Wed Aug 5 - 3:08ahappy
Purerave - for ravers and partiers

Jul 16 - Jul 22/WEMF 2006

10 reviews
Monday February 04, 2008 - 3:16 PM


God, I loved it.
At one point I was tring to find a washroom, got lost, found myself on a hill, was trying to get down it, tripped over a barbed wire fence, was hanging upside down while it slowly ripped my pants off... My new pants... But it wasn't so bad. I pulled myself up, got down, bleeding from my leg and all, and found a washroom eventually. Hahaha
NASTY washrooms.. REAL nasty.
Beach area not too big, lol and I had a ton of trouble trying to pull myself up on the dock, my friend kept either pulling me down, or pushing me off.
K, well, it was a really great place, though I've never been to another WEMF before, it was amazing, wonderful people, met new friends, drank lots of beer.. All day and night.. Haha Only problem was the showering thing, but a nice dip in the lake was good enough for me. Oh, and the washroom... ugh. Nightmares. I swear.

Friday November 23, 2007 - 1:59 AM


well honestly this party is mixed feelings for me...but i have never been to rave/indie concert b4 that rocks minus almost being raped haha...but i think the best was being suddenly lost and stuck in the mud and loving it...that was fun unlike our friends haha


Wednesday March 28, 2007 - 8:10 PM


woot cant wait to july for the next one its gonna be madness!!!!!!

Wednesday December 27, 2006 - 12:45 AM


WEMF fuckin rocked harder then ever before!!!
Orangeville what!!!! Tweed the true home for the hardcore.
Jungle area was like walkin into a different world all together.
The Jimmy Swift band was the greatest new act i have seen in years. 80's runway model pure gold.
Great music, hot girls, insane convo's.
It seemed like the laws of probability had taken a vacation and that anything could and did happen.
We got through that giant wood pile
memorable quote "you guys are all Canadian right? well what i'm tryin to do is build a giant mutherfuckin fire ok, good who's with me?
Almost lost both my friends, one to an OD and the other to a nervous breakdown. Long story dont ask. see Masked Ape for details. and for surviving while teaching the world i have been dubbed "The Professor."

Tuesday October 17, 2006 - 12:51 AM


im honestly not even gonna begin to try to review wemf.
i want to go back so fucking badly.
i cant believe i only went to the jungle stage once.

Monday October 16, 2006 - 4:28 PM


ist WEMF what else can i say. well i guess i can say that there were plenty of sketchbags but if you look pass them the music was amazing, the light shows were amazing, the unsketched people were amazing, the vendors were amazing, and security was chillin.

Friday October 13, 2006 - 10:36 PM



Tuesday October 03, 2006 - 8:26 PM


had a fuckin blast
it was way better then 05
this time there was actual shade...
it rained a little but that didnt deter anyone from having a good time
i really liked that most of the stages were outside cause then it wasnt so hot going to them..

the only thing that sucked was that the music stopped fri night at like 11 or something..but there was enough people that set up theyre own mini stages everywhere that there was still some music to jam to

all in all 5stars smile

Saturday September 30, 2006 - 1:45 AM


Loved the venue
Everytime I went for a walk it was an adventure<3
Great vibes this year, amazing music
<3'd the people. <3'd the weather

I had an amazing time at WEMF this year.

Tuesday September 26, 2006 - 8:54 PM


The sun was setting on the horizon as the random candy kid made an energetic dash across the poor local's cow pasture. Her outburst raised the spirit's of the cattle in their cars, producing random whoops which echoed like a snare drum.

There was three of again this time. That time of year had come again. Time for nihilistic fancy-free among the unwashed masses, and we were all game for it. Or so I thought. Behind the wheel was the Professor, dressed in Oakley sunglasses and a dozen times washed wifebeater. In the back, the rookie, a tall, Irish, Celtics jersey wearing type with a chip on his shouder the size of James Joyce. And of course myself, your narrator, riding shotgun and thumbing a white cardboard mask I'd recieved from a Japanese collegue at school.

A decent crew on paper.

Due to poor planning and even poorer advances in technology as far as cars playing burnt cds, we found ourselves scanning through the local potpourri of radio stations. Enter the Who and "Teenage Wasteland". I found I still liked the song even though I was no longer a teenager. Serves me right.

But jump to hours later and we finally hit the big time of the front of the line. The flatfoots at the gate apparently could sense no evil in us and sent us right through. A stroke of good luck to start the weekend was seen at the time as good karma, whatever the fuck we needed karma for I don't know. However the real waiting began as we circled around the grounds looking for a nice tree to take shelter under, and we found it nicely in the woods next to a four foot tall gangsta and his crew.

