Each August bank holiday, in a hidden pocket of Northamptonshire countryside, something extraordinary unfolds. Shambala Festival isn’t just another weekend of music and mayhem, it’s a radical reimagining of what festivals can be. Now celebrating its 25th anniversary, this fiercely independent, famously silly and joyfully creative gathering has evolved from a humble party thrown by a group of friends into a full-scale cultural phenomenon, driven by values of sustainability, community and unbridled artistic freedom.
From its earliest days, when handmade clay pendants served as entry passes (rather than today’s wristbands) to today’s dazzling tapestry of woodland installations, micro-venues and utopian ideals, Shambala has always been more than the sum of its parts. It’s a space where spontaneity reigns and hierarchies dissolve, where a compost loo might lead to a celebrity red carpet moment, or a lamps-versus-moths parade might light up the night entirely unscripted. This is a festival where the line between performer and participant vanishes – where everyone, from toilet cleaners to headliners, is seen as essential to the magic. It’s a place where the unexpected is expected.
At the heart of it all is Sid Sharma, co-founder and creative director of Kambe Events, who sees Shambala not just as a festival, but as a four-day experiment in how we might live better together. In our conversation, Sid reflects on the journey from those lo-fi early years to today’s immersive, consciousness-shifting experience – a space that dares to dream of a post-capitalist festival future and takes food justice as seriously as it does dancefloor euphoria. As Shambala steps boldly into its next quarter-century, its message remains beautifully simple: come with an open mind, open heart – and don’t just be a spectator, be a creator!
Let’s rewind to the beginning… When you first dreamed up Shambala, did you ever imagine it would grow into this vibrant, sprawling celebration of creativity and community?
25 years ago I was 25, and barely thinking beyond the next day, let alone how Shambala would manifest itself in the future. I often forget how beautifully organic those early editions were: rustic, low-fi and full of heart. For the first two years, we used handmade clay pendants as entry passes rather than wristbands – each one crafted by us, totally unique. It was a proper labour of love, though not exactly scalable once we hit 14,000 people!
You’ve described Shambala as ‘the sum of its parts’, with its legendary vibe coming not from the line-up, but the people. How do you think that spirit has evolved over 25 years, and what do you think keeps it so alive?
The vibe comes from a deep respect for everyone who makes Shambala happen. It’s like the greatest theatre production in the world, where everyone joins forces to put on the best show possible. From musicians and scenic artists, to tech crews, tea makers, toilet cleaners and of course, our fantastic audience – everyone plays a vital role in the spectacle. As a production team, we make it a priority to treat everyone equally. We communicate openly, operate with fairness, and always strive to make sure what we ask of people is reasonable and respectful.
There’s something utopian, even anarchic, in the way Shambala blurs the lines between performer and participant. What role does spontaneity play in curating the experience, and have there been any moments where the audience completely surprised you?
People come to Shambala to play! They come to reconnect with the spirit of their inner child and are released from the shackles and banality of their everyday lives. There’s a real sense of liberation, mischief and creativity in the air.
Half the time, we’re not even sure of what’s been officially programmed and what’s just… happened. A few years back, hundreds of festival-goers spontaneously dressed up as lamps and paraded through the site after dark, glowing brightly whilst under cheerful, frenzied attack by others dressed as moths.
We’ve also seen people enter a compost loo for a quiet moment, only to emerge to be met with a full-blown celebrity experience – red carpet, paparazzi, screaming fans and roving interviewers – all orchestrated by fellow festival-goers, not us. That kind of unexpected magic is what makes Shambala so special.
Shambala is deeply involved in social entrepreneurship and food justice – how do those values shape the decisions you make for Shambala, whether that’s programming, sustainability, or even what gets served at the food stalls?
Good food is something everyone should have access to. It’s deeply unfair that many people in the UK cannot afford fresh and nutritious produce. We simply lack a cohesive and long-term food strategy at government level. While a national Food Strategy was commissioned by the previous government, its key recommendations were largely ignored.
There are too many powerful corporations that do not want to relinquish control of our food infrastructure – resisting change to protect their profits. Meanwhile, as a nation, we are sleepwalking into a public health crisis – sold the myth of “cheap food”, while the true cost is rising illness, degrading land and a broken relationship with what we eat. At Shambala we take food seriously. We have a clear, values-led food plan that prioritises meals that nourish both our bodies and our planet. It’s our small way of showing that a better food system is possible – and essential.
What’s a corner of Shambala you love to sneak off to when you want to just soak it all in, not as a director, but as a fellow adventurer in utopia?
I love heading to the Enchanted Woods at around 2.00am – it’s pure magic! The soundscapes and light installations are otherworldly, and there’s always a friendly crowd up for a chat. The vibe is so relaxed and welcoming – it’s one of my favourite late-night spots.
Given your work with organisations like FareShare and the Bristol Food Policy Council, how do you see festivals like Shambala contributing to wider systemic change beyond the fields they take place in?
I really hope that sharing real-life experiences with others – where genuine interaction is possible – can help counter some of the tribal polarisation we see online. Comment sections across the internet are increasingly angry and reactive, but something shifts when we are all together at a festival for days on end. We connect differently, with more openness, empathy and kindness.
Has there ever been an idea or installation at Shambala that felt like a total gamble but ended up being a defining moment of the festival?
Last year we commissioned a drone show – a bold move, given that drones evoke feelings of surveillance and control, which couldn’t be further from Shambala’s ethos. We weren’t sure how the audience would respond, and it felt like a real risk. But our creative partners absolutely nailed it, crafting something deeply human and moving. They paired visuals with a voice over from 1960s spiritual provocateur Alan Watts, reminding us that we are all connected and part of something much bigger. During the show, there was an eerie, complete silence – and I panicked, thinking no one was enjoying it. Afterwards I realised the reason you could hear a pin drop was because everyone was completely spellbound.
The word ‘utopia’ often conjures idealism, yet you’ve said that creativity can reframe even the toughest societal problems. How do you walk the line between escapism and activism in Shambala’s storytelling and design?
Throughout history, many artists and musicians have used their art form to try and challenge mindsets and inspire change. In today’s world of constant scrolling and shrinking attention spans, it feels increasingly difficult to cut through the noise. What makes Shambala so powerful is that we have people’s attention for four full days. That’s enough time to gently peel back the layers of habitual behaviour and offer new ways of being and interacting with one another; whether through thought-provoking creative content, using clever site design, or nudging people to question their usual norms. Even something as simple as experiencing a fully vegetarian festival can shift perspectives. We’ve seen even the most committed meat eaters realise they can forego a burger for a few days – and that change often trickles back out into ‘the real world’.
Looking ahead, what are some wild dreams or quiet ambitions you still hold for Shambala’s future, especially as it steps into its next quarter-century?
I would love for Shambala to become the first festival of its size and scale to operate entirely without money. No tickets, no transactions – just a community where everyone contributes their time, skills and resources to make it happen! A truly non-financial festival. I’d love to return to a world where value is measured not in money, but in connection, creativity and collective effort.
And finally, if you could bottle the feeling of Shambala, the magic, the chaos, the kindness, and share it with someone who’s never been, what would that message in a bottle say?
Come with an open mind, open heart – and don’t just be a spectator, be a creator!
For more info on Shambala go to www.shambalafestival.org.
Interview Ama Samra
Photography by Louise Roberts, Scott Salt, George Harrison, Lindsay Melbourne and Ania Shrimpton
