Our van had slowed to a crawl, swerving around what appeared to be dead, albeit colorful, human refuse in the road still grasping half-empty beer bottles. Eventually it was decided that one of the more sober occupants of the vehicle must go forth and remove the bodies. Watching the unlucky short-straw recipient move the burping debris from the road, it appeared as if a bomb had exploded, leaving a Technicolor yawn of two-legged, barely upright cattle.

Such was the state of affairs after Antifest XI last year. And at least in terms of organization, it's not looking any more promising this year.

Antifest started in 1994, when a few indigenous punks and anarchistic-minded individuals gathered in the face of Western music (and Czech festivals heavily laden with jazz) and decided to have their own summer festival. Antifest would showcase Czech and Slovak bands alongside featured foreign groups, and any profit after expenses would go to marginalized charities. Taking over the idyllic little town of Nový Bydžov for the first event, the festival eventually moved to a remote cow field outside of Svojšice u Přelouče to accommodate the ever-growing number of miscreants in attendance.

Somehow, unity prevailed in an anarchistic context over the next 11 years. Antifest grew and eventually included bands from other regions of Europe, East and West. Purple- and green-coiffed fans came from far corners to attend, and with the advent of the Internet, the festival gained worldwide notoriety. Groups with sympathetic politics as far away as England, France, Greece and Russia set their own festivals in motion.

This year, however, the Utopian ideal has been riddled with rumors of dissent and miscommunication among the organizers' ranks. Posters appeared late on the streets, and the program lineup is still in flux.

"Months ago we were supposedly booked to play Antifest," says Stepan, the vocalist for Germany's punk-psycho outfit Up to Vegas, who adds that the band was excited about performing at the event. "Then we never heard from [the booking agent] again. When we called the organizers, they knew nothing about us being scheduled."

Fiend Force Records' horror punk band The Other was also looking forward to playing as "the first undead band" ever on the Antifest stage. But it's been an on-again, off-again engagement. "Inconsistent sounds so negative," says the band's lead singer, Thorston, who kindly puts the problem to linguistic difficulties. "There might have been a language barrier, and they probably have a lot of work with all those bands asking questions."

Of the 20 people who have been involved in producing Antifest, only a core five reportedly remain. One of them is Jakub Tauber of Cecek Records, who signed one of the founding bands of the fest, N.V.U., to his label. "I think that Antifest needed new ideas, new people, new groups, new technical support and new spirit," he says.

Yet the only thing new this year appears to be a few faces missing and a less-than-stellar lineup, save for a few gems in the muck. This year's fest has a noticeable absence of good ol' British and American punk and hardcore groups, as the previous fests have touted.

According to Tauber, the problem is with funding, not the tribe. He notes that it's much easier and less costly to get groups from Europe, as booking agents representing acts from the United States, Canada and Brazil, for example, prefer to book into more commercialized events with plenty of sponsorship money. Although Antifest has plenty of media support ranging from small fanzines like Move Your Ass to the big television guns of the Očko Music TV channel, the only sponsor actually giving cold hard ... um, beer is Gambrinus, a fave among the mohawked and mulleted masses.