Poster by Toby Morris
A Tasteful Amount of Chaos documents the anti-festivals
11 hours of film, with 1 hour of breaks
CHAPTERS
1. The Film
2. Why Is It So Long?
3. The Director’s Cut
4. What Were the Anti-Festivals?
The Film
A love letter to unconventional festivals, this, um, let's call it a "film," features 180 live performances recorded over 17 years. Discussing community, innovation, utopia and the meaning that comes when a music event is more than just a capitalist enterprise, A Tasteful Amount of Chaos also includes over 100 interviews, recorded all over the world since 2009.
From sweaty punks in jam-packed cabins and swimming pools to tranquil moments surrounded by native forest and lagoons. Parties in vans, in carparks, and on tennis courts. Performances on roofs, around campfires, and up trees. Surprises, stage invasions, supergroups, and circlejerks. A space where anyone who wishes can perform. Any genre, anywhere. Hanging off rafters, circling the band, or following in a parade, just don't be a dick.
There are performances that will overwhelm you, ones that will make you desperate for reunions, sets you wish you witnessed in person, and moments you'll get to brag you did. You'll watch the greatest sets of bands’ careers, goosebumps stacked upon goosebumps.
At 12 hours long, this is not a normal film and shouldn't be watched like one. Treat it exactly as you would if you were at one of the events. During delicate performances, shut up. But when it's loud: cheer, tap your foot, sing along, nod your head, chat about the performance to your friends, or just take the opportunity to open that loud packet of chips and adjust your seat position.
If you feel like taking a break, go outside, take a walk and sit under a tree. Go for a drive to the beach and have a swim, or go grab some fish and chips, hang outside and talk shit with whoever else is taking a moment. Come back when you're ready.
Why would a film about an event that broke the mold of a festival be anything like a normal film? I set about making this movie exactly the same way I went about creating Camp. There has been zero thought given to practical commercial application, standard conventions, or mainstream acceptance. Like Camp, I made this film for myself. I made something I would want to watch over and over again. I have, and I do.
These are my favourite bands, playing my favourite songs, surrounded by my favourite people. Not once in the years and countless editing hours of working on this film have I considered it a chore.
Set the day aside. Gather provisions. Pull that sleeping bag out of the closet. Invite friends over to watch together, BYO and BBQ, or just stretch yourself out on the couch, summon your pets, and read a book or work on your laptop… tuning in whenever it seems interesting.
Just as common sense dictates you should probably announce the bands playing at your event, I'll inevitably hear grumbles from those who think I'm ridiculous and I should have made a movie short and accessible, or broken it into chunks, making it easy to "consume" on their schedule. But the purpose of making this film wasn't to screen something in dark, impersonal spaces. It's not for people to have a typical movie-going experience they'll forget like any other trip to the cinema.
I have no problem with the typical music doc format. I love them and will no doubt make some. I just didn't envision this to be one. This project means more to me than just a piece of content to be viewed; it was made seeking connection and family.
A film about Camp had been attempted multiple times, by multiple directors, and had been abandoned altogether in 2017. Then COVID happened, when, well... no shit, everything changed.
Why Is It So Long?
Prior to the first pandemic lockdown I had booked and rolled out promotion on one of the most ambitious touring projects of my career. On behalf of Synthstrom Audible, I'd booked 30 events through 10 countries with over 200 artists appearing. These weren't just shows I'd booked for a single artist on a tour. I was running every event, running production and promotion, booking every performance. Venue deposits were paid, crew were booked, tickets to all events were on sale, and promotion had been rolled out internationally. I'd pressed a double vinyl collection in celebration and I had a complex network of logistics all locked in. Then March 2020 happened and I had to cancel all but the NZ and Australian shows.
Back home and depressed but needing community more than ever, I ran several online streaming festivals for Synthstrom, bringing together users from around the world to share their live performances. The connection of watching, and real-time chatting, as a community, displaced all over the world, was incredibly emotional. Moments that have stuck with me to this day.
When Reuben Winter passed in September of 2020 I found myself, for the first time, looking through the video footage recorded at Camp A Low Hum 2014. Still traumatized from the experience of three days and nights of a one-in-a-hundred-year storm, I hadn't been able to bring myself to watch sad-looking, wet people and bummed-out bands, and had just buried the footage on some hard drives.
Digging through these archives what I saw instead was a community brought together through love and perseverance. Smiling and dancing, laughing and cheering, huddled and hugging, I was viewing some of the most powerful performances and most joyful moments in the entire history of Camp. I'd gotten it so fucking wrong, the rain hadn’t ruined the event, it had unified and strengthened the community. In this moment of grieving Reuben’s passing I was reminded just how much community and music meant to the people who attended. The parallels between what we were experiencing with COVID and the camaraderie and spirit at Camp 2014 hit me hard and I instantly regretted that my insecurities had led to this footage being buried, along with the film being abandoned.
