Sorry this has taken so long to post – the last few weeks have been a whirlwind of Boring, Time-Consuming Life Stuff like house-hunting, job-hunting, working more, collapsing from exhaustion, etc. Now all of that’s settled down I promise to blog a bit more. You can also check out bite-sized rubbish I post on the internet on my tumblr.
Let’s get on with it.
Laneway
I scored a free ticket to Laneway because I am a cool cat about town who knows important people (jk, I am a creepy dork who is good at sucking up). To be honest, I didn’t know many of the bands. This isn’t usually a problem – I like checking out new bands. But it wasn’t fun music times. It was a horrible reminder about how dreadfully uncool I am and how no one will ever love me.
Crowd – 2/10
Like Children of the Corn.
Somber hipsters glared like I was publicly urinating on their vintage shoes every time I attempted to dance to plinking keyboards. I met up with some friends at the John Steel Singers set, who mentioned the same weird hostility of the crowd. A girl actually told them off for laughing! A boy with a popped collar stood in front of us with his arms folded for the entire set. He didn’t even move when they played Rainbow Kraut.
This song causes me to involuntarily wiggle my bottom in pure delight.
It was lucky that I was with my friends, who are a lot of fun and were doing a good job of distracting me from the sheer misery permeating the rest of the festival.
Not pictured: Grumpy hipsters.
I even made a new friend via another friend who was the drunkest, dancingest , most fun person there and therefore provoked deathglares and bitchy whispers in response. Otherwise I would have been under the impression that dancing was ILLEGAL. Isn’t that the plot in Footloose? It put me in a really shit mood. And even though some of my friends like dreadful hipster music (see below), even they noticed the bizarre crowd. Hannah whispered, “I feel like I’m in trouble!”
Sure, it was nice that the festival wasn’t populated by shouty, pilled-up fuckheads looking for a FOIGHT, but is the opposite really that much better? Perhaps it’s my social anxiety kicking in, but feeling like I was being frequently judged on my behavior – which didn’t involve smacking people in the teeth or screaming incessantly – was incredibly unpleasant. You try enjoying yourself in a crowd of motionless, tight-jeansed, ever-frowning people who are very much pushing the point that they are Serious And Intelligent Music Fans, not bogan pleb peasants like everyone else BECAUSE YOU CAN ONLY BE ONE.
Toilets – 9/10
Quite good actually. Hilariously, many people lined up to use portaloos while there were plenty of vacant loos in the toilet block around the corner.
Organisation – 3/10
I got there early to see Danielle’s lovely band, Inland Sea. They started playing while I was in line. A security guard with a dodgy teenage ‘stache stood in front of us, glaring and smirking at a growing line of impatient music fans. I worried I wouldn’t see Inland Sea. I felt my toes burning in my boots.
“Why won’t they let us in?” whimpered a girl behind me.
Nobody told us. The stache’d guard smiled sadistically because he hates his life. Meanwhile, another girl in the line passed out from heat stroke.
Finally we were allowed in and I heard the glorious strains of Inland Sea. The stage they were playing at had no shade. I decided to get some H20. I approached the bar near the stage, only to have someone scream “WE’RE NOT OPEN YET” at me. Miserably, I wandered back into the searing heat and tried to concentrate on the angelic Danielle playing the cello, not the awkward beads of sweat dripping down my back. Gross.
Throughout the day, it became apparent that the stages at the RNA showgrounds were not meant for live bands. As Brady remarked at the Inner Sanctum stage, “These buildings are for sheep!” I guess seeing bands in a livestock shed and carpark looks pretty hip and alternative, but logistically it wasn’t a very smart move.
The sound mashed together in a sludgy hum. The lack of shade everywhere was pushing me to the verge of heatstroke and hysteria. This plus the weird crowd gave me a headache and put me in a shit mood for most of the day.
Music – 6/10
Inland Sea, as I mentioned earlier, were fantastic. Folk influences with cellos, ukuleles and pretty harmonies combined with sharp, upbeat pop made me smile, despite the throbbing headache I was getting from the heat. Local party band Toy Balloon had more cowbell. Rat vs. Possum wailed and thrashed dramatically. That sounds awful, but they were actually quite good. I counted 4 cute girls playing keyboard throughout the day.
