Land of Kings Festival Proved Dalston Is Not Dead Yet

Photos by Christopher Bethell.

The last time Land of Kings descended upon Dalston it was amid a universal consensus that E8 had finally succumbed to gentrification and should be left to slowly suffocate in the limp, clammy grasp of Harry Styles and co. And when the multi-venue festival didn’t then reappear in 2014, it was taken as just one of a surfeit of signs that the dream of a Dalston free from corporate suits, where creatives could pet their rabbits, was officially over. Yet, defying the odds, a resurgent Land of Kings announced it would ride again in 2015, and anyone left in East London with a decent taste in music rejoiced. So I sacrificed my Sunday marathon of Millionaire Matchmaker to take a trip across the river in the hope of discovering whether Dalston had taken a leaf out of your divorced Mum’s book (‘Salsa on Tuesdays, Zumba on Thursdays!’) and found a whole new lease of life.

Performing at our very own Noisey takeover of Birthdays, Chløë Black was the first definite highlight. Her look was Wednesday Addams meets Kim Kardashian, liberally dripping charisma all over the stage, knocking back whiskey and shooting coy glances at punters through her Bambi-wide eyes. “Y’all are drunk motherfuckers in the corner” she drawled to a group of girls who were on a Tiger Tiger scale of shitfaced. By the end of the set though, everyone was on a level pegging and begging for an encore as Black finished up with Yeezy’s douchebag anthem "Runaway". Yes, it was glorious.

Continued below.

Left with sky-high spirits, following Ultrademon’s set, I lost it and blew my last fiver on another vodka lemonade. "Fuck it", I thought, "youth is a precious gift and I shouldn’t be wasting mine sober." My endorphins were pulsing and a warm buzz was pooling in my stomach. I was ready for Luger to bring it. And oh my word did he. Despite not actually touching the decks once, ‘The Lex Luger Experience’, as his DJ and hypeman dubbed it, was pure, raging fire from start to finish, eliciting the sort of insane crowd energy usually found at Danny Brown gigs. Sauntering on to the bombastic "H. A. M." instrumental Luger’s first act was to puff and pass the massive joint he was holding to those of us watching who lacked the artistic privilege of openly smoking dope in clubs. Then he went in.

From here I found the energy somewhere to stick around for Noisey’s patented grime karaoke, this time featuring OGz member Jendor, joined by Jammz and Row D who proceeded to burn up the stage for the smart patrons who’d seen the showcase through to the end. Twenty minutes later, I had spurned the advances of an elderly man ("Come to mine love, I’ve got heating" – the mating call of a real Gentleman) and was reflecting on my fragmented day. From about 9pm onwards, the acts had been killer and there's a sense that Land of Kings might not even need Dalston anymore. The gorgeous-looking, Carhartt sponsored audience would have flocked to any part of London for this sort of line up. Give it two years and fests like this may well have re-located themselves in Peckham, with venues like Bussey and Canavan’s hosting reclusive bedroom producers and rising Soundcloud beatmakers.

That said Land of Kings gave us a bank holiday to remember, flitting between sites, or committing to one showcase, Dalston certainly had a buzz on. I will probably best remember this via one short, but profound, conversation I had during Lex Luger. During thumping remixes of "Don’t Waste My Time" and "Know Me From", rolling one after another, a sweet little blonde girl with a trilby perched precariously on her head yelled something in my ear. “WHAT?” I shouted back. “I SAID… I’VE NEVER BEEN TURNT LIKE THIS BEFORE,” she bellowed, wearing a slightly fearful expression. “I USUALLY DON’T GO IN.”

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