But there was no time to exchange pleasantries, the hunt was on and fun pills were our prey, and after a quick tour of the premises and a rundown of how things work for the Irish, we found ourselves getting level from the van we followed all the way into to smooze.

The candy was in and the mask was on, so off to the Hardcore room to sweat alittle of it out. All your favourites were there, from the dyed blue dreds to the oversized hammer pants, finally I felt at home. But after getting lost in only a few beats, the Irish began his assualt of the wet blanket and demanded that we move on.

So on to the live bands and the "rock and roll" hand signs. I was just beginning to perspire under my mask, something that would get very familar to it. I took leige at the front of the stage, right against the rail, expecting to take in the equivalent of an above average bar band.

I took a sip of beer.

Then out they came, adorned in masks such as mine. The Jimmy Swift Band managed to stop all of my thoughts of the moment of highstepping over to the trance stage by giving me one the best sets since they invented silicone. Fine, turn this rave into a bandshow. Fine, make my $70 paid for in an hour. Fuck yous, why don't you fill up the previously ghosts-only band area and show the kids that its ok to be there.

I digress, and continue by going dancing. I pose for some pictures with some fans of the surreal for a time, debate the practical and existential issues of wearing a mask with others, then retreat to the car to pick up the Gibson's and our lawn chairs. It's time to be socialble, to mingle with the other pant-faring apes who have a taste for wine and the like. We walk, but don't walk far...

In the sandiest area of a very sandy place, by a pile of wood that became a metaphor for human consumption, we found a campfire enclosed by caution tape that seemed like as good a place as any for debate, jokes, and cigarettes. The two tending the fire seemed drunk, and judging from the pile of beer cans haunting the ring of caution tape, they were.

The Irish began to turn at this point, receding into his mind only about five hours in. His paranoia at this point was mearly jovial, his asinine reactions to common query mearly a running joke. The drunks went as far to try to break into his mind and show him pieces of it, opening the floodgates for a future system crash...

But not too much too soon, or at least we thought not as much.

Well, the weed was now out, and the randoms began flowing in, but never for more then a moment. A nice consordium of wellwishers to be sure.

While waiting for more smoke to sketch me out even further, I heard some loud, boistorous yelling coming from my rear. Through the drugs and cigarette smoke, I could make out some girl wearing pants that a retired Snowbird in Florida would bet the farm on, and who I believed to be the lead singer of the New Radicals. My mask fucked their universes up, so they came to say hello, but ended up staying awhile.

I learned a few things in that next four hours. Little things, like shouting Nietzche quotes randomly could be fun, how someone can be the definition of "Got Money", how I can't fall into calling my child wee, little Nine Inch Nails or Porno For Pyros to show how hardcore I am, or how much Irish really didn't like himself. Or big things, like how to handle a 6'5" bear carrying half of the trees they culled from the rainforest looking to start "a giant fire" right next to you and the niche you've carefully carved for yourself at these stranger's campfire. Or learning to say no after he convinces you with a gem like: "Is everyone Canadian here? Yeah? Well, pretty much the idea is is that I'm gonna take all this wood and build a giant fire... right here."

It broke my masked heart.

Enter for the remainder of my hours there a couple with a digital camera, who proceded to take images that truely captured the heart of the matter. We were lost in an absurdist's dream, riding a wave of lunacy rivalled only by my crippling need for cigarettes.

Finally, one by one the ants retreated back to which they came, and the fire died a lonely death. It was time to lick our wounds, or at least attempt to go down forcibly with the smooth taste of Gibson's. It was time to put the Irish to bed, for he was making the locals nervous now, his tiny Irish eyes paraniod and judging. The Professor kept his cool, propping the tent and attempting to put the giant to bed.

The sun rose as some light rain came, and Saturday would prove to be the main event. The DJ's went to sleep, but some of the kids didn't, and the world focused on turning one more time.

“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.” - Oscar Wilde

Sleeping in a car is always precarious. Especially when you attempt to sleep during the morning sun. And more so when you've ingested enough foreign happiness to down a lesser breed of dog.

And even more so when the girl with pink hair peers in your car and sends the fear of God through you.

Regardless, through the sweat, the Professor and I craved our own niche in this country oasis. Nothing could stop us now, we'd get a quick power nap in before heading to the frontlines to relieve the troops already dug in.