I gathered all the video I had and immediately started work on assembling it all. I didn't know at that stage what it would look like, but I had to do something.
My heart, still fizzing from those online festival experiences, and at this stage years from even considering doing another Camp A Low Hum, longed for more than just fleeting popcorn moments in movie theatres preceded by quick catchups in the foyer. My experience with the Synthstrom streaming events showed a way forward. I wanted to make a film that brought together people for an extended period. People divided by distance, given a chance to reconnect and hang out, either in person or remotely. A film that didn’t ask for undivided attention and silent audiences.
By the time NZ came out of our second nationwide lockdown in 2021 I had a rough eight-hour-long edit, one I'd watched over and over. Though there were already dozens of interviews from the several previous attempts at making a regular film, and whatever the film was becoming, it certainly didn't need any more, but I looked for any excuse to reach out to the musicians and continue filming. I missed all the friends I'd made over the years, and watching performances from them over and over during lockdown while I edited, I simply wanted to reconnect.
I realised as the editing progressed that the film I was making was becoming a reflection of my fragile state during lockdown. Seeing people and performances I loved day in and day out, I hadn’t wanted the editing and interviewing experience to end, and neither did it seem I wanted the film to end. As I noticed more and more campers in the footage holding cameras I would reach out to them and try to collect the footage. Little clips would dribble in and before I knew it the film was soon ten hours long. Restarting work on this once-abandoned film allowed me the opportunity to catch up with so many people I hadn't seen in years; it made me fall in love with Camp and our community all over again.
This isn't a documentary, nor does it resemble one. Don't look at your watch or wait for the story, just settle in and get comfortable. Don't wait for the "ordeal" or "overcoming adversity" or "hero moment." There is no structure, narrative, or convention. No start, middle, or end. It's just sick performances and short interviews with wonderful people. I made this film for the nerds and completists and people who love shared experiences. For people passionate about music and community. The people for whom a day spent listening to and watching amazing music is a day well fucking spent.
It's not an easy listen; lots of the audio is straight from the cameras, compressed and nasty. I’ve got a soft spot for the patina of audio that is decrepit and distressed, causing tiny video camera microphones to shit themselves. It only adds to the intensity of the moment for me. I understand not everybody listens so fondly to audio that lacks clarity, so I have made a point of spreading out the nastiest culprits throughout the film.
What will make the streaming screening like no other film-watching experience is the live chat happening alongside. Attendees, crew, friends, performers, curious folks, music fans, and voyeurs from around the world in an unparalleled shared experience, chatting in real-time. Don't turn your phone off or put it in flight mode. For once you will be encouraged to have your phone in hand while watching a movie. If you can't chat to the person next to you, chat to hundreds online. Need a break? Take a nap for a few hours, then join in again later. We'll be waiting. Wherever you are in the world, let's do this together.
An anti-movie about an anti-festival, this is a film about community so we're going to watch it as one.
A Tasteful Amount of Chaos will be a 12-hour live streaming event on Sat May 16th from 11am to 11pm (NZT).
Streaming tickets are $20 Waged, $10 Unwaged.
Buy streaming tickets here
100% of profits go to charity (The PCRF/The Winter Fund). Details of donation will be on this page, June 2026.
I understand the timing makes it difficult for northern hemisphere pals to watch the whole thing, but maybe you can arrange a sleepover party or move the TV to the bedroom and stay logged in as long as you can.
Approx. times it will be screened around the world:
Whanganui 11am–11pm, Sat 16th
Melbourne 9am–9pm, Sat 16th
Adelaide 8:30am–8:30pm, Sat 16th
Tokyo 8am–8pm, Sat 16
Chengdu 7am–7pm, Sat 16th
Perth 7am–7pm, Sat 16th
New Delhi 4:30am–4:30pm, Sat 16th
Berlin 1am–1pm, Sat 16th
London 12am–12pm, Sat 16th
Halifax 8pm–8am, Fri 15th
Baltimore 7pm–7am, Fri 15th
Nebraska 6pm–6am, Fri 15th
Victorville Film Time 4:01pm-4:01am, Fri 15th
Los Angeles 4pm–4am, Fri 15th
What Were the Anti-Festivals of A Low Hum?
This isn't just a movie about Camp A Low Hum but includes the other anti-festivals I hosted that were both overnight events and with unannounced lineups. As such, it also includes footage from 2015's A Low Hum House & Camp A Movement and 2017's 15 Years of A Low Hum, as well as the 9 Camp A Low Hums from 2007 to 2024. I currently don't have any footage from the two Fields of Dreams NYE camping events I ran in 2009 and 2012, if you have any, I’d love to see it.
