“Sap was die verkeerde antwoord.”
Because of my impulsiveness, I decided to wait until I was absolutely sure of what I felt about Appelsap before publishing raw thoughts, so I didn’t. I decided to write a whole new version, so I am fair in my report.
Without getting too deep in detail, I have decided to break this review into a few parts. Follow.
It was a warm and sunny day. We left Krommenie-Assendelft and headed to Amsterdam-Muiderpoort station, where the event was held: Oosterpark. During the walk to the venue, we saw beautiful architecture, interesting street (straat) names and signs and we thought the people were very beautiful. Every now and then, someone on a bicycle or motorcycle would pass you by with a gust of wind, but it was all good.
As we entered the park, we were introduced with hunter green hues and we followed the festival goers to the main entrance.
“This is attractive”, I thought.
I was enamored by the branding. If we’re being honest, that’s what attracted me to the event. Never let that happen to you. After checking in as press, we had to walk to the main entrance to buy a ticket for my mother. Yeah. Following the intense security search, chocolate milk thrown away and having to eat a banana that I wasn’t ready to eat, we were finally in. As far as the operation goes, I really liked their system of money collecting. You had to buy tickets in order to get food and drink. I figured that way it keeps all of the profit in one area. Intelligence.
When the American boys performed, it was live, however, not as live as what I am used to. It could not have been a language barrier, because Dutch people also speak English. Someone suggested it might have been the marijuana. I seriously doubt it.
The sound system at the main stage wasn’t the greatest. Let us just say, either I am a spoiled American or some spoiled Americans should help them with their sound system. The feedback did not sound too hot in person. However, on camera / coverage it is two million times better. See:
(Video coming soon or not)
Rather harrowing if you are an ordinary person who paid money to listen to the live sets.
Their food and drink at the festival was delicious: fresh and nicely seasoned. It was all well-done and easy to digest.
I was so close, I could have touched ScHoolboy Q’s scrotum pack, if I needed that kind of reputation. Other than that, the atmosphere was pretty “friendly”.
Smells of grass filled the air, medicinal and otherwise, a horticulturist’s wet dream.
I was scheduled for two interviews with artists who played at the festival. On the morning of the festival, I contacted the appropriate person that I was in contact with before arriving to let her know that I would be running late for my first interview. We were scheduled to get off of the train at the same time of my first interview. I knew that the walk from the train to the festival was a bit’s way from the train station, so that loss I am responsible for. However, my second interview was not handled properly. I waited at the main entrance for this person and they did not show up. We arrived fives minutes before 8pm, too. I told my other half to wait at the main entrance for me, in case she showed up late and I walked to the press entrance. She was not there either. She had to be paged. That took a while. Soon after, I was walked to the BBQ area, where I could not enter because of a certain wristband. The young lady went to the back to get her. Finally, she walked toward us and explained that the artist was now on stage — during the time that she booked the interview. She said that she is sure that I will not be able to do the interview any other time.
I grew pissed.
Not only am I not from around that neighborhood, I flew many hours to be in attendance. Whilst I am honored to have been selected to cover the festival, I became immensely bittersweet. I wanted to cry. Not only did I feel cheated. I was very disappointed. Very.
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