Conquering Creamfields

At his command, we jump. At his command, we clap. At his command, we do anything and everything. A throng of people. It’s a mass of screaming people, bodies intertwined underneath a full moon and a seemingly intergalactic light ensemble. People’s faces take on hues of pink, blue, green, and all sorts of colors, lending the scene a dream-like quality. Our eardrums pulse with the noises of the night, pupils dilated, almost every eye eagerly affixed upon one figure.

He stands on the stage, high above us all, but not more than 50 feet away. He’s a god tonight. And he knows it. He revels in it. He plays around with his power, indulging himself and toying with the crowd. What kind of person can make 50,000 people do exactly what he wants, when he wants it? Not a president, not a general, not an actor, not a writer… but a performer. Or an artist… as I assume he would prefer to be called.

David Guetta ruled the crowd last night, simple as that. I don’t even particularly like Guetta, or music really, but his will reigned supreme for all of 2 hours. He stood, high above the crowd on the stage, clad in a black t-shirt with a black sports coat, black pants, and sporting a shaggy if somewhat tacky beard. Not the most impressive figure you will ever see. But, with that being said, he did last night what few people in the world will ever do. He imposed his will upon thousands and thousands of people.

If Barack Obama strutted on to the stage and told us to jump up and down in the enormous crowd, odds are that no one would have batted an eyelash. Guetta didn’t even have to ask the crowd to jump. He MADE them jump with his music. He did, of course, have help from his zealous fans. In the back, they would begin to jump high and push forward into the crowd, leaving the others – the less energetic of the bunch – with no choice but to be buffeted into a series of jumps and frenzied dancing.

Creamfields. Electronic Music. House music. Assorted DJs. Buenos Aires. Some field. Some 50,000 people. Maybe a little more. Maybe a little less. In reality, it doesn’t really matter. Creamfields isn’t about the crowd or the venue. It’s all about the show and the experience.

It was a spectacle. In the truest sense of the word. So many people, so much music, and so much energy. Even for someone who doesn’t really like music, I could not help but marvel at the scene before me. Perhaps this is what Woodstock was all about. People, from all over the place, coming together, literally hanging on the music of the performers. This was the first time Iever thought about the power that a performer holds in the palm of his hand or in the back of his vocal chords. And it is formidable.

For me, it was not the music that was chiefly important. It was the experience. The solidarity. Whether it was the 40 kids from our exchange program, the 10 of said kids who I hung out with at the festival, or the thousands upon thousands of Argentines who showed up for the “party of the year.” Sitting in a grass field somewhere, with some of my best friends, listening to the music die down, chatting about life abroad and life at home, is what I will take from this experience.

We watched the sun come up at 5:30 AM, hours and hours after arriving at 9 PM earlier that night. The moon hung in the morning sky as the music reverberated through the air. The people began to file out. But we stayed still and silent, savoring  the moment, knowing that we were all appreciating different aspects of the experience.

I’ll never forget that day. Not for as long as I live. With a month left to go in Buenos Aires, Creamfields was a climactic moment for me. Not because of the music, or the lights, but because of the people who I went with and the solidarity we felt.

That being said, the bus ride home from Creamfields, an hour and a half roughly, was more or less miserable. More toward the more. Sleepiness superseded  the sense of wonder and excitement that we had previously felt. But it really didn’t matter. We conquered Creamfields. And just maybe, just maybe, we’re conquering Buenos Aires together.