Then it got boring. I am not into this experimental keyboard indie shit that was the main feature of this festival. Look, I’ve played piano and guitar for years and I can appreciate the musicianship, but all the echoing mumbles on a single guitar chord just sent me to sleep. I lasted three songs into Beach House’s set before I got bored and wandered off. I ached for a punk band or something, anything that crashed and exploded and made a mess, all over everyone’s crisp vintage shirts. Luckily, all the good stuff came later in the evening.
Gareth Liddiard played on a tiny stage to a tiny crowd – one wild-haired bluesman in ripped jeans (which I believe were genuinely ripped, not designed) and a guitar.
“Who needs drums anyway?” he joked. “What’s with all this disco shit?”
His cracked voice and thundering guitar chords stirred more within me than any of the other bands with Macbook beats. Haunting, heartbreaking songs shot through the cool dusk air and gave me goosebumps. Then Liddiard would suddenly come out with the most hilarious one liners like describing the floods as “It’s like Buddha diarrhoa’d all over you!”. Despite Liddiard’s music coming from a beautiful, dark dreamworld, his lack of pretension as a musician is what makes him a pleasure to watch live.
After him was the John Steel Singers, which as I mentioned before, are a lot of fun. I was amazed at how dynamic they sounded in the tiny stage in the alleyway, trombones and all.
After a brief discussion concluding that we’d rather be kicked in the crotch than see Yeasayer, we went to see Les Savy Fav. Tim Harrington painted himself silver, crowd-surfed and did a weird belly-roll thing on stage. It was loud! It was fun! Laura grabbed his balls! They were the highlight of the night. Then we got a photo with them!
Gotye’s beautiful, intricate songs were marred by poor sound. It’s a bit insulting to put one of the best musicians in Australia to play in a carpark too. A sampler provided big band riffs, which sounded okay but looked a bit boring live. Gotye seemed stressed by all this technical nonsense, which I can totally understand. I think everyone else did too so we all loudly sang along to Heart’s a Mess.
At some point we went inside to see Holy Fuck, a wild electronic outfit that thumped like speedy heartbeats, leaving everyone panting at the end.
The last band I saw was Cut Copy. And finally, EVERYBODY DANCED! Though I think all the grumpy hipsters were somewhere else because Cut Copy are like sooo mainstream because they smile and don’t make people want to kill themselves mid-chorus. Who cares! They were fun.
I may incur the wrath of many music fans by saying this, but I just didn’t understand the hype over bands like Deerhunter and PVT. Perhaps they sound better on CD than they do live. Either way, they bored me to tears. Or I just don’t get it because I’m an uncultured bogan. Whatev.
Big Day Out
Crowd – 6/10
“Bloody Beetroots, WOOP WOOP!” squawked hyperactive tanned bros in singlets at no one in particular. I wondered who they were here to see? 15-year-old festival n00bs pushed and talked screechily through sets and planted their denim-shorted arses on boys’ shoulders for prolonged periods of time. And again, I associated briefly with a friend’s friend’s mum. She was drunk and doing the worrying Mum thing about mobile phones and meeting up at stages. It wasn’t any less weird the second time around.
I got a little too close to the Big Day Out crowd when Rachel and I decided it’d be a neat idea to get into the D Barrier for Rammstein.
“LET US INNNN!” roared some drunk bros, charging into the closed gate and crushing me under someone’s sweaty armpit.
“Fuck this. BAIL!” I screamed at Rachel, but it was too late to get out now.
A dude stood behind me, jumping up and down, which is really disgusting and awkward when you’re squashed together. I think I’m pregnant now.
“That poor girl,” said an older fellow sympathetically.
“Are you alright?” asked his friend.
They pulled me out of the depths of armpit hell.
Finally, the guard let us charge through the gate. We made it! And then we got chatting to the guys who helped me. They were cool, jokey stoner dudes who really liked Tool and protected us when the dickheads around us were getting out of control.
And that’s what Big Day Out is like every year. A lot of violent, drunk, rude morons, but a few friendly sorts with good festival etiquette that restore my faith in humanity.
Like this eyeball head guy.
Toilets –8/10
Thankfully, there were more portaloos than my first Big Day Out adventure. They also came with a disturbing water feature.
Sweaty from dancing, Shea and I went on search for the V tents that spray cool mists of water. We didn’t find a V tent, but we found a fountain shooting mist from the roof of… a block of portaloos.
“Aaaahh,” I sighed.
“I think it’s toilet water,” said Shea.
“AAAAAAAAAARGH!” I screamed.
