Up the Creek 2026 took place on the banks of the Breede River, and BRIDGET RUTTER went to see how the festival has endured, 15 years since her last visit:
Late afternoon sunlight falls across a dusty, busy patch of ground. People stand, move, dance, laugh at the antics of the two-man rollercoaster that is the Corné & Twakkie Show.
I’m absorbing the moment, scanning the crowd, catching smiles.
The set ends and music spills out of the speakers, deep and thumping, straight through my chest.
I get a coffee.
Not just a coffee.
A COFFEE.
Then I wander down to the river.
And I’m shocked.
I’d expected the Breede to be wide and flowing, filled with bodies and lilo flotillas. Instead there’s a meandering trickle, still Coca-Cola brown, exposing white sandy islands where the current once ran. Tent-like structures dot the banks. People park off in the shade. A woman floats past on a yellow blow-up ring, sending ripples across the surface.
Though there’s less water this year, it doesn’t stop the floating. Inflatable flamingos and neon rings drift lazily while music carries across the water. Sun, water, music, good vibes. That’s the Up the Creek formula. The river may shrink, but the spirit doesn’t.
Fifteen years is not such a long time since I was last here.
Maybe it’s not just the river that’s changed.
Back at the stage, Pretty Loud (pictured left) bounce into their set. So many women on one stage it feels electric. My eyes lock onto the shortest guitarist. She absolutely shreds. The whole band radiates caffeine-level energy, glitter, confidence and zero apology. Check out their empowering website: prettyloud.co.za
Club Valley follow with their grunge and indie pop blend threaded with urban poetry straight out of Joburg. Blessing Tishifularo on bass (pictured, top of the page) deserves a special mention. Calm and focused, she anchors the sound while everything else pulses and swirls.
Droomsindroom brought something entirely different. Afrikaans storytelling wrapped in alternative pop and soft rock, with a ukulele adding a dreamy, atmospheric texture. It feels intimate, like a story told around a late-night fire.
Kayla the Crow (right) channels David Bowie-esque theatrics with psychedelic pop rock jolts that feel slightly unhinged in the best possible way. A glittering, shape-shifting presence.
The crowd around me dances hard. Everyone seems to know every lyric. A woman walks past in a cloak made of lights. As her arms lift, electric wings unfurl. People glow softly in the dark like friendly fireflies.
Something else strikes me: there aren’t hundreds of drunk people staggering around. I can’t even spot beer bottles. Instead there are chill-out zones, couches, shade tents, coffee stations. Drinks with mysterious names containing the word “bobo”.
And roaming vendors selling vapes.
Vapes.
Not cigarettes.
VAPES.
How did that happen?
The sweet scent of marijuana still hangs in the air though. Some traditions endure.
Kujenga slide into their groovy Afro-jazz rhythms, and Jeremy Loops works the crowd into a singalong frenzy, man-bun and all.
Then the food stalls: Indonesian bowls, truffle mayo chips, pizza, burgers and the Wicked Waffle caravan. The waffle guy points out the artist who painted the van. Juno, from Belgium, dead serious about waffle tradition.
I obviously taste-test.
Sublime.
And somewhere between the coffee, the shrinking river, the floating inflatables and the basslines rolling across brown water, I understand it.
Up the Creek hasn’t mellowed.
The chaos is still there.
The glitter still flashes.
The music still thumps.
The vapes have replaced the cigarettes.
Fifteen years ago I came for the frenzy.
This time I came for the feeling.
The festival hums on, sun on skin, bass in bones.
It isn’t really the festival that’s changed.
It’s me.
What: Up the Creek 2026
Photographs: Music in Africa/Jonathon Rees (except for flamingo pic)
WS
