WOMAD festival review: Music, mud and massages

GOAT playing WOMAD festival (Guy Peterson)

“Are you wet in all the right places?“, asks Johnny Kalsi with a cheeky grin, as he prepares to bang his huge Punjabi drum alongside the legendary Afro Celt Sound System.

As I peer through the heavy rain, I know I’m soaked in several unwelcome places – but the electric presence of the reborn pioneers of cross-continental fusion is about to banish such dark thoughts.

I’ve brought a young family of very unenthusiastic campers to a Wiltshire field to sow the seeds of a love of music and culture from across the globe, even in the challenge of the thickening mud.

The highlights come as thick and fast as the slime underfoot, including Japan’s Anchorsong, who definitely delivers on his billing as “one-man electronica brilliance”.

Masaaki Yoshida, his real name, succeeds in getting everyone dancing with a collection of uplifting and spellbinding sounds that outdo Rival Consoles – a better-known performer in the electronica field – 24 hours later.

Then there’s Maarja Nuut, a fiddler from Estonia, who, with Hendrik Kaljujarv on keyboards, creates mesmerising tunes backed with sinister, thumping synths – just perfect as the rain clouds gathered.

On some tracks, Maarja’s provides the wailing vocals of someone about to lose their mind, perhaps on some journey doomed to end in disaster.

After dark, the mysterious Goat, a Swedish band performing in ornate regal headgear and scary facial coverings apparently snatched from the Dr Who props cupboard, send spirits soaring.

The bizarre disguises are not the appeal. Goat mix rock, funk and prog to glorious effect, creating a trance-inducing noise, particularly on the standout track Talk To God.

On the main stage, the Cuban-influenced Orkesta Mendoza win many friends – perhaps more than Mali’s Oumou Sangare, whose mighty voice delivers a set that is merely steady, not spectacular.

Another strong memory will be Mamadou Diabete and Percussion Mania, two brothers whose furious, double-handed bashing of the balafon, a West African xylophone, appears to deft the laws of physics.

However, for the biggest joy, let me take you back to the Afro Celts, who – with the bonus of Johnny and his Dhol Foundation – have thrillingly welded bhangra beats to their well-known mix of Ireland and West Africa.

Of course, it’s not all about the music. At Taste of the World, wide-eyed children are conjuring up vegetarian sushi, halloumi kebabs and “herby summer salads”, under expert eyes.

And the Hip Yak Poetry Shack is doing roaring business, including one man rhyming a tale of his tiny boyhood “winkle”, in comparison with his father’s appendage which he so admired – perhaps unwisely.

Who knew there were so many different types of massage available? Or that one’s body could be stretched by “inversion therapy” – lying upside down on a rack? Or that there is such a thing as a gong bath?

Before we leave, I try to relax by sending the kids to learn some Brazilian dance moves, only to find myself twirling around with a bright orange bandana decorating my forehead. It’s then I know the WOMAD vibe has truly won me over – even in the mud.