Organisation – 3/10
Some of my friends’ phones didn’t work. Some did. Either way, I lost my boyfriend at one point and panicked quietly when I realised I was alone in a huge festival and couldn’t get through to his phone. In the end, he figured out one of his friend’s phones was able to call and we reunited. Still, it was very stressful. I wasn’t the only one in this dilemma; throughout the day I watched distressed punters wandering alone, frantically tapping on their phones, swearing, screaming, bursting into hysterical tears because they were lost forever. I suppose when Big Day Out first started there weren’t many people using mobile phones. It’s not the early 90s anymore, guys.
The timetable wasn’t too bad. There were minimal clashes. The only strange thing was putting The Vines on first, at 11am. The Vines, remember them? I do! I wanted to make out with Craig Nichols all over the place in high school. Years ago they headlined Big Day Out. I felt sorry for them, and wished they were on later instead of the Deftones or Birds of Tokyo or whatever vomitous band was playing on the main stage in the afternoon.
Music – 9/10
The first band I saw was Blonde on Blonde, drinking buddies of ours who are making it big on Triple J’s Unearthed. Their sexy stoner rock was a hit with the swooning crowd.
Third time seeing Washington. She was different this time at Big Day Out – her voice was raw and visceral, a desperate passionate edge to the lyrics I only wanna dance with you in Rich Kids.
Thrusty backup dancer on the left.
I made my way over to Andrew W.K. The King of Partying was accompanied by a muscly backup dancer in a leotard who thrusted jubilantly at the crowd. Andrew W.K called for a circle pit – the happiest one I’ve ever seen. Imagine big hairy tattooed punk/metalhead dudes skipping around a tent with huge smiles on their faces.
I lasted ten minutes at Angus and Julia Stone before getting the shits because I couldn’t see anything. Why one the biggest musical acts in Australia at the moment were at such a tiny stage, I don’t know.
With Edward Sharpe swanning about in a white cloak with the rest of the Magnetic Zeroes, they reminded me of the Polyphonic Spree – feelgood hippie vibes and lots of dancing.
Sia was up next, in a wacky outfit that looked like she was strapped to a tiny striped wall, which suited her quirky keyboard-pop.
We exited early to get involved in the Rammstein shitfight as mentioned above. The sweaty armpits were worth it. Wow! Sparks and fireworks and flames shot out at key moments as Rammstein blasted and roared. A man clad in a sequined body suit descended onto the stage and promptly exploded in a shower of fireworks. He reappeared on a treadmill and played keyboard.
Rammstein’s set finished with their comedy porn single Pussy, with Til Lindemann making furious wanking motions and ejaculating confetti all over the crowd. Brilliant!
I’m not the biggest Tool fan, but I can’t deny the massive effort gone into the spectacular audio/visual psychadelia before me. It wasn’t your average rock show. It left the sunburnt, drunk and stoned crowd in stunned, sobering silence.
In the end, Rammstein and Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes were my highlights of the day. Go figure.
Soundwave
Oh dear.
Crowd – 9/10
I quite like the Soundwave crowd. I wore my pirate hat again and met a few other pirates in the crowd. “Arrr!” we arr’d at each other.
And I thought, finally! For years I’ve wanted to be part of some kind of cool alternative subculture. I’ve been somewhere between a poseur punk, poseur goth, poseur hippie and poseur twee indie girl. Now I feel like I finally belong – as a pirate. Look, it makes so much sense. I am fond of wearing striped socks, bandanas and threatening to lop off your ex-boyfriend’s dick with a cutlass. I have poor eyesight in one eye. I quite like parrots. Wow, I’m a pirate! If only I didn’t get seasick.
Organisataion – 2/10
THE WORST. The map was poor modernist avant garde artwork that had no resemblance to reality whatsoever. With eight stages (stage 5A and stage 5B? are you fo realz?) and a lineup ranging from “AWESOME!” to “I QUITE LIKE THEM!!” and “I don’t know who they are but wouldn’t mind checking them out”, there were timetable clashes out of the wazoo. Most bands played at EXACTLY the same time – Rob Zombie and Queens of the Stone Age clashing was most distressing.
Brady’s Laneway observation that the RNA Showgrounds are made for farm animals, not bands, became increasingly evident as sound issues throughout the day grated against my dehydrated nerves. Speaking of which, lack of shade in the sweaty heat was a problem again. Ridiculous. You’d think that in Brisbane – where it’s summer for 11 months of the year – it would occur to organizers that people generally don’t like standing in the sun in 110% humidity for hours and hours.
