At the end of November, the UK Festival Awards will name 2009’s victors in what will be a rare instance of democracy failing. There’s no dispute about which is the best festival in the country, or even the world – nothing can touch All Tomorrow’s Parties. Held at either Minehead’s Butlins or Camber Sands’ Pontins since 1999, bands such as Mogwai, Sleater-Kinney and Slint have curated the line-up, as will the newly reformed Pavement next May. Over the past decade, “All Tomorrow’s People” – from renowned cinematographer Vincent Moon to fans – have been lovingly documenting the escapades of spectators and bands alike, brought together in this heartwarming keepsake film from Warp.

Butlins and Pontins are like domestic gulags, but under an influx of beardy music lovers and a layer of fuzzy film, the documentary has the power to make them look nothing short of iconic – archive footage of marionettes set to Battles’ ‘Atlas’ is Grand Guignol for a Pitchfork crowd, Beth Ditto howling in a spectator’s face has all the white noise fervour of a deranged street preacher, and Animal Collective’s dynamic appearance is a faded souvenir of when they used to live up to their carnal nomenclature.

“It’s a festival for people who are seriously into the same kind of music,” a fan is overheard saying. It’s true – what sets ATP apart from other festivals is a total lack of conflict – go to Glastonbury and the genuine music fans are second to Grazia readers who’ve heard that wellies and jumpsuits are a good look, and even “boutique” festivals can at times grate with the arguably incompatible mix of families and hedonists.

ATP’s not like that – everyone’s there with the same agenda, often to see legendary bands coaxed out of hiatus by organiser Barry Hogan, and always to escape to a strange little corner of the country to dick around doing gymnastics off the balconies and hurtling down pathways in luggage cages.
Old footage of nuclear families visiting the holiday camps during their heyday is interspersed with the more modern scenes, and it’s easy to laugh at how comically quaint they look until you realise that in 30 years, your grandkids will watch this film and chuckle at the primitiveness of nan and grandad’s idea of fun. I look forward to that day.

Susana Pearl