Upon my arrival at the Margitsziget main stage, I was greeted by two slightly traumatic events: the intense smell of onion and a loud group of slightly drunkish and obviously sunburned Brits. The two sensory attacks then united with said Brits consuming the source of the onion stench, namely the kenyérlángos which later proved to be the only meagre source of possible sustenance in the festival area. (For those not familiar with kenyérlángos, I suggest to keep away from it, but otherwise it might be described as a pointless Hungarian version of pizza, where the classic Italian topping is replaced with local delicacies such as bacon, sour cream and, yep, onion. With the accidental touch of garlic sauce, to spice things up a bit more.)
While I was trying to figure out whether a can of popular Dutch beer with a star on it would kill me (the answer is it almost did), I was also delving deep into the matter of why almost everyone around me is British. And then, totally sobered up by the ghastly taste of the above (not) mentioned beer, I realized that they’re there for Katy B. For Katy B always struck me as a totally British acquired taste. I am generally weak minded enough to adore NME’s much hyped bands, and Katy B constantly gets rave reviews from them. But although listening pretty carefully to both her albums, I could never really grow to like them. I guess the menacing mists of the channel stops Brits from really enjoying eurodisco and us from getting overboard about the island’s dance music.
This being said, I can’t really complain about the concert itself. I can even go as far as saying that I got to appreciate some of her tunes and must admit that they work very well live. It always helps when the artist seems genuinely delighted about the whole thing and Katy tried hard to get the crowd into the mood as well, which she mostly succeeded, though the time slot was a bit early-ish for partying. Okay, I know, to some no time slot is early/late for partying, so that’s not a completely valid reason, nor is the rain, which must have reminded the Brits of one of the lovelier days at Glasto. But when I finally made it home that night, I felt the definite urge to play those Katy B records that were gathering virtual dust in the virtual back of my music library. Which can only be a good sign, and not only virtually.