything from serious topics to wacky diviersions.
It's almost September, so the road to FEST begins NOW. So, today, Punknews' Renaldo Matadeen, who is way down there in the Caribbean, waxes philosophical on what FEST means to someone so far away. You can read it below.

What Fest Means to Me
Renaldo Matadeen

What does The Fest mean to someone who hasn't taken in a rock show outside of a tiny little island in the Caribbean called Trinidad?
Well, an outsider's perspective looking in isn't necessarily a bad thing. And it's from that point-of-view, I can safely sum it up, short yet concise. It means a lot.
Why? I won't be there. Never have. It'll probably be a couple years before I'm able to. By then I'll be over 30 and the bands I want to see could well end up broken up. Or fuck, even worse, the unthinkable -- the event dies. Let's hope the latter doesn't happen. Really. Back on track now, I'll be living vicariously through you guys there. Sharing beers. Cursing. Moshing. Thrashing. Criticising each other's tastes and each other's bands. Talking shit about publications. Just talking shit, in general. Because you guys are fuelled with passion. By emotion. By the bands' creativity, energy and artistic nature, no matter what you're taste. To me, this is something I wish I could be at because it feels underground, it feels indie, it feels DIY. Something a group of friends with the proper network can put on without the cheddar of say, Warped Tour. And for the better because it means more control and the ability to cultivate a safer, protected environment for fans and musicians. I'll miss not being able to meet some of you guys who hate my writing, meet bands who've I connected with on some cliched spiritual level and just, kick the shit around with everyone in general.
I've always wanted to immerse myself in the culture of The Fest - from the pics I've seen online as well as the videos, not to mention the stories run by music outlets. There's something special there. A magic that I wish I could tap into. Maybe it'll help me be a better writer. Hell, maybe it'll help me be a better person. It's definitely not gonna help me be a better musician because I'm fucking hopeless on that front. But it's always special to want to be part of, and imagine, that I'm there at a scene that helped save my life. I've never made it a secret in my last couple year-end lists at Punknews that 2013 was a terrible year for me. A trying break-up and a disastrous bout with depression really screwed with me. And all I had left was music. And boy, did I dive in. Funnily enough, a lot of the bands I drowned myself in played at the next couple Fests. And sometimes, with the headphones on, I'm astrally projected there. Watching the good. And the bad. Documenting. Adding it to my journal. Like a ghost. But most of all, I'm enjoying the music. Smiling. Laughing. Sharing sweat with all you stranger boys and girls. Singing how we'll change the world (thanks, La Dispute).
This year's no different. I'll pretend I'm there. Because it's a family. Fuck, do I miss that sense of family. Community. Togetherness. And I do feel that whenever I read YouTube comments or comments in general, about sets at The Fest. About how awesome the hosts were. About the food. The drinks. Every fucking thing. When it comes to an emotional person like myself, and yes I do get the plot wrong a lot, the gaze of The Fest, its colour and shape, is mesmerising and yet, intimidating. It's a new beast but one I want to fight. A hulking being that blurs the lines of reality and imagination for me. It doesn't worry me to say that I wanted to be a rock star at some point in high-school so why not live that through with folks who couldn't make it but still support 'the scene', right? Together. A word I'll always repeat. Brotherhood. Camaraderie. Differences aside. Acceptance. Fun-time. You get the drift…
I'm determined to make it out there. Soon. I'm without reservations in admitting that I want to meet this monster. The Fest is alive and no doubt, tough to extinguish. I envy you guys who'll be watching its fire burn and at the end, even when it ceases its soft speech, you all will get the chance to look at the twilight fading, and say, "Fuck. Can't wait to do this again next year!".
The Fest to me, amid its noise, is a hushed journey of self-reflection and thankfulness to music. For taking care of me when no one else could. It's sad, it's afraid, ageless. As much as my movements are unhurried and pensive. It's like my big brother. I can tell without even being there though, it'll be a showcase, stripped to the bare essence of everything we love and something you guys will hold in reverence as usual. From all that I've read, it's worth obsessing over, worthy any modicum of excessiveness and as it bares its teeth, it's even more welcoming. Fascinating and engaging. Something I'll never get in the Caribbean, where there's no rock scene really. There's no support. There's no unity. There's only the Internet with a few bands trying to scrape something here and there, and yep, I can count them on both hands.

The Fest is the voice of a people. It isn't comprised of individuals. It's family. The subtlety of everyone there, their mere presence, will constantly birth great feelings. We discover there. We risk. We invent. We build. Friendships. Kindred spirits. And love. We'll relearn. Rethink. Reemerge as new folks when we come back next year.

This year, I long to grind it out in the pit to bands like After The Fall, Brutal Youth, Desaparecidos Banquets, Direct Hit, Everybody Row, Heartsounds, Loma Prieta, The Menzingers, PUP, Pianos Become The Teeth, Restorations, Stickup Kid, Sidekicks, Such Gold, Title Fight, Tiny Moving Parts, Superheaven, Typesetter, The Weaks, We Are The Union and Xerxes. I want the thrill of discovering new music, along with the nostalgia of reciting word-for-word, old jams from bands I love. The Fest is about us making something, based on people who make something. It's about time, assuredness and patience. We're all tied together there, whether we know it or not. We create and in doing so, we further understand each other, sending ardent signals as to what this event means to us. We renew our fascination time and time again and this is all aided by experience. This creates wisdom, a thing of magic. And for me, imagine how tough it's been never even being at ground-zero. Sucks right?
The Fest is the voice of a people. It isn't comprised of individuals. It's family. The subtlety of everyone there, their mere presence, will constantly birth great feelings. We discover there. We risk. We invent. We build. Friendships. Kindred spirits. And love. We'll relearn. Rethink. Reemerge as new folks when we come back next year. We'll probably explore our origins, maybe become wilder, draw inspiration from things more compelling, more dramatic and such -- but you know what, chances are for the days you're at Fest, you'll be the same person you were the year before, and before that. It's a break from the rigours of the universe. It'll be generous to you. And you to it. It'll be wonderful. And then when the sun sets, with your palette satisfied, you'll add it to the archives and return through the portal to a world that needs more positivity. Needs more goodness. I'll be pushing aside the curtain online, watching darkness subside as I canvas online for this year's offerings from bands like The Hotelier, Prawn, Annabel, Koji, Into It. Over It., Foxing, TWIABP etc -- because whether you're emo or punk or hardcore - The Fest opens its arms to you, with a warm embrace.
My elder brother died a few days after birth. And I came a year later. So that's where that big brother reference comes from. You guys take care of each other there. Enjoy it. And tell me the amazing stories afterwards. I'll be waiting…