Going to the Cascade Masquerade was a big risk.
You see, experienced festival-goers know that a first-year event is always an inherently risky endeavour. No one knows quite how it will work, what’s needed, what’s going to happen, or who’s playing – usually not even the organisers.
Add to that the fact the party was being held more than 2,000 kilometres away from home, buried in a deep gully in the foothills of the Moroccan Atlas… and, well, heading out became a very intimidating proposition. My concerns ranged from the practical – would there even be an event to attend? – to the political – would this end up just being a holiday for English hippies, a pseudo-colonial expedition, attended by local staff?
Despite my worries, the Cascade Masquerade was, in many ways, far superior to most UK festivals.
The first reason for this is the site itself. Located at the Ouzoud Cascades, the event occurs among a huddle of rustic restaurants and hostels at the bottom of a titanic river valley at least a hundred metres deep. Organised by a gang of legends from the UK independent festival scene, the Cascade Masquerade bills itself as a semi-private ticketed event, not a festival. That’s a load of nonsense. Featuring a bunch of fantastic entertainment and two stages spread over three days, if this event doesn’t qualify, half of the festivals in the UK don’t either.
Cool, refreshing water runs through the valley’s centre, with burbling waterfalls providing a calming soundscape of almost white noise. Greenery abounds, so different from the desertified mountain landscape surrounding it, with patches of growth approaching almost jungle-like levels of lushness.
The architecture, while essentially shacks built out of, seemingly, whatever the residents of the valley could find, is beautiful, decorated with bright primary colours in a way that fits Ouzoud’s reputation as a hippy trail hotspot. Rastafari themes adorn many of these businesses, with paintings of Bob Marley and Ethiopian Imperial flags on display.
Many of the hotels at the bottom of the valley have struggled to attract much in the way of staying business in recent years, ever since the tour buses from Marrakech started doing day trips. The convenience of a quick visit in many ways has meant fewer travellers opt to stay overnight, making it harder for these charming establishments to thrive. This shift has impacted the local economy, with many of these small, family-run businesses relying on longer stays to support themselves and keep their businesses afloat. Despite these challenges, the valley is a place full of charm, with its enchanting natural beauty meshing perfectly with the laid-back culture of the local folk.
Key to its natural beauty was the valley’s fauna. The cats slinking and sleeping throughout the place were as friendly as pie, and the donkeys with their unexpected braying were hilarious! While the monkeys looked menacing, the worst they did was steal the Gulls’ manager Nish’s fruit and finally, and beautifully, I did not encounter a single mosquito – something I’d worried a lot about given we were by a river.
The music started with Skaface, an English band who delivered a damn tight set made up of ska and reggae standards – think The Specials, UB40, Toots, and all the legends. Initially, I was the only one dancing, but before long a trickle of other Brits began to join in (special thanks to Skin, Sally and Ryan), helping me out on the dancefloor.
Looking behind me, a semicircle of North African faces stared back at me, seemingly slightly nonplussed. Feeling a little uncomfortable, I briefly worried that the Moroccans might just not get ska, and the two-tone movement would fail, here and now. My joy when, before long, they got involved and started dancing too, was immense, and it grew when the crowd called for a multiple-song encore. Of course, the Moroccans liked Ska. Ska’s brilliant. How could I even doubt it?
After Skaface finished, they were followed by Snippet and the Hotrocks. Now, where Skaface brought the mainline UK and Caribbean Ska tradition, Snippet punked the whole situation up with their large inventory of Ska Punk originals.
Embodying crusty van-living hippie punk culture, the band, who were musically far tighter than when I saw them at Equinox, went down a storm with both the English and Moroccans. Interestingly, their violin parts in particular sent the North African contingent wild. Swapping dance moves and bouncing about like a Mad March Hare with my new friends, all my worries that the Cascade Masquerade would be a big neocolonial holiday faded away.
The next day, after enjoying a local Moroccan breakfast of fruit, bread, honey, jam and olives, we had the joy of seeing the famous John Rowe, Suffolk’s premier storyteller, weave one of his incredible yarns. Long connected with Morocco and deeply involved with Marrakech’s Storytellers Cafe, John told us a local tale about a girl born from the leg of a man when he ate a magical tagine intended for his wife.
Performing alongside the well-known wordsmith was a group of traditional story singers from close to the Algerian border. A line of four men faced three women, singing call and response all in traditional dress, while a beat like a cantering horse was played on their drums. Used to maintain an oral tradition and remember stories, this practice, known as Ahidouss/Haidus, was utterly enchanting on its own and paired magically with English-language poetry or storytelling.
Once the Haidus was complete, John invited the audience to contribute whatever they wished. Kicking things off, his young collaborators from the Storytelling Cafe wove a tapestry of myth, and then an Englishman, Will, the Gulls’ vocalist, took a turn telling a tale.
In addition to the stories, a number of more musical contributions were made. The incredible Red Roots sang a song, while Bury St Edmunds’ Lost Luke took the chance to throw out some hardcore lyrics, backed by the Moroccan band starting to warm up.
Another highlight of this jam was Russell: A sound engineer, who was mostly there recording the main stage, the crowd was surprised when he picked up a guitar and started belting out a heavy blues tribute to his wife, with fellow soundie Ishmael taking up the drums.
