There’s a school of thought that you cannot comment on something unless you’ve experienced it. Well, I agree wholeheartedly. At the same time, when the invitation to travel to Snowbombing 2012 courtesy of Eristoff Vodka landed on my desk, I was slightly concerned that the words ‘Dave’, ‘Hanratty’, ‘snowboarding’ and ‘mountain’ might not quite fit together. Hell, there was only one way to find out. I was duly dispatched to the top of a mountain in Austria...

Snowbombing, a near week-long spectacular, is a special kind of festival. Sponsored by Volvo and supported by Eristoff Vodka, it brings together some of the world’s best dance acts in the not so sleepy little town of Mayrhofen. In a sense it’s more like a holiday than a festival – there’s an all-in price for packages to the town, including accommodation, which entitle you to see the gigs, participate in the snowboarding activity and generally have a
good time.
And so it was that your fearless HP correspondent stepped out on the piste on the first day, strapped in, braved the icy conditions, negotiated the tricky terrain and fell down a lot... before eventually nearly killing someone.
Unlike the cry of ‘Fore!’, that most gentlemanly of warning calls in golf, there is no proper social etiquette telling you what to do in the event of a runaway snowboard. “OHJESUSLOOKOUT!!” I roared as my now-unsecured board rocketed across the snowy terrain towards an unsuspecting chap, both our lives flashing briefly before my eyes. The sound of two boards colliding rang out like a gunshot and my unintended target slumped back, mercifully just about avoiding the cliff-drop in front of him – thus ensuring the narrative you are reading is contained between the pages of this fine publication and not in an Interpol report (incidentally, if you happen to be reading this, apologies once again, bud). That, you might say was just the start of it...

Rocking The Racket Club
Elsewhere in the snowy heights, as the week progressed there were igloo raves and other high-altitude shenanigans, including the strange sight of the fitness TV guru Derrick Evans, aka Mr. Motivator, conducting public exercise classes. But having nearly killed someone, I figured that discretion was the better part of valour and retreated to a saner, not to mention safer, altitude.
Back on terra not-quite-firma, I was able to soak up the atmosphere, as Snowbombing unfolded. Mixing warehouse-style bashes fronted by the likes of DJ Shadow, Example and Groove Armada in larger venues with more intimate fare in the form of up-close-and-personal DJ sets in comfortably confined spaces, there was always something worth catching.
The alpine air seemed to bring out the best in the heavyweights, with Shadow in particular clearly relishing the vibe. For the past two years, the Californian dance maestro’s set-up has seen him encased inside an ominous silver ball for the duration of his show – a mind-melting visual which was being given its last hurrah amid the snow of Austria. Knowing that he was coming to the end of a cycle, Shadow got personal, imploring the crowd to enjoy the occasion. It was a rare moment of human emotion, giving a genuine heart-beat to the show that will never be copied
and pasted.
Impressive as his set was, DJ Shadow proved to be just one of the many highlights. Indeed the four nights Hot Press spent amidst the revelry were full of magical moments that defied expectations. Example brought the packed Racket Club (not just a clever name, it’s normally reserved for tennis matches – what would its members make of this carnage?) to its knees with an array of retina-burning lights, skyscraping synths and a commanding performance from Mr. Gleave himself. That he prevailed so completely was rendered all the more impressive by the fact that his set followed a notably intense hour in the company of dubstep favourites Skream and Benga. Talk about leading by Example...

Making The Forest Dance
Many of the festival-goers travelled from the UK and Australia in search of thrills and spills. With fancy dress in vogue throughout the festivities, you quickly got used to the sight of skiiing Supermen and hungover Marvel characters shaking off their maladies as night followed day. Despite the constant partying, however, the overall mood at Snowbombing
was mellow.
The final night of the festival proper took us deep into the woods, for a good old-fashioned forest rave, courtesy of Eristoff Vodka, who pulled out all the stops to ensure that this year’s party went off with a bang. The gathering in the Eristoff Forest brought together a carefully-crafted mix of old and new-school rhythm, UK garage flava and blasts from the past. The amiable Mistajam put in a double shift on the decks, alongside star names Labrinth and Dizzee Rascal.
In theory, the job of a warm-up DJ is to get the crowd up, keep them going and provide a buffer without stealing the spotlight. In the packed forest, however, Mistajam had other, hugely welcome ideas, the pinnacle of which recalled the glorious, never to be forgotten days of Top 30 Hits as the BBC Radio 1 hitman rolled out ‘The Launch’, ‘Toca’s Miracle’, ‘Sandstorm’, ‘9pm (Til I Come)’ and other pleasures that, while guilty, sure as shootin’ hit all the right notes.
With the crowd turned to putty in Mistajam’s hands, all Labrinth had to do was show up, but the 23-year-old is an ambitious showman, on the cusp of greatness. Collborations with Tinie Tempah and fellow Snowbomber Wretch32 may seem par for the course for an up-and-coming MC, but Labrinth’s strength is his conviction, a trait that sets him apart in the live arena. On this evening, the forest was his playground, the crowd following his every move, feeding off his energy, delighted to witness a talent primed to explode.
As darkness fell and trees lit up, an air-raid siren announced the presence of the headlining Dizzee Rascal, who opted to take to the stage with living, breathing friends as opposed to a gimmicky hologram. Dizzee had the big stage bouncing with crowd-pleasers like ‘Fix Up, Look Sharp’, ‘Sirens’ and the inevitable ‘Dance Wiv Me’ and ‘Bonkers’. The most lovable of rogues, he left everyone with a big grin attached to their faces.
As the dust settled on a turbo-charged few days, one wondered what Mayrhofen feels like, when it’s not besieged by snowsuit-clad adrenaline junkies. One local smiled wistfully and proclaimed that it would become a ghost town overnight. His gaze moved towards the very same mountain that this writer failed so spectacularly to navigate before he declared, simply, “You’ll be back.”
I wouldn’t bet against it.