My body had other plans. It wanted to live in this moment forever, in a non-stop continuity that begged for a bad ending. My logic was is that if I went to bed I would wake up a different person, erasing all of the nihilistic chaos I had pressed into my reality, my ego.

Got to get up. Got to solider on. Got to live.

Out of the car with the tall Irishman. Out into the desert of the real, out into the sands. Luckily, we run into a man we met the night before, and refilled our rations to keep us going for another four to five hours in the very least.

While the sun was out, very little made sense. The tiny gangsta to our immediate right to our camp was having quite the day though. His stock had been hoodwinked by one of his "crew", creating quite the scene for every wayfarer and vagrant that stopped by. His frothing little mouth injected thoughts of another time and place, where bitches got slapped, and bitches be dead for such flagerant fouls.

But finally the sun went down after we waited for word from the lead singer of the New Radicals to send word on Laughing Gas. I guess the joke was one us.

However, it was time to hit stages and more product. Time to buy glowsticks and become the Green Lantern. Time to get my mask back in action for the kids. The mask had a life of its own at this point, having conversations with people as I stood by silent and sweating. It broke many in mid-conversation. Good for it, the cocky bastard.

The Irish was troubling by this point. His fear and paranoia wee beginning to become an issue, as the populus was now proceding to turn on him. His curious and unsure nature was now straining relations among the other tribes, causing a small current of anxious setiment from all those around him.

The Professor and I decided it may be a good time to put him to bed.

So we did.

And went dancing. Well, my legs were so tired by this point I had to take a breather and just use my arms.

But, the Professor powered me on.

Got to get up. Got to solider on. Got to live.

So up we get. Stash the lawnchairs and party. Huzzah. It felt as though the kids had all decided to play the "Molecule" game, moving in bunches, filled with kinetic engergy.

Surely now I was the surpreme being. Or nothingness. Or both if you're French.

However, all Sarte aside, converstations and dancing was furious, and ignoring the odd odd appearence of the Irish, whom we had thought was nestled safely in the tent, we marched on. The happy was at a fever pitch at this point, and we just kept taking in more. After a wizard gave us some hearts at the hardcore room, we retired to the fire of the night before to try and spark the fire of the night before.

The pile of wood was chewed into one-eighth its size now. The ants had picked it down to size. All our old favourites were there parading, including some new faces. All of their names escape me. Well, except for the Professor. I was quite unsure of myself at this point. The Mask had become its own entity, replacing my ego with a mind of its own. Slowly but surely the masses no longer addressed me, but "it". I was detached. I was alone.

I needed one more.

I found it, and the craving stopped.

It was replaced but what I can only describe as the most painfull and frightening surges of energy my body has ever expierenced. My body began to recoil against itself.

I looked at the Professer, "I'm in trouble."

I hit the ground and began what can only be described as self CPR. I regulated my breathing in order to maintain a steady flow of oxygen in my blood, which at this time I was unsure was even getting to my head. My arms took up a mind of their own, going totally numb and convulsing uncontrollably. My legs followed suit.

I am going to die.

I finally did it. I took one too many. I've wanted to die, but now this was the real thing. My mind shot out thoughts of my family. How they would remember how I went out like just another jackass without any self restraint. How what my mother said about me would turn out to be right. How I just turned into a pathetic, dead version of my father. Of how why now was it that family was so important and of how said it was that this is how I returned to the nothingness. Or how I wished there was a heaven.

The Professor was now in hell himself. He wanted to help. I wouldn't let him.

I'm gonna give up. Time to slide into oblivion.

“Whatever is done for love always occurs beyond good and evil.” - Friedrich Nietzche


Got to get up.

Got to solider on.

Go to live.

Three hours of breathing, pouring water in my mouth and on the top of my hyperthermic head, and eating a bit of bread and it was time to get to one knee for twenty minutes.

Then to all fours.

Then to my feet.

My first steps were random, without reason. Then I looked down at the Mask. Its smile burned into my eyes. I could never wear it again. It frowned as I picked it up and walked gingerly back to the car.

The Professor kept watch as I laid back in the front seat. He covered me with a light blanket as I closed my eyes. I had wanted to say smother me if I woke up brain damaged but I didn't have the strength. Just as well.

Morning was upon us again. The sun had a new meaning now.

But wait, what about the Irish? Was he in his tent? He must be sleeping.

I screamed in my sleep for the next hour. What I awoke to is now the stuff of myth and legend.

The sun began another trip around the sky.