Speaking of blues, the next two bands promised to deliver the sweetest subdivision of the genre. Desert blues originated in the 1980s when displaced members of the Berber and Tuareg communities found themselves refugees in Libya and Algeria. Gaining access to electric guitars and outside musical influence in substantial quantities for the first time, the nomadic folk of the desert began to create a beautiful new blend of psychedelic licks and mesmerising 12/8 percussion.
The first of the two desert blues acts performing at the Cascade Masquerade, Tarwa-N-Tiniri, or the Sons/Generation of the Desert, are a new generation legend of the genre. Hailing from Ouarzazate, the gateway to the Sahara, this five-piece delivered an utterly beautiful performance, combining hypnotic guitar work and mournful vocals to euphoric effect. An auditory experience par excellence, seeing them live was something I’d never quite expected to happen for me, and I felt incredible joy while they played.
After them, the Nomad Band took to the stage. Playing incredibly deep, interesting, and complex licks weaved together into an enchanted tapestry of pulsating sound, it felt like the spirit of the desert was truly represented in their music.
Part way into their performance, though, the true nature of the Cascade Masquerade was revealed. Members of Snippet and Hotrocks and Skaface joined the Nomad Band, picking up roles in percussion and keys, and the music started to get more fusiony.
Speaking to people across the festival, I found they loved this incredible melding of culture and sound. The two key organisers, Seemore and Steve, particularly adored this aspect of their event, seeing the cultures meet and collaborate artistically and frankly it’s something I will miss when I return to doing festivals in the UK.
On the third day of the Cascade Masquerade, everyone already knew the score. The first performance I remember was Lost Luke returning to the stage, this time with his full set. Mixing genuinely funny comedy with the cutting social commentary that comes from years of living in a rusty LDV, Luke makes crusty hip-hop work in a way few manage. Holding the crowd’s attention in the palm of his hand, his flow even intrigued the Arabic speakers in the crowd – an impressive cross-cultural achievement.
After Luke, I had the joy of seeing the Gulls perform what might technically count as a secret set. You see the whole band, plus their manager, had been roped in on a fairly last-minute basis and brought along to Ouzoud to back Snippet and the Hotrocks, who had shed a couple of members recently. Seeing the opportunity to play their first-ever African show, Will, Tal, and Killian delivered their usual heavy blues, which worked so well in contrast to the tangled precision of its desert counterpart.
The night ended, following another jam session, with the party processing up to a pre-prepared dance stage, where Mike Freear, lead songwriter of festival legends Slamboree, was playing a DJ set. Now, often, I don’t rate DJs compared to live acts and will choose the live option over the recorded one when I can, but Mike’s set was an absolute exception. Eclectic without being cheesy, I particularly loved that he shouted me out when it turned midnight, rolling into my birthday.
Now, while I had the best of times at the Cascade Masquerade, I have to give you a few warnings before you jump in and buy a ticket for 2025.
Firstly, the accommodation, while variable, is in parts very rough; to the point that Dreadheads and girls on their 12th festival this year struggled with it. While complaints were far from universal and improvements have been promised, many of the rooms are really rustic. if you aren’t down for slightly slumming it, I would still suggest organising your room with the organisers specifically before you arrive.
The big problem, to be honest, was that a substantial portion of the rooms lacked locks, or enough keys for all the people in them, and with no safes or lockboxes available people were left with their passports and cash all in their pockets. While nothing significant was stolen this year, providing each guest somewhere to lock a few valuables is personally beyond a nice-to-have. A second issue with the accommodation is the prevalence of triple rooms over doubles. You see, romantically involved couples attended the event, and while shoving them into a group of three might help them make friends, having some double rooms would be great to help make it more duo-friendly.
I think that the Cascade Masquerade crew need to really go through and evaluate their accommodation and then set a range of prices according to the different rooms’ quality. I don’t mind roughing it, but I can see a whole bunch of people being put off who could have been comfortably accommodated if they were ensured one of the fancier rooms or even a private tent.
Another issue with the festival is its relatively poor accessibility. While I hesitate to call it a problem, many of the routes around the festival are made up of sketchy improvised bridges, almost vertical paths, and frightening ledges. Anyone without a steady grip on their feet and a decent amount of stamina is going to struggle to make their way along the path from the top down to the festival and beyond that, even once the journey is completed, those with limited mobility may feel a bit restricted when in the valley where movement is limited by challenging terrain.
While more lighting is almost certainly a necessity to make future events safer, any permanent solution to make the site truly accessible is likely to be impossible to implement to the cascades without ruining its current beauty.
These minor issues aside, the Cascade Masquerade was everything I’d hoped it would be – hell, more. While there were some little things to complain about, my initial worries of it being a disaster, or some kind of neo-colonial holiday were so utterly unfounded that I now feel bad for having them.
Indeed, the Cascade Masquerade was a party so good, that it has permanently altered my life for the better. While all festivals make their mark on their attendees in some way, I’ve never heard a group of adults leaving so enthused about a party as they did here.
If you want an experience, an adventure you won’t forget, the Cascade Masquerade might be perfect. It captures a sense of cultural exchange and connection that is hard to find anywhere in the festival scene. While attending might require a bit of courage and a challenging journey through rough terrain, the rewards are totally worthwhile, with the party achieving a sense of place and joy no mainstream festival could match.
I’m definitely going again.
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