Rock Monsters Romania

Every mid July, for the 6th year now, I find myself packing my bags for the same reason. I bring too many outfits, just to end up wearing shorts, band tees and a sunburn. I prioritise in advance the sets I wish to see, just to change my direction at the last minute to another stage and discover my next acoustic obsession. I bring electrolytes and munch on pastries. I prepare to see my old friends, but then meet with a dozen more. I wish I could describe one original feeling, but from my honest point of view, the crowd at Electric Castle feels as one chaotic, colourful and sweaty unit. And this twelfth edition, with all its events was, to me, what some may call a “spirit animal”. A reflection of your soul in the outside world.

This year’s beaming sun found me in a tent parked near the back gates, where we barely found a spot, because oh boy, was it crowded this time. The camping village was no Godzilla for a city girl like myself, as it made me feel at home while far away from my cats and my AC. It gave a temporary nest and access to a community of people who feel and listen alike. Which was a given, since half of the people around were the usual suspects of local spots like Control Club or Expirat.

On Thursday, I had my eyes on the prize. I’d only discovered the Irish rap trio Kneecap less than a year before, but all I did the weeks prior to that day was listen to their live sets in other countries. I was inspired by their quest to build an urban, fresh culture around a language that was believed to be dead by some. Their energy is infectious, and their dedication to human rights activism is as strong as their attention to their craft. I could not think of anything else before their set. And I could barely form a sentence after it, since all that jumping was lethal. At the ripe age of 28 it was my first time in a mosh pit, since I’d always been frightful of them before. But when DJ Próvaí joined the group, I believed there was no reason for me to sit around and do nothing. 

The second day, I attended the set that reminded me why the Hangar is my favourite stage in the festival. House of Protection made me feel as alive as ever. It was like a cuddle and an uppercut at the very same time. Its electric, post-hardcore whirlwind dragged me in before I could catch my breath, and we ran in a circle around the guitarist who’d joined us on the portafloor. But soon enough he’d somehow end up on the scaffolding. I’ll never understand millennial men and their thing for climbing. But this band is very special to me. I discovered it through a friend I no longer am in contact with, and these tunes reminded me of the sounds we enjoyed and wanted to craft one day as our own. As much of a workout as this set was, it was filled with nostalgia, and I stopped for a minute to feel that before jumping again and again and again.

Twenty One Pilots surprised me beautifully. I sure remembered their 2022 show, but somehow I thought that was it, and I’d mentally left this band in the past, no longer associating it with the present moment. So I casually arrived at the main stage with few expectations, and knowing maybe two or three tracks from their latest album. And I was left amazed. If you watched the reels from home, you’d probably think it was all about the eyecatching circus-like moments. But it wasn’t just the flashy microphone, or Tyler’s little parkour moment, or Josh’s back muscles while climbing the ladder, which now serves me as gym motivation. So quickly I’d forgotten how rich this band’s discography is. Twenty One Pilots defined a whole generation of weird, emotional kids, through one of the most eclectic journeys of their respective decade. They inspire me poetically before anything else, and that was a beautiful reminder. Although their concerts would probably deliver way better with a live band, the duo still carried the show well enough. Tyler’s voice and stage presence have grown in dynamism and power, and Josh now has a cute little verse he sings as well, and that worked beautifully! But besides all that, he sure did put on a drum show.

On Saturday I had this funny feeling. While watching Taraphonics live on the Main Stage, I felt the same way I did when I caught a few minutes of DJ Mă-ta’s set. I believe we wouldn’t have been showcasing manele at Electric Castle if it weren’t for Tommy Cash and his set from 2019. That event was living proof to me that being “ready for change” is a myth. Change is the opposite of homeostasis. It is tough and uncomfortable, and yet adjustments happen one way or another. The disruption from back then is the enjoyment of now. And the lack of tolerance becomes the recognition of Roma culture’s impact on the evolution of Romanian sound. I’m glad when change is for the better.

I felt the Sunday exhaustion hitting me, when I was preparing to see The Cure. My soles were callous and my eyelids were paperlike. A side of my face had been bitten by the spiders living under my temporary home. A warning sign, if you know the lyrics to “Lullaby.” 

Robert Smith, the crown jewel of rock and musical honesty, gave his all on stage for two long hours with an unfathomable amount of childlike joy. I would say that’s what happens in old age when you take your vitamins and cherish your wife. 

My heart was the size of the whole village, moaning and kicking the dry land. I was purely happy, as I felt absolved from all sins and personal tragedies, for even their sad songs were a joy to hear. I remembered how layered and piercing the Cure’s discography is, with post-punk edginess and harmoniously cinematic constructions. As my birthday was approaching soon, I remembered the desperate sounds of “Disintegration”, when Smith turned a near-psychotic fear of aging into something every poet would kill to have created themselves. 

I danced with my girls to “Just Like Heaven”, while tipsy on excitement and Screwball shots. The best thing to do during this track. The second-best would probably have been a psychotic make-out, but there is no such thing as a Type I perpetuum mobile. 

This concert was, to me, a statement for living in love and enjoyment. A kick in the back to push me forward into forgetting and forgiving. When it comes to this festival, as with many aspects of my life, I find myself planning things beforehand, from the first months of the year. I ponder and fantasize, while living in worry and predictions, as if my summer were a to-do list. But this is no way to live. This (as I mentally point to the Main Stage in that moment) is the way to live. 

However, abruptly to the point of no return, Monday I could fall apart. Tuesday, Wednesday… I didn’t even want to think about them. I packed up blindly and stuffed the car with the sweatiest laundry Bucharest was about to witness. I thought about the immense group of friends I’d managed to become a part of by now. About how fortunate I was to experience music alongside them, just to do it all again and again in the years to come. I came back to my capital senses, and to my day-to-day life. The outside world could wait. But my urge to be in the next crowd was impatient. 

“Crowd Diaries” is a series of heartfelt articles with the purpose of reviewing live music from a personal experience.

Text by Raluca Baciu
Photos by Iulia Valeria Vătui and Raul Bogdan