Club culture reverence reigns at We Out Here

Over the years, the Gilles Peterson-curated festival has built a reputation for its diverse, progressive and unified community. I’d not been to We Out Here before, but even as I drag myself through the entrance, weighed down by camping gear and a poorly chosen box of Sainsbury’s Pinot Grigio, the renowned atmosphere of inclusivity is quickly noticeable.

It’s a lovely quality for a festival to pride itself on; an ethos I find to resonate from campsite to stage amongst punters and performers alike. MCs big-up toddlers on parents’ shoulders as enthusiastically as the intoxicated skankers who are sending it at the front. DJs mixed bass-heavy cuts into Minnie Riperton’s “Lovin’ You”. Old jazz heads join forces with wild-eyed ravers. All are enjoying the unique, harmonised space We Out Here facilitates.

A similar thing can be said of the effort put into lineup curation, a rich span of jazz, afro, disco, hip hop, electronica, soul and more. 2024’s biggest names include André 3000, Sampha, Kae Tempest, Floating Points, Joy Orbison, Louie Vega and Mount Kimbie, but the magic of We Out Here’s programming doesn't just lie in its headliners.

With an array of live bands, DJ sets and stage takeovers all day and all night (well, until 4am on Friday and Saturday), we are never short of a discovery. Whether on or off the skates, the Carhartt WIP Roller Rink is a trusty boogie haven at any given hour. The Lemon Lounge is another beloved destination - a party tent far too tiny for its demand, but perhaps that's all part of its charm. And for those needing a post-sesh dose of restoration (which, let’s face it, is pretty much everyone), The Sanctuary offers an abundance of wellbeing activities: a sauna and spa, meditation, yoga, fresh coconuts and, most importantly, a freezing cold lake to swim in to wash away the sins of the night before.

Mount Kimbie’s set feels like the real kick-off point on Thursday night, igniting an energy that rolls forth as they play tracks from their April-released The Sunset Violent alongside some catalogue hits. It’s luck of the draw when you’re watching Mount Kimbie as to whether King Krule will make an appearance. Sure, his featured songs still carry well when they’re performed without him, but his signature growling vocals and cult following drive a fervour that is generally left unmet in his absence. Luckily for us all, out a bucket hat-cladded Krule, joins the band to bring the set to a close with “Empty and Silent” and “Blue Train Lines”, before the concluding “Made to Stray”.

Spilling out of the crowd on a high, a quick walk gets us to our next destination, Outlook’s takeover of the Rhythm Corner stage, where Calibre is closing out the night. An award-winning pioneer of electronic music, as expected his performance is effortless, rooted in transcendental liquid drum and bass but traversing genres with virtuosic flair.

Unfortunately, the experience is let down by annoyingly low volume levels - a problem that seems to characterise every night at the Rhythm Corner. When you’re at a festival that celebrates the hedonism of late-night dance floors, being able to hear the crack of a can opening rows back at 2am when all you want is to be hit by “the beauty of sub-bass”, as my friend Theo would say, is a real shame – so much so that it occasionally causes us to leave sets we're really excited for. A simple (and hopeful) fix for next time, at least.

A particular highlight of the weekend is Ebo Taylor & The Family Band at the Main Stage on Friday. As the sun settles into a warm and glowing golden hour, there isn't a more perfect setting for the vibrancy of the performance. Sharing their Afrobeat, jazz and funk-inflected take on traditional Ghanaian music, the band dance their way through songs from Taylor’s five-decade spanning discography, including the well-loved “Heaven”, “Eye Nyam Nam ‘A’ Mensuro” and “Love and Death”.

Towards the end of the set, the band announces a surprise in store, and once the huge crowd are clapping and chanting in unison, Ebo Taylor himself - now 88 years old - is brought out in a wheelchair to the front of the stage to provide vocals for a few closing numbers. It's as heartwarming a moment as could be, a palpable sense of euphoria radiating from the crowd in their celebration of a true African heritage legend.

Though his gritty London grime is a slight anomaly on the lineup, for those who head over to the Lush Life stage on Saturday night, CASISDEAD provides another standout set of the weekend. Admitting he wasn't sure he’d draw much of a crowd, the Tottenham-hailing rapper and his on-stage crew waste no time in lapping up the energy of their packed-out audience, hyping them up as he announces “this is the most fun I’ve had in time”. Over thumping drum and bass backing tracks accompanied by stank-face-worthy drops, CASISDEAD raps lyrics that ranged from funny to noticeably astute, in his most popular song “Pat Earrings” detailing the difficulties of having fallen in love with an escort on a search for companionship.

It might feel a little on the outskirts, but the Lush Life stage is home to multiple noteworthy performances, including rap royalty and leading lady Bahamadia. Rising to prominence in the 90s as one of the most sought after lyricists and MCs, Bahamadia demonstrates her rhyme prowess over old school beats with the ease of a hip hop veteran. She also takes the opportunity to deliver some words of wisdom: hip hop is evolving with the times, she muses, but we shouldn’t alienate the different generations of artistry - the professionals can learn from the fresh faces just as much as they can impart their knowledge, and vice versa.

Likely recognising We Out Here’s open-minded community, artists taking the time to express such thoughts on cultural and societal issues during sets seems much more commonplace than it would at other festivals. The same sense of freedom can be recognised in their set lists. Corinne Bailey Rae, for example – an artist whose earliest work is held with great sentiment by fans – doesn't feel constricted to having to perform her older songs to appease, instead delivering her experimental new Mercury Prize-nominated material with confident authority.

André 3000’s set is also a masterclass in avant-garde improvisation, a huge and unapologetic step away from his Outkast roots absorbed by the utterly entranced Sunday crowd. Almost Alice Coltrane-reminiscent, André comes out onto the stage accompanied by his expert band and a colourful mat filled with various flues - contrabass, Mayan, bamboo - and other digitalised woodwind options.

Despite a few aforementioned volume issues, We Out Here thrives at night. Hidden away but by no means kept secret, The Bowl stage solidifies the festival’s expert curation, serving a mini outdoor arena-esque atmosphere dipped amongst a round of glowing, colour-lit trees. Similarly, the Grove is a long, lined tunnel of a dance floor that emulates real club vibes. And once the music stops, where better for dancers to retreat than underneath an indescribably hypnotic upside-down fire?

Generally, there’s little to criticise about We Out Here. Some points could be made on the excessively tight stringency on bringing in booze (a 12-pack of beer limit?) and the often-grim loos, but these are part and parcel with any event. Actually, these issues had counter options - as festivals go, the drinks from bars aren't obscenely priced, and for us ladies, the female urinals are both efficient and empowering, offering, in the gleeful declaration of my friend, “a glimpse into the future of a world run by women!”.

There is a maturity to the atmosphere that is in no way snobby or restrictive; club culture is revered by all and there are no zombified teenagers running around being dickheads. Unlike the Glastonbury Gestapo shining torches in faces and guarding every metre of the grounds, the lack of heavy security presence throughout the weekend allows everyone the escapism (without ever feeling unsafe) that we all retreat to festivals in the hope of finding for a few days.