The first two episodes of All Gone Wrong were about public collapses - moments that make headlines and haunt careers. Leena Sharma-Spring’s story is warmer than that, and in some ways more important.

If you’ve spent time in the world of We Love... at Space or on the Tisno festival site in Croatia, you probably know Leena. She’s the warm, familiar presence who always seems to be everywhere at once - at the gate, backstage, checking in, keeping things moving. What you probably don’t see is what’s actually running underneath all of that.

For two seasons - 2012 and 2013; she was right at the heart of We Love... at Space. Fifteen hour Sundays. Seventeen weeks a season. An operation she describes as being run like an office block in central London, complete with its own staff canteen, hundreds of dedicated employees, and its own hospital behind the back entrance. Qualified paramedics. Every night.

She has now run Barbarellas - the club at the heart of the Tisno festival site, for the best part of sixteen seasons. Open air. Generator-powered. No fixed water or electricity. And where Adriatic storms arrive in seconds, with no warning, and everything from the staging to the DJ booth is at their mercy.

We talk about what the industry got right early and has struggled to hold onto. About the shift in crowd welfare - what it looks like now versus fifteen years ago, and what it costs the person managing it night after night. About the internal monologue of being the calmest, most prepared person in the room at 4am. About the years of being everyone’s unofficial in-house psychiatrist - though as Leena makes very clear, she still loves every single one of you.

This episode exists because All Gone Wrong isn’t just about the moments that go wrong. It’s about the people who make sure they don’t. And what that work actually looks like from the inside.

Thanks for listening, Angie.

In Part 2, we dive straight into the operational fallout, the heartbreak of fractured partnerships, and the powerful personal rehabilitation that happens after you walk away from the wreckage.

This is a raw, vulnerable look at what happens when you identify so tightly with your creation that when it breaks, you break too. But it’s also about what the island gave him, and the question he’s been sitting with since: what do you build next, when you finally know what you’re actually building for?

Stream Part 2 right now.

An island. Literally.

What happens when an elite team of international festival curators takes on a massive island territory, and the reality of the physical build collides head-on with the dream?

From the initial, progressive vision to a total construction nightmare, this is the definitive, inside story of a broken paradise.

In Part 1, Obonjan co-founder Dan Blackledge joins me to track the meteoric rise from Northern club promotions to the high-stakes, ticking-clock tension of the Obonjan build. We go inside the immense vision, the impossible contract, and the final, breathless countdown on the mainland docks in Croatia while a building site waited on the other side.

Dan joins me with the kind of raw, funny, and breathtaking honesty that you rarely hear in this industry.

Stream Part 1 right now. Part 2 ready to go.

Alex and George go on the record for the first time about the “original sin” of the build, the visceral pressure of the contingency site layout, and the devastating morning they woke up to “terror sweats” and a panorama of their failed dreams.

In this episode, we discuss:

• The Friday Night Call: The “softly-slowly” strategy used to dissipate a 15,000-strong crowd without a riot.

• The Megaphone Moment: Alex on taking his “medicine” and the humbling reality of facing a crowd that felt betrayed.

• The Rehabilitation: How they rebuilt from zero - from running out of diesel on the way to the administrators to buying second-hand urinals on a credit card to get a new venue open by New Year’s Eve.

• The Closure: The “miraculous” return to Minehead and why recovery is always possible if you act in good faith.

If you were in the UK electronic music world in the late 2000s, Bloc probably needs no introduction. A cult institution built from the ground up, starting with 100-person raves in the Norfolk countryside and ending with sold-out Butlins weekenders that drew fans from across the world - some of whom loved it enough to get the logo tattooed on them permanently.

In 2012, they were at the centre of one of the most high-profile festival collapses in UK history. That’s Part 2. But to understand that, you need this first.

Part 1 is the rise. It’s the living room in Brighton with George’s records laid out on the floor like a mosaic, willing artists to say yes. It’s calling Pontins in their most convincing grown-up voices at 22. It’s the moment they were walked out of the side door at Butlins - at the absolute peak of their career - and the leap of faith into a new London location that would change everything.

This is also, for the record, the first time either of them has spoken about any of it publicly. When I asked George why, his answer was pretty straightforward. You’ll hear it in the episode.

Listen to Part 1 now. Part 2 follows immediately.

That means I’m usually the person in the room when it’s all going wrong.

‘Crisis’ is a heavy word. We usually associate it with total disaster; social accounts blowing up and unwanted news splashed everywhere. Those are the ones we know about. But just like icebergs, there are so many more narrowly averted by expert management or, sometimes, just pure fluke.

In an industry built on perfectionism and a survival-driven competitiveness, we’re taught to stay quiet. We manage these moments in private, sign the NDAs, and keep the sanitised narratives going. We keep the aesthetic tight because there’s a fear of the ‘sneer’, the shame and the gossip that comes when the mask slips.

But I’ve seen the cost of that ‘vibe preservation’ and keeping things quiet. I see the same patterns and the same failures repeat themselves which means the next person is starting from zero every time a crisis hits. All Gone Wrong is my way of breaking that cycle.

I’m bringing the people who’ve been pushed right to the brink on the record. Not the cleaned-up version, but the real one. I want to know what it actually felt like when the lights went out, what did work in the moment, and what they wish they’d known before the storm hit.

This isn’t about headlines; it’s about the undocumented history of how we survive. It’s vulnerable, it can be dark-humored, and it’s deeply human. Because while we can’t change the past, we can absolutely influence the future.

It’s time we shared what we know. Let’s get into it

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