Spike Island

at Electric Picnic

 

 

 

 

 

Spike Island, an elevated swamp hut that squats in the marshlands, lies just beyond the Salty Dog. 

It is hostile terrain, but Spike Island is ready. Hewn of drift-wood, with a defensive shell of hedgehog spines camouflaged by pond-weed, ditch-vines, elephant grass and soupy leech-sludge - the only way in is the raised walkway.  

Inside: inside is for huddling around the music - folk, trad, cajun, seisiúns of slip-jigs, creole field-hollers, Delta blues chants, beardy men playing paradiddle on a piccolo snare. Those fond of a jig may jig; those who just want to lean in closer to the smell of the mandolin-man can do so too.

Late late into the night, you'd find Old Boy Meaney setting a match to the barrel-fires, and starting a bit of a song. 

Spike Island. Once you are in, its hard to get out.

Bearded dancing men and sirens of song or string: If you think your music really truly fits this description, we would be happy to hear from you about performing: [email protected]