The Bandit Music Projects

What started as a two-day experiment exploded into a goddamn institution. Kids writing songs, recording them, then — hell why not — performing them on a stage big enough to scare their parents. The Subscription Rooms shaking under teenage guitars. After a couple of rounds, Howlett figures he doesn’t need to drag teachers up from Dartington anymore. Bring in the local mercenaries, the pro musicians, the freaks who know how to tune a guitar and wire a stage without burning the place down.

And it worked. It worked too well. The beast wouldn’t stop growing. Once a year, twice a year, pandemic be damned — they kept it alive with cameras and live-streams, spitting defiance in the face of lockdown. Now? Three times a year. Four days of controlled chaos. Sixty to seventy kids, aged eight to seventeen, bashing songs out of nothing, forming bands overnight, learning stagecraft, live sound, lights, the whole carnival. Guest speakers drop in to tell war stories from the industry. Green Room chatter. Interview booths. By the end, they walk onstage and play like their lives depend on it.

Twenty years running and the machine still runs hot, fine-tuned by a network of musicians, technicians, and mad teachers. Bandit isn’t just a workshop. It’s a rite of passage. A full-throttle plunge into the deep end of music. No excuses. No safety nets. Just play.