Last week, while my Blackbridge colleagues’ collective liver was visibly twitching at the prospect of the annual trip abroad, I packed my bags and headed for the exit. Not as a tactic to swerve the company of my delightful co-workers you understand, but to Serbia, where for the second year running I was to attend the Exit festival.

For the past 9 years, Exit has been held in Novi Sad, Serbia’s third largest town. But unlike the bleak British festivals that seem to be multiplying faster than rats in a Viagra factory, there’s no damp fields and dung-dodging to be had here. The festival is held in the Petrovaradin fortress on the banks of the Danube, an imposing site that dates back to the 1st century and looks out over the entire town. This, along with temperatures that are almost as hot as the local ladies (around 38 degrees on one day), makes it about as far from the corporate misery-swamp than is Glastonbury as it’s possible to get. Having learned my lesson from the previous year, I’d left the tent at home (trying to sleep in a canvas oven is an experience I’d rather not repeat) and along with 4 friends booked a nice air-conditioned apartment in the town centre. Around 15,000 Brits had apparently also made the trip, and with beer not exceeding more than 100 Dinar (that’s 1 shiny English pound to you and me), the potential for carnage was pretty high.

Although, it wasn’t really. For the entire week I was out there, not once did I see any of the traffic-cone-on-head, pissing in the street, ENGGG-ERRRR-LUNNNDD cringe worthy behaviour that usually follows our countrymen abroad. Exit is different from the more traditional festivals in that the diversity of the music on offer means that everyone is there to explore new sounds and have a good time while keeping an open mind. Inside the site, walking from the top of the fort to the bottom is like a long descent from refinement to madness. Each night, thanks to a fluttered eyelash and flash of cleavage from my friend Tina, we managed to get into the VIP cocktail bar and relax with a few ‘Challenges’ (vodka, white rum, absinthe, orange juice and some other forgotten ingredients) while listening to some rather soothing jazz. Take a step outside, and you come to the dub / reggae stage, perfect for lounging in the late evening with a few beers. Which is what we did for all of the four nights. Make your way down through the tunnel that links the upper fort to the main festival site though, and the tempo starts picking up. Small stages are dotted everywhere, with full line-ups of everything from Romanian gypsy-punk to Latino salsa, to the sort of death metal you might expect to find in the Eastern bloc, to the obligatory euro house.

But it’s at the main stage where the real action happens. As you walk into the field, you’re greeted by imposing speaker stacks and huge video screens and a sea of people packed into every corner. Getting to the bar is no easy feat but despite this, the Tuborg flowed freely. Over the next four days, the main stage hosted N*E*R*D’s unique brand of hormone hip-hop porno-rock (quite entertaining if a little cheesy), followed by the Streets’ cockney moan-fest on the Thursday night. The festival doesn’t really get going until around midnight, so once the more festival friendly bands finish, the main stage is given over to Djs, playing until well after the sun is up. Night one saw Noisia’s industrial drum & bass followed by DJ Hype’s jump-up jungle. Friday night was the strongest line up, with Paul Weller kicking off proceedings, followed by Primal Scream who were pretty amazing, never letting up from the frantic pace they kicked off with for the full 90 minutes. Followed by Roni Size and Reprazent, staying still wasn’t really an option. If you’ve heard of dubstep, chances are you’ve heard of Skream and Benga. Their ribcage shaking brand of bass heavy party tunes kept everyone moving until the sun was well up, and was probably my highlight of the entire weekend. Saturday had gypsy nutters Gogol Bordello opening proceedings followed by Manu Chao and High Contrast, before Sunday night’s closing line up of the Sex Pistols (who were pretty awful to be honest), and Shy FX’s usual reggae-tinged jungle to see the sun rise for the final time over the giant main stage.

Further into the site, and you come to the Dance stages. Now I’ve been to quite a few of the dance music festivals in this country (Global, Homelands, Creamfields et al), and I can safely say I’d never seen anything like this. There’s none of the sweaty wide-eyed fake camaraderie that this sort of thing usually brings, and despite not really being a fan of the deep progressive house / techno that I heard coming from the giant speaker stacks, I defy anyone to walk past that field as the sun comes up to see 25,000 people still dancing their socks off, and not get a little shiver down the spine.

I realise I’ve rambled a bit with this post. And as it’s taken me nearly a week to get this writte, it was actually nearly 2 weeks ago that I left these shores. But no matter – it all boils down to this; go to Exit. In fact, just go to a European festival. Believe me, if you’re disillusioned with the sub-standard overkill that has become the UK festival circuit, it will give you renewed passion for all things musical. Although, I am going to Bestival in September. Bring it on. See you down the front.

Exit 08 (mostly in serbian)