Editorial

It’s probably best to visit a festival solely through one’s imagination. If the food tastes bad, or if you’re kneedeep in mud, you can just move along. On a high horse galloping over mistakes and pastures. Sometimes you’ll land in a bar where everything has remained the same. Be slow, be real, and be different. Odours linger. Dear educated citizens, dear family mem- bers of pop-music-fans, dear uninterested, it is very stimulating and an absolute privilege to break the serenity of your surroundings with noise and dance. Some give it their all; nothing else matters here apart from life itself. Our KILBI virtually loves anyone who parties with her.

KILBI is an old shoes music festival. Au bord de la merde, where the colour of the sky changes every five minutes, where the fence is merely there to hold the gate in place, and where the villagers can’t think of anything else other than what people might think. That’s exactly where we are: in total possession of our own madness. As long as all the three legged and feral cats with their four per cent vision can take part in it, then we have successfully put gentrification back in its place.

And again with edition No. 27 we have music from the most diverse niches in our assortment. The Stoner-Doom artpiece SLEEP is monumentally and heftily perched next to Rap and Beats from PRINCESS NOKIA or THIS IS NOT THIS HEAT. The techno-attack of the hilarious JACQUES is genius. ANGEL OLSEN enchants and OOIOO lays down the beats for this spectacle. OLIVER COATES from the London Sinfonietta rules the dance floor and the killer-glam-rock band KING GIZZARD AND THE LIZARD WIZARD are using two drum sets and four guitars as their motor. African dance, post-punk, borderline love songs, strobe lights, dub, kraut, repetitive and precise drum-thunderstorms take us over blurred soundscapes and end in the most beautiful melodic loops.