Future Music Festival, Sydney 2008. Before I leave my house I check the program to see what they will be listening to in the future. Interestingly, it is a lot of acts I remember from the ‘90s. Chemical Brothers. John Digweed. Pee Wee Ferris. All of them old school, now. They weren’t always, but this is how it is with the music scene. It moves on, and comes full circle. When I got to Randwick I saw kids all around me. Sixteen year-olds, hoping to bluff their way in. Exuberant twenty year olds, men in white t-shirts, everyone looking for their last big day of summer fun. Did they think this was future music? DJs, colourful clothes and, as I was to find out, drugs: we seemed to have hit the past as we moved around. Whether they realised it or not, these guys were celebrating a future that had already happened.

There was one difference: responsible management. The queues to the venue were short and patient. Inside I saw drink stands offering free filtered water to and guides offering maps and directions. After taking a few photos, I asked people who they were here to see: Chemical Brothers. It was too early for that party, so I wandered over to the Fanklub, to check out D.I.M and Datarock. D.I.M played perfect afternoon music. Big acidic sounds, with enough space in between the beats to engage in dialogue with a nearby dance partner. Profound stuff like, “I love this track” or “I think my pill’s kicking in”. Those with nothing to say could get away with repeating the minimal lyrics of the wailing female vocalist D.I.M was mixing in over the top. Sorry to say, there were a lot of female vocalists mixed into these sets, but far too few of them onstage with their own.

I ran away for a while to talk to punters watching over the main stage. The crowd were having fun to Roger Sanchez playing house, but this was an easy audience. I approached young people in happy colours. “Can I take your photo?” Actually, I rarely had to ask, the happier the colours the more likely kids were to jump in front of the camera. “What drugs are you taking? What drugs is everyone taking?” Kate, 18: “I’m not. But everyone’s had Superman!” I felt dumb. What’s that? “Everyone’s on ecstasy. At least everyone I know.” Looking around at the clenched mouths and glassy eyes I figured she was on the money. But what else was doing?

One young lass who jumped in front of my camera seemed open. What are you here to see today? Avril, 18: “Bands”. Any in particular? “No. I don’t really know what this music is but I’ve been kind of getting into it lately so everyone said to come to this.” I remember those times, when you were just discovering music. I smiled at her. “And our group’s kind of been fighting lately, so we’ve all come here to reconcile.” Aw. I kept smiling as she bounded off to meet her mates. Maybe it’s not so bad these kids have gone back for their future. At least they’re not on ice, or amphetamines, or that heinous K. This all seems much more positive.

I headed back over to Fanklub to catch Norwegian Datarock play loud electronic rock. Finally a sound I couldn’t immediately identify. I liked their show, their spirit, and their matching red costumes. And the kids liked it too, in spite of a few technical defects. Speaking to TJ after the show, he told me that since they weren’t able to sound check, so artists were restricted in what they could play. Apparently Markus Schultz’s show in Godskitchen was also muted by sound problems. But with that many acts, and a strict curfew, you have to accept a few short cuts, I guess.

I have some praise for the management of this festival. It was efficient and well-managed. All of the people I spoke to seemed happy, many commented on the good range of artists that played that day. There were ambulance staff, and a low-key security presence. There were also a lot of cleaners waving rubbish bags like flags as they picked up litter from the ground. Beer cans and plastic hats. The occasional bikini top that flew away from its owner.

I spoke to a couple of these cleaners. Mostly they just wanted to take their break in peace and finish their cigarettes. One young man from Bangladesh spoke to me for a few minutes. He said he had been in Australia for a few years, and had worked a few events at Randwick Racecourse “collecting rubbish”. I asked him how this event compared with others – is it bad or good? He answered slowly, carefully. “In my opinion, it is bad.” Why? “Because in my country, it is different”.

Looking around at all the punters clad in beach wear, groups in matching styles like miniature tribes, I could see how we might look bizarre. When I was a teenager or in my early twenties I would prepare for this sort of event by hand-sewing some skimpy outfit out of lycra, lace and sparkles, find some stimulating company, and dance non-stop. It was an outlet. These events are still an outlet, for a lot of people. But now I am interested in what else is happening to make it happen. Who is looking after the punters, feeding them, supplying them with apparel, cleaning up their crap. What are we letting out? And what or who forms the catchment system? It was a question I tucked into in the back of my mind as I bobbed up and down, smiled at photographic subjects, chatted to people and had fun.

Back over at Fanklub I swayed with the audience to Sven Vath, and the halogen pants show. He looked like his music sounded – shiny and fun. Backstage I bumped into Chicks on Speed, and hitched a ride in the artist cart to hang in their dressing room for a while. Since there weren’t too many other female artists to review (and it was international women’s day, incidentally), I reasoned I could afford them extra time. Besides, their room was right behind the main stage. So just as Who Made Who were lining up to play in rainbow Technicolor couture, I took an exit stage right.

By the time Chemical Brothers were ready the main stage was overwhelmingly stacked out. Feeling alienated by the size and the big bang laser light show, I fled back to the Fanklub to be entertained by the theatrical antics of Chicks on Speed. With their artful montage of music, video, costumes, and performance they appealed to an equally mixed audience of surfie kids, indie types and randoms. By the end of their set I felt happy and exhausted. I wandered over to some ambulance workers to see where the crowd was at.

Have you been busy over here? A guy answered, “Not too busy.” What’s up with people? “Mostly dehydration, crowd related stress, too much too drink.” Any drugs? They hesitated, “a few drug cases”. His colleague interrupted, “but mostly it’s just people who feel a bit funny, are dehydrated and need to sit down for a minute”.

That’s cool. I hope festivals are this well organised in the future. But I also hope they feature more female artists. For a change.