Selected Notes: Meakusma Festival 2022
Photography: Luke Brosnahan
An intimate gathering that feels larger than life. A perfect way to end the summer.
Thursday, September 1
An old man dances alone in the centre of the ambient space. The floor is adorned with an assortment of patterned carpets — the type your grandmother has — and a panoptic arrangement of windows looks out to the greenery. The sweat from his chest is now visible on his pink Slazenger top. Others look on as he moves in peculiar ways. Not a care in the world. Maybe it's the natural ego death that comes with age — bodily decay the ultimate reminder of self impermanence. Maybe he's already high as a fucking kite.
I see the same man and his wavy silhouette later amongst a static crowd while Sky H1 and Mika Oki play their captivating live set. It’s my fourth time seeing them this summer, and it’s a performance that refuses to lose it’s transcendent prowess.
Luke arrives in from London later that night. We settle at Japan Blues in the ambient space, laying down by the radiator with our eyes closed for the entirety of the performance.
“I felt like I was in the middle of an ancient empiric war,” Luke says.
“I was questioning the love language of my mother and father,” I say.
“That’s what you took from that?” Luke laughs, with some concern.
While trying to fall asleep in our tent, I couldn’t hear even a murmur.
Friday, September 2
Luke and I venture out of the main site on this gentle afternoon and up to the nearby playground where Studio Neau, a small metal prefab, is incongruently placed. John FM is speaking to Julian Weber. Perched on a bench that aligns with Eupen’s skyline, we listen to John’s dulcet voice meander through his Detroit roots and recent releases.
Upon returning back to Alter Schlachthof, we find that we are two of many sitting outside the main entrance at one the long tables. I hear a man randomly approach another table, offering a crisp. Odd, I think. The group decline the offer. He then approaches our table. Christ, I think. It turns out he’s from Mayo. Of course, I say.
“Is Meakusma the talk of the town where you’re from?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s all they can talk about down the pub,” he says.
I laugh.
“Have you ever been to Ballina?” he asks.
“No.”
“Exactly.”
Between magical sets by UK sorcerers Pessimist and re:ni later that night, we head to John FM to discover that he is playing a rustic set. Just him and his piano.
“It's hard being vulnerable,” he says. “It's hard undressing yourself in front of others, figuratively and literally. But if you expose yourself, you'll be rewarded.”
Saturday, September 3
Luke and I walk across Eupen to Galerie vorn und oben, where Mika Oki is exhibiting her AV installation, Parhelion. Within a blacked-out space, smoke is slowly disseminated, hitting the light transmitted from two projectors. I’m sat directly in front of one them, creating a boxed vortex. Aquatic textures emerge. Waves are inexplicably created as a piercing blue light collides with the smoke and then my eyes. We resurface only to find ourselves speeding down an orange tunnel. The smoke races past my face. The orange glow simmers and eventually fades.
A large crowd gathers for Suso Saiz in the loft of Alter Schlachthof. People find whatever space they can to sit. He plays a set so delicate and sweet that the profundity is only apparent when it's over and I realise that my life won't always sound this way.
When taking a much needed rest after NYC luminaries Anthony Naples and James K, I see the man from Mayo in the foyer between stages. The strap on his right flip flop is broken and his heel looks sore. I catch him dumbfounded by how good the festival is. He refers to the difference in mentality between Irish festivals and European festivals.
“A carefully curated set of good acts in a small space. None of the bullshit distraction,” he says.
“Nothing epitomises the overstimulation of an Irish festival,” I suggest, “quite like the moment when you wake up hungover on a Saturday morning, your head hanging out of your arse. You unzip your tent and the first thing you see is a Ferris wheel.”
Sunday, September 4
On a placid Sunday, we spend the majority of our day outside at the soundsystem, placed on more patterned carpets and covered under a canopy. I meet DJ Plead after his set for a chat on a hillside.