Jagged Little Pill to swallow - Alanis Morissette at Blackweir

Jules Mears

Alanis Morissette: ‘Why are you crying?’

Because, oh beautiful chanteuse, we are in a lot of pain after walking, queuing, queuing some more, and then being crushed, jostled, and pinned in a distant part of Bute Park that tried to be Glastonbury. They mutilated mature trees for this.

We originally booked to see Alanis at Cardiff Castle. Then came the venue change due to ‘demand’. Ah yes, demand, that pesky economic term that usually translates to more money from us, the humble punter, to faceless corporations that don’t give a flying fox about the quality of our experience.

Morissette was glorious. Obviously, you couldn’t really see the stage, and the ‘big screens’ at either side of the stage were often obscured. But her vocal range and performance were still phenomenal, as was her rendition of fan favourites from the ‘Jagged Little Pill’ album. It remains multi-award winning and one of the bestselling albums of all time with good reason. The passion and energy with which the largely female audience joined in the chorus from ‘You oughta know’ tantalisingly suggests a new Zeitgeist for Morissette.

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The problem was with the change from a small gig to a larger festival arrangement. I don’t think we appreciated how much of a change that entailed. Blackweir is quite a walk from the stations, even Cathays.

Queue time to get in was around 40 minutes. First, your ticket is scanned. Then you must wait to have your bag and person scanned and searched, and any contraband confiscated. If you are going to any Blackweir events, my advice is to read the T&Cs carefully. You can’t take anything in. Except drugs, it would seem, as the smell of weed hung heavy in the air, despite the sniffer dog that we all had to trail past on entry. (NB, should I contact the RSPCA about that poor dog? It was hot, distressed, and desperately circling for a way out despite the handlers attempt to drag it back to the crush of people trying to get to the free water area as the heat and the queue time had left everyone miserably dehydrated.)

Festival styling means no seats. You may take blankets but nothing else. No stools, not even collapsible ones. JLP is thirty years old, which gives you an idea of the demographic in attendance. We are menopausal, arthritic, older and bolder types who simply cannot stand for hours on end.

It was impossible to sit down (even if you can do so) as the floor space was limited and littered with rubbish, and given the high volume of people stumbling around, potentially hazardous. You couldn’t dispose of debris responsibly, nor hang onto it as only small bags were allowed. I imagine A&E were graced with many trip injuries.

Drinks were £7.80 for a pint, £30 for a warm and lacklustre bottle of wine. We didn’t want to drink much, as the toilet queues were a good 30-45 minutes. Some life-long friendships were made in those queues. It was rumoured that you could pay £30 to access ‘The Garden’, a fenced off area with separate loos, but this option soon expired as people from there started queuing in the main area as the loo queue in said Garden became overwhelmed.

Massive queue at The Garden
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We had to keep moving, as more people arrived trying to work their way to a good position. We moved to the edges to get some space. There at the fringes, people chatting loudly, backs to the stage. Some young boys played an impromptu football game with an empty can, and some people were so heavily under the influence that they were a danger to themselves and others. One woman stamped heavily on my foot, and then mumbled and slurred apologies repeatedly, so that we had to move again.

A couple, she atop his shoulders, swayed precariously, and we were afraid they were going to crash into us. Thankfully, security staff told them to get down, and as the young security woman passed me, I thanked her, and she gripped my wrist with what felt like a desperate need for sane, human contact, her expression reflecting her fear.

Not enough staff, too many petty rules, a space not designed to accommodate the number of people if the queue for all facilities was anything to go by. There seemed to be lots of food choices, but it was hard to move around. Once someone in your group had left to go queue for something, you were stuck, as if you moved, you would never see them again. No mobile signal, obvs.

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This was a bad call from Cardiff. Yes, yes, an extra £35mill in the city pot in these trying times must be tempting, but we have so many more suitable venues in the city. Blackweir is not one of them. I urge you to assess what it is you are booking. I love Alanis Morrisette, but the cost, both financially and physically is not to be sniffed at. I’m too old to stand for hours in a field, herded by small people in high vis whose sole skill is the ability to affix long spidery eyelashes, and robotically recite ‘the rules’.

I don’t know who the company organising is. They should take a beat and work out the kinks, as they were painfully exposed on Wednesday. Yes, I am a curmudgeon. You wait until you’re in your 60’s with age related aches and pains. I feel indirectly discriminated against. Should my partner and I buy tickets for wheelchair users and a companion, as that seems the only way we can attend events such as this without being absolutely battered for days afterwards.

I hope I can recover in time for Oasis on Friday. The Principality Stadium knows how to do gigs, and I’m looking forward to sitting, drinking and toileting in relative comfort.