Review: Elize Strydom

[Photo: Stuart Blythe]
There comes a point during the festival – usually when you’re trudging through the mud towards the Mojo tent to get a good possie for that band you can’t believe you’re about to see – when you get the blues. For the past few days you’ve existed inside a bubble of banjos, harmonicas, dust bowl/mud pit dancing, university cigarettes, gumboots, ferris wheels, Hare Krishna fare and music from across the globe. You’ve been wrapped up in a place where Crossroads, Mojo and Jambalaya (and maybe the port-a-loos) are the only destinations you need to remember. All of a sudden you realise it will all go up in smoke tomorrow. You’ll have to pull down your tent and sit in a traffic queue for an hour before you get to the highway and start your journey back to reality. I guess that’s why people come back again and again; to get another injection of the magic.
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