Despite multiple past attempts, last weekend’s Strawberry Fields was the first multi-day camping festival I experienced in full.
Within an hour, I’d already inhaled half the riverbank’s dust, learned the functions of a “doof cart”, and uncovered the horrifying mystery behind countless young punters with walking sticks. But by Friday evening, I understood why 95 per cent of this year’s 13,500 tickets sold before the lineup dropped.
Set on the sweeping banks of Dhungala (the Murray River) on Yorta Yorta Country, Strawberry Fields is now in its 16th year. The guidebook opens with a series of ‘Bush Commandments’, the first of which is simple: Respect the Land. You feel the weight of it immediately – in the ghost gums draped over the river, the ochre-toned dust that paints everything you own, thousands of stories beneath your feet. It’s an inherently spiritual place. Artists repeatedly acknowledge the land’s traditional custodians and encourage care, while workshops led by Yorta Yorta elders and creatives deepen the sense of place.
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And Strawberry really is a place. I knew it traded on immersion, but my first night venture through The Wildlands felt like stepping into someone else’s lucid dream. More than 20 new art installations joined the festival’s staples, with shimmering disco ball illusions, a shipping-container “rave cave” complete with faux door girl, and a bedazzled Telstra payphone that played sax-heavy funk when you lifted the receiver. Spread over 300 hectares, the grounds function as a whimsical adult playground.
After dark, stage projections and intricate light displays made new structures appear from nowhere. In one instance, a security guard quietly opened a set of wooden doors, camouflaged into a fence, revealing a softly lit path to a hidden Night Market town. Inside, lucky stumblers found jewellers, tarot readers, plant nurseries, and a maze-like treehouse.
The program itself was almost comically packed. Down by the river, you could drift between the riverside tea room, Aboriginal weaving workshops, ice baths and pampering at the Bush Spa, naturopathy classes, circus lessons, speed dating, drag, cabaret, comedy, an open-air cinema— the list goes on. This extensive range of activities meant every individual could customise their own ‘Strawberry experience’. At one point, I looked across the riverbank and saw a guided morning meditation at one end, while whipped cream canisters were inflating balloons down the other. A festival of multitudes.
Friday’s musical standout were Zambian psych-rockers WITCH (We Intend To Cause Havoc). Fronted by Emanuel “Jagari” Chanda, the 74-year-old is known for his charismatic stage presence, outlandish steeze, and nibbling through fruit during solos. The set began with a bite of lemon to “amp up”, a strawberry for the festival, and a banana, because we all need potassium. After being dobbed in by his band, the crowd sang him a warm Happy Birthday. When an audience member was pulled onstage to play accompanying cowbell, half the front row joined in with shakers and guiros that materialised from thin air. It was chaotic, invigorating, and the audience lapped up every second.
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Saturday’s heat pushed hordes of people to the river, where lifeguards patrolled both from land and jet-ski. The evening delivered a narrative twist, with Gilles Peterson unable to attend last minute, he worked with Strawberry to curate a three-hour ‘Worldwide FM’ takeover, featuring Milo Eastwood, Adriana, Sampology and Alex Intas rotating in 20-minute bursts. Together they wove a seamless blend of jazztronica, afrobeat, city pop, soul, disco, house and Latin grooves. Dancing and snapping digicam pics of each other mid-set, there were big smiles as the four steadily built one of the biggest crowds of the day. It was a joyous celebration of community and world music in tandem.
Then came midnight heartbreak, Kokoroko versus Interplanetary Criminal in an unfortunate scheduling clash. It was the only moment all weekend where the sound notably faltered, as IPC’s heavy UKG bass bled down the hill and drowned out Kokoroko’s signature horns and vocals. The London ensemble powered through with professionalism, but their frustration was visible. Meanwhile, IPC summoned the largest audience of the festival, despite the rain, with a tightly coiled, cigarette-in-hand set felt through the floor.
Sunday’s 30-degree scorcher posed a challenge, but Naarm/Melbourne duo No News cut straight through it with their fusion of electronic jazz, breakbeat drum precision, and tinges of hyperpop – all while wearing chain-mail hoods. The pair had a ball, continuing to energise the growing crowd despite the heat, with loud cheers as keyboardist/synth man Sonny Puglisi whipped out a tenor sax solo in their closing track.
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In tight competition against the incredible Lady Shaka, the festival finale belonged to Detroit Love. With Moodymann quietly absent, Carl Craig and DJ Stingray tag-teamed a two-hour techno masterclass, from industrial hard-edge to soulful, jazz-inflected house. Sporting a black balaclava, Stingray brought a sonic intensity that met Craig’s crowd-reading finesse. Routinely scanning the audience, he’d drop a vocal hook or tempo change when energy seemed to wane, pulling everyone back in before letting Stingray slam the accelerator. The pair toasted shots as Craig closed with a remix of Loleatta Holloway’s Love Sensation, fully reviving the frail day-three crowd.
As the sets ended, thousands wandered down to the river for one last swim at dusk, enjoying the festival’s brief quiet moment. Beyond the chaos, Strawberry goes above and beyond to stay community-minded and eco-conscious: composting toilets, carbon-offsetting programs, the Rewash Revolution reusable crockery system, 24/7 helper huts, DanceWize volunteers, and the first on-site pill-testing service at a multi-day Australian festival (catch up, Victoria). Free earplugs, sanitary items, breath tests—there’s even a dedicated locksmith for that one friend who managed to lock their keys in the car. It’s the safest, most considered I’ve ever felt at a public festival. The experience reignited my love of the Australian bush, even at its driest.
I hope to grace The Wildlands again soon.