A love letter to unconventional festivals, this, um, let's call it a "film," features 180 live performances recorded over 17 years. Discussing community, innovation, utopia and the meaning that comes when a music event is more than just a capitalist enterprise, A Tasteful Amount of Chaos also includes over 100 interviews, recorded all over the world since 2009.
From sweaty punks in jam-packed cabins and swimming pools to tranquil moments surrounded by native forest and lagoons. Parties in vans, in carparks, and on tennis courts. Performances on roofs, around campfires, and up trees. Surprises, stage invasions, supergroups, and circlejerks. A space where anyone who wishes can perform. Any genre, anywhere. Hanging off rafters, circling the band, or following in a parade, just don't be a dick.
There are performances that will overwhelm you, ones that will make you desperate for reunions, sets you wish you witnessed in person, and moments you'll get to brag you did. You'll watch the greatest sets of bands’ careers, goosebumps stacked upon goosebumps.
At 12 hours long, this is not a normal film and shouldn't be watched like one. Treat it exactly as you would if you were at one of the events. During delicate performances, shut up. But when it's loud: cheer, tap your foot, sing along, nod your head, chat about the performance to your friends, or just take the opportunity to open that loud packet of chips and adjust your seat position.
If you feel like taking a break, go outside, take a walk and sit under a tree. Go for a drive to the beach and have a swim, or go grab some fish and chips, hang outside and talk shit with whoever else is taking a moment. Come back when you're ready.
Why would a film about an event that broke the mold of a festival be anything like a normal film? I set about making this movie exactly the same way I went about creating Camp. There has been zero thought given to practical commercial application, standard conventions, or mainstream acceptance. Like Camp, I made this film for myself. I made something I would want to watch over and over again. I have, and I do.
These are my favourite bands, playing my favourite songs, surrounded by my favourite people. Not once in the years and countless editing hours of working on this film have I considered it a chore.
Set the day aside. Gather provisions. Pull that sleeping bag out of the closet. Invite friends over to watch together, BYO and BBQ, or just stretch yourself out on the couch, summon your pets, and read a book or work on your laptop… tuning in whenever it seems interesting.
Just as common sense dictates you should probably announce the bands playing at your event, I'll inevitably hear grumbles from those who think I'm ridiculous and I should have made a movie short and accessible, or broken it into chunks, making it easy to "consume" on their schedule. But the purpose of making this film wasn't to screen something in dark, impersonal spaces. It's not for people to have a typical movie-going experience they'll forget like any other trip to the cinema.
I have no problem with the typical music doc format. I love them and will no doubt make some. I just didn't envision this to be one. This project means more to me than just a piece of content to be viewed; it was made seeking connection and family.
A film about Camp had been attempted multiple times, by multiple directors, and had been abandoned altogether in 2017. Then COVID happened, when, well... no shit, everything changed.
Why Is It So Long?
Prior to the first pandemic lockdown I had booked and rolled out promotion on one of the most ambitious touring projects of my career. On behalf of Synthstrom Audible, I'd booked 30 events through 10 countries with over 200 artists appearing. These weren't just shows I'd booked for a single artist on a tour. I was running every event, running production and promotion, booking every performance. Venue deposits were paid, crew were booked, tickets to all events were on sale, and promotion had been rolled out internationally. I'd pressed a double vinyl collection in celebration and I had a complex network of logistics all locked in. Then March 2020 happened and I had to cancel all but the NZ and Australian shows.
Back home and depressed but needing community more than ever, I ran several online streaming festivals for Synthstrom, bringing together users from around the world to share their live performances. The connection of watching, and real-time chatting, as a community, displaced all over the world, was incredibly emotional. Moments that have stuck with me to this day.
When Reuben Winter passed in September of 2020 I found myself, for the first time, looking through the video footage recorded at Camp A Low Hum 2014. Still traumatized from the experience of three days and nights of a one-in-a-hundred-year storm, I hadn't been able to bring myself to watch sad-looking, wet people and bummed-out bands, and had just buried the footage on some hard drives.
Digging through these archives what I saw instead was a community brought together through love and perseverance. Smiling and dancing, laughing and cheering, huddled and hugging, I was viewing some of the most powerful performances and most joyful moments in the entire history of Camp. I'd gotten it so fucking wrong, the rain hadn’t ruined the event, it had unified and strengthened the community. In this moment of grieving Reuben’s passing I was reminded just how much community and music meant to the people who attended. The parallels between what we were experiencing with COVID and the camaraderie and spirit at Camp 2014 hit me hard and I instantly regretted that my insecurities had led to this footage being buried, along with the film being abandoned.
