Indie Paradise: London’s All Points East In Conversation with Dan Whitlam
The sun retreats behind a thick cloud in Victoria Park with the dust just beginning to settle. Hundreds of footprints mark a distinctive path, all leading towards All Points East. Featuring Mitski as the headliner, alongside artists like Ethel Cain, Beabadoobee, Suki Waterhouse, and Men I Trust, this was the perfect way to spend a Sunday.
Having never been to Victoria Park before, we stepped out of the number 8 bus completely disoriented. At that point, we no longer needed our phones to guide the way as we followed a herd of people wearing jorts, white skirts, cowboy boots, and yellow security vests. This festival lineup definitely drew a kindred crowd that we were elated to be part of. Once inside the venue, there was only one choice to make… which one of five stages would we be planting ourselves on for the next couple of hours? This was summer in East London.
Immediately as you pass the pearly white gates (the security barriers), a religious experience awaits: the performance of Ethel Cain. Her music, deeply inspired by religious themes, resonates with a messiah-like presence that captivates her followers. The anticipation builds as her 5:35pm start time approaches, each passing second thick with suspense. She arrives with a gentle smile on her face, a silence falling over the crowd as she wraps her black latex gloves around the microphone. The backdrop of “Dust Bowl” plays, showing her solitary figure wandering through a deserted countryside—a modern-day prophet in rural America. The imagery, paired with the raw vulnerability in her voice, transforms the performance into a sermon of sorts. Throughout her set, she pauses multiple times to ensure the well-being of her audience, making sure that they have enough water. In this blend of haunting vocality and Americana, Ethel Cain delivers a performance that is nothing short of spiritual.
Beabadoobee then waltzed onto the stage, her excitement palpable as she stepped out, fresh off the success of her new #1 UK album, “This is How Tomorrow Moves.” The crowd had swelled, with fans from the West Stage flocking over to catch a glimpse of her. This album marked a departure from her usual sound, embracing the nostalgic vibes of early 2000s music. Dressed in a black, floral dress—a gift from her boyfriend that she shyly confessed to the crowd—she radiated warmth and authenticity. As the final song began, she playfully urged everyone to jump as high as they could, and with that, the crowd erupted in unison, a shared moment of pure, infectious vitality. By the time Mitski came on stage, people had already been there for 7 hours. However, the energy still remained as the audience sang their souls out to “I Bet on Losing Dogs.” What was left was rather poetic, as the crowds were entranced by the single spotlight delicately placed on her. Although there were still attempts to rush to the front of the crowd, many had decided to observe from afar and chosen a spot to sit. In this instance, there was space to dance freely. Couples held hands, friends shared lyrics, and the vibration of the music travelled through each of our bodies.
Apart from the performances, I had the honour of interviewing Dan Whitlam who played the East Stage.
Daria Slikker: What initially drew you to becoming a singer and performer?
Dan Whitlam: I went to Guildhall School of Drama and Music in London and initially, I did not know what I wanted to do with life. I think a lot of people in their teenage years or early twenties have a quarter-life crisis where they face this dilemma. We’re inundated with options and social media doesn’t help in how we’re expected to be millionaires by 18. I’ve always liked acting but then during my drama school time, we were given the task of writing a poem about something that happened to us. I chose to write about being stabbed at 16 in London which was then taken on by the BBC. I then started putting things out on social media and have done so for the past two years.
What were your initial thoughts after the stabbing that led you to express yourself in this vulnerable way?
Anyone who goes through a traumatic event knows that you would like to make peace with it, without having PTSD. For me, it was a period of two years where I was afraid to leave the house. It was only through performing the poem that I was able to distance myself from this event. This allowed me to look at it from an outside pair of eyes and now I don’t even see it as me when I perform it. It’s like those chapters in your life that are in the past and gone.
You talk a lot about the spoken word and performing poetry, where do you see it going in the future?
Films like 22 Jump Street perpetuate a version of spoken word which I don’t believe accurately represents it. Poetry can either be something so colloquial and old that we can’t even touch it, or, it almost has to be a political statement piece. I do love that, but can’t poetry just be about feeling bad one day, with rhyme allowing me to access something deeper? The community has gotten so much bigger with Instagram and TikTok, or Rupi Kaur who became a global best-seller. It’s turning into something I love and I’m so happy to be in the scene during this period. I hated the name “spoken word” as I associated it with slam poetry and for me, when you’re doing a poem, it can be rap without a beat.
How do you find that you can make a balance between your poetry being understood whilst also having that hidden layer of depth to it?
I think the subject matter needs to be relatable. Regardless of class and where you are from, things like love, loss, memory, and growing older all affect us. I like to base my work around what it’s like to be 19 or 20 and going into your 30s - that worrying stage of finding yourself but also trying to please others. When I write, I tend to make the subjects centred around that. That is also why I would not write political pieces. I agree that if you have a platform, you should make a stand, but I just don’t know how I’d place myself in those conversations.
Have you had any influences from other artists? If so, how would you say they’ve affected you?
Massively. Fundamentally, all my love for literature came from this underground scene of rap from people like Loyle Carner, and Little Simz. These lyricists who have cornered a section of the industry for themselves. It’s not pop but it’s slowly becoming bigger. You see the Mercury Awards being dominated by people like Berwyn and these other amazing artists. As it started with Bob Dylan, these lyrics are all just poems in a way. I think inspiration is a bit like smoke… if you don’t catch it in the moment, it’s gone.
As crowds slowly prepared to leave, there were whispers of how much of a success this event had been. This festival would not have been possible without all of the security who made sure everyone was safe or those who lended a helping hand. I’d also like to thank the staff from The Outside Organisation who helped liaise with artist interviews on the day. After checking the health app, we could see that a new step trend had definitely been broken after having travelled from stage to stage, but I cannot wait to hopefully do it all again next year.
Edited by Oisin McGilloway
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