T IN THE PARK: Backstage at festival is a different world
By Jamie Lafferty

Standing among the tired, huddled masses in the middle of a nasty rain shower at T in the Park it's easy to fantasise what luxury lies beyond the stage. In reality, backstage really isn't as ostentatious as you would imagine, it's just that the people lounging about are the likes of the Kaiser Chiefs, former F1 racing boss Eddie Jordan (here with his own band) and other representatives of the rich and famous.

Each act has a rider, a list of requests to make them comfortable before their performance. While these can be simple things, such as photos of their family, they can occasionally lurch towards the bizarre. In years gone by, one singer-songwriter requested a monkey (not allowed at T in the Park because of farming laws) for purposes undefined. Another asked for an obscure type of Jamaican bread to be baked specially and, to his disbelief, catering company Popcorn successfully produced it on the day.

One backstage worker insists this is all a ruse to check the thoroughness of the organisers; if they don't read a list demanding a bowl full of blue M&Ms, what's to say they'll bother to read instructions on how to set up the stage properly? Still, it's hard to believe that mischief isn't the true motivation for the outlandish demands.

Around the corner from the artists' area lies the green room, which is dry, roomy and relaxed. Among several little touches to keep the talent happy, there's the Rainbow Room, a hairdresser where many of the stars will be tended to just before going on stage. Rumours that extra hairdressers have been drafted in to sculpt Amy Winehouse's beehive today appear to be unfounded.

There are games too - lots of games. Where once inter-band grudges would have been settled in the car park, now they can be resolved on a PlayStation 3.

There's also a free bar. Ordering a drink is a man with tight jeans and an all-too-trendy haircut - he's almost certainly in a band, but which one? Unfortunately, owing to an oversight with the design of the passes, the relevant information is dangling just above his crotch and finding out is a dangerous game I'm not quite willing to play.

Further back from the main stage sits the artists' catering, also provided by Popcorn. The menu here is a world away from the greasy fare served up by the army of burger vans out front.

We head to the famous T Break stage to meet up and coming Glasgow four-piece The Down And Outs before their evening show. In terms of importance, this will be the band's biggest gig to date, but the atmosphere in their Portakabin (which is comparatively small, but has a fridge full of refreshments) is akin to a football dressing room pre-match and excitement easily outweighs dread.

After a quick television interview, it's into the tent to get ready for the show. At this early stage in their careers, their enthusiasm is infectious. Monkey demands seem a long way off.

As they make their festival debut, I flex my roadie muscles for the first time. I'm given instructions to take the guitar rack to the other side of the stage. While initially concerning myself with not falling over any equipment or dropping the instruments, I suddenly realise I'm standing on stage at T in the Park. The initial buzz quickly subsides though, and suddenly it feels like I'm having a classic anxiety dream: I'm on stage, the crowd is staring at me and I have absolutely no idea what to do. Thankfully someone offstage shouts my name and I shuffle back to the wings where I take in the band's performance.

The tent has filled for The Down And Outs. The front row seems to be populated almost exclusively by young girls, many of whom know the lyrics to their songs. The band take all this in their stride, trotting out a lively 60s-inspired set which, if measured by the number of flying cups (the T in the Park way of saying "You rock!"), the crowd loves. At one point lead singer Clark disappears into the swell of bodies only to re-emerge with a new hat. The punters lap it up, more cups rain down.

The Down And Outs may be right in front of me, but they're a million miles away.