I gathered all the video I had and immediately started work on assembling it all. I didn't know at that stage what it would look like, but I had to do something.
My heart, still fizzing from those online festival experiences, and at this stage years from even considering doing another Camp A Low Hum, longed for more than just fleeting popcorn moments in movie theatres preceded by quick catchups in the foyer. My experience with the Synthstrom streaming events showed a way forward. I wanted to make a film that brought together people for an extended period. People divided by distance, given a chance to reconnect and hang out, either in person or remotely. A film that didn’t ask for undivided attention and silent audiences.
By the time NZ came out of our second nationwide lockdown in 2021 I had a rough eight-hour-long edit, one I'd watched over and over. Though there were already dozens of interviews from the several previous attempts at making a regular film, and whatever the film was becoming, it certainly didn't need any more, but I looked for any excuse to reach out to the musicians and continue filming. I missed all the friends I'd made over the years, and watching performances from them over and over during lockdown while I edited, I simply wanted to reconnect.
I realised as the editing progressed that the film I was making was becoming a reflection of my fragile state during lockdown. Seeing people and performances I loved day in and day out, I hadn’t wanted the editing and interviewing experience to end, and neither did it seem I wanted the film to end. As I noticed more and more campers in the footage holding cameras I would reach out to them and try to collect the footage. Little clips would dribble in and before I knew it the film was soon ten hours long. Restarting work on this once-abandoned film allowed me the opportunity to catch up with so many people I hadn't seen in years; it made me fall in love with Camp and our community all over again.
This isn't a documentary, nor does it resemble one. Don't look at your watch or wait for the story, just settle in and get comfortable. Don't wait for the "ordeal" or "overcoming adversity" or "hero moment." There is no structure, narrative, or convention. No start, middle, or end. It's just sick performances and short interviews with wonderful people. I made this film for the nerds and completists and people who love shared experiences. For people passionate about music and community. The people for whom a day spent listening to and watching amazing music is a day well fucking spent.
It's not an easy listen; lots of the audio is straight from the cameras, compressed and nasty. I’ve got a soft spot for the patina of audio that is decrepit and distressed, causing tiny video camera microphones to shit themselves. It only adds to the intensity of the moment for me. I understand not everybody listens so fondly to audio that lacks clarity, so I have made a point of spreading out the nastiest culprits throughout the film.
What will make the streaming screening like no other film-watching experience is the live chat happening alongside. Attendees, crew, friends, performers, curious folks, music fans, and voyeurs from around the world in an unparalleled shared experience, chatting in real-time. Don't turn your phone off or put it in flight mode. For once you will be encouraged to have your phone in hand while watching a movie. If you can't chat to the person next to you, chat to hundreds online. Need a break? Take a nap for a few hours, then join in again later. We'll be waiting. Wherever you are in the world, let's do this together.
An anti-movie about an anti-festival, this is a film about community so we're going to watch it as one.
A Tasteful Amount of Chaos will be a 12-hour live streaming event on Sat May 16th from 11am to 11pm (NZT).
Streaming tickets are $20 Waged, $10 Unwaged.
Buy streaming tickets here
100% of profits go to charity (The PCRF/The Winter Fund). Details of donation will be on this page, June 2026.
I understand the timing makes it difficult for northern hemisphere pals to watch the whole thing, but maybe you can arrange a sleepover party or move the TV to the bedroom and stay logged in as long as you can.
Approx. times it will be screened around the world:
Whanganui 11am–11pm, Sat 16th
Melbourne 9am–9pm, Sat 16th
Adelaide 8:30am–8:30pm, Sat 16th
Tokyo 8am–8pm, Sat 16
Chengdu 7am–7pm, Sat 16th
Perth 7am–7pm, Sat 16th
New Delhi 4:30am–4:30pm, Sat 16th
Berlin 1am–1pm, Sat 16th
London 12am–12pm, Sat 16th
Halifax 8pm–8am, Fri 15th
Baltimore 7pm–7am, Fri 15th
Nebraska 6pm–6am, Fri 15th
Victorville Film Time 4:01pm-4:01am, Fri 15th
Los Angeles 4pm–4am, Fri 15th
What Were the Anti-Festivals of A Low Hum?
This isn't just a movie about Camp A Low Hum but includes the other anti-festivals I hosted that were both overnight events and with unannounced lineups. As such, it also includes footage from 2015's A Low Hum House & Camp A Movement and 2017's 15 Years of A Low Hum, as well as the 9 Camp A Low Hums from 2007 to 2024. I currently don't have any footage from the two Fields of Dreams NYE camping events I ran in 2009 and 2012, if you have any, I’d love to see it.
