Bowing Out after 25+ Years of Up The Creek

They say you never step into the same river twice, and after more than a quarter-century of pilgrimages to the banks of the Breede, I finally understand why.

The water flows on, the seasons shift, and eventually, the time comes to step back onto the bank and watch the current from a distance.

As I look at this photo, it feels like more than just a snapshot of a Sunday afternoon. It’s the visual punctuation mark at the end of a 25-year journey with Up The Creek (UTC). It is, in all likelihood, my final bow at the festival—at least for the foreseeable future. If you’re going to sign off on a legacy, I can’t imagine a more poetic way to do it.

A Full-Circle Moment

The magic happened on Sunday, during that hazy, golden window of late morning where the dust of the weekend settles and the true “creekers” remain. Riaan Smit, the powerhouse behind the hugely popular Crimson House, did something that caught me right in the chest. He invited me up on stage to lead The Leftovers—that glorious, ragtag assembly of every musician still standing by the end of the festival.

Standing there, it turned out I was playing the second-to-last song of the entire weekend. For me, it was likely the final note of a very long and cherished chapter, even though I’ve never actually been invited to play by anyone other than Riaan over the years.

You see, Riaan is a class act. In his introduction, he generously told the crowd that I was the one who first introduced Crimson House to Up The Creek back in 2011 or 2012. I remember those early days vividly; I knew then that Riaan was a force of nature, but seeing what he and the band have achieved since has been staggering. They’ve surpassed every expectation, evolving from a raw, energetic act into the undisputed highlight of any show they touch.

The Spirit of The Leftovers

There is something uniquely “UTC” about The Leftovers. While Crimson House represents the peak of professional showmanship, The Leftovers represent what should be the soul of the festival: community, spontaneity, and a bit of beautiful chaos. Leading them one last time felt like a homecoming. We weren’t just playing music; we were celebrating the survival of another year on the river.

Why It’s Time

Walking on the alternative side of pop culture for most of my life, I’ve always gravitated towards spaces like UTC where the “misfits” are the heroes. But 25 years is a lifetime in festival years, and as with all things, the tides change, and so do we. I’ve seen the river at its highest and its lowest (including those years where the “river” was more of a pond!).

I’m leaving with a full heart. To have played a small part in the history of this festival—and to have helped bridge the gap for bands like Crimson House—is a badge of honour I’ll wear proudly.

As the final notes of that Sunday set echoed across the water, I felt a profound sense of peace. A path beyond anonymity and irrelevance beckons, and an opportunity to seek recognition and community elsewhere… perhaps even that long-awaited move to Wilderness we always talk about. Even so, a piece of my heart will always be stuck in the mud at the Breede River.

One of my very first attempts at a blog was called “NOBODY KNOWS YOUR NAME”. As new faces arrive and old faces depart, perhaps, in this case, it is better to vacate the campsite before that becomes a fact in its entirety. Where I could contribute I did, and I am grateful for those who took my hand on the way.

To the musicians, the delinquents, and the dreamers: thanks for the ride. See you further down the river.