My phone not only died, but didn’t work at all, hence missing out on meeting up with heaps of my friends. As they say in an exotic European language, “Rubbisho!”
Toilets – 4/10
Plentiful, if you could find them. Most were hidden away beneath the obscure labyrinth of the RNA showgrounds stands. This caused me to miss most of Queens of the Stone Age performing No One Knows. Pissed in more ways than one.
Music – 8/10
The first band I wanted to see was Sum 41, mainly for nostalgia. Sometimes I miss being snotty wannabe-punk teenager. I don’t wanna waste my time, become another casualty of society! However, I forgot that they were much older now and had released a new album which sucked. Also, I’m not a 15-year-old wannabe-punk anymore, I’m an adult pirate. I walked out after 30 seconds.
The Murderdolls were awful.
Bullet for my Valentine gave it their all with ferocious, passionate energy. Unfortunately all I could hear were muffled, dull roars, even in front of the stage.
Slayer were on a frustratingly tiny stage. I peeked between shoulders to glimpse them while standing on a footpath on the back. People walked past me. One of the biggest metal bands in the world was playing in front of me yet I felt like I was obstructing a Fun Run.
As a tragic Guns ‘n Roses fan, I was mad keen to see Slash wield his instrument at me. Ho ho ho. He’s one of those guitarists like Jimi Hendrix that don’t just play guitar, but make it howl, squeal and moan orgasmically. And so he did. Unfortunately I hadn’t counted on his new band fucking up my enjoyment of my top-hatted guitar god. His singer crapped on and on between songs (are you ready to rock? I can’t hear you! I said, are you ready to rock? Still can’t hear you! etc). And then they started playing Sweet Child of Mine. It was awkward when I saw Guns ‘n Roses play it a few years ago – Axl sans Slash – and it was awkward again now, with Slash sans Axl. Familiarity with lashings of something that wasn’t quite right, like a very good tribute band.
Zack de la Rocha’s side project One Day as a Lion was surprisingly good. Zach was in the zone, willing to throw his entire body around the stage to make the point that he’s still raging in some form or another.
The oh-so-sexy Queens of the Stone Age were flawless. There were pretty lights and they sounded good and I don’t remember much else because I was tired and delirious and very much distracted by Josh Homme being a hot babe.
I was looking forward to seeing Iron Maiden because they’re very good and at least a million years old. Bruce Dickenson didn’t look like an 80s metal god in a beanie and baggy camo pants, but he sounded exactly the same as he does on my Rock in Rio album from the 80s while running madly around the stage. He was the life of the band, full of energy and making snappy puns about his own song titles (something about sharks swimming in QLD floodwaters and fear of the sharks) like a spritely rock ‘n roll leprechaun. Iron Maiden’s guitarists don’t sound like they’re playing guitar in a metal band – rather a string section in an orchestra. And that’s precisely why I like them – melodic, thoughtful music that happens to be lumped in the metal genre is much more appealing to me than angry dudes yelling “aaaaaaarghhh Satan!” in aggressive monotone.
Perhaps I was just tired but I found myself getting sleepy as a lower, lengthy songs dominated the set. I was annoyed at myself for my lack of rock and roll badassery by sitting on the ground, but there’s only so much lighter-in-the-air swaying you can do, right? All I really wanted was to hear Fear of the Dark. Then I did. And went home.
And now, for my final thought.
I now hate festivals. You pay a zillion dollars to see your favourite bands and end up getting jerked around all day. It’s like going into battle – plotting times and meeting places, fighting your way through the sweaty masses just to catch a glimpse of Julia Stone’s shoulder or to get an over-priced midstrength drink, scavenging for food that will least likely give you food poisoning, covered in mud, dehydration, exhaustion, the desire to accidentally-on-purpose gutpunch someone in a mosh or the terrorists will win. No wonder people smuggle drugs and beat the shit out of each other at these things. I was thinking of attending Splendour in the Grass to do some bar work. Then I saw that Coldplay are headlining and my hatred for festivals sank in just that little bit more.
My festival-a-thon was fun while it lasted. But in the end, a gig at a sticky music venue with a few of your favourite bands, friends that you can actually call and tickets under $100 is so much better value. You get shade, free water and full-strength beer! And that’s all I need.
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