Review by Ben Connolly
There’s always something special about country town festivals. For the locals, there’s the rare joy of rocking out with your house key in your pocket; for the ring-ins, there’s the extra heady buzz of a sugar fuelled roadtrip, or skanky train chug at the end of the night. From the get-go this buzz was palpable at Bendigo’s fifth turn on the Groovin’ The Moo carousel.
As always happens when you’re a big-smoke ring-in, events like these not only provide a musical feast but also a chance to see how the locals do it in comparison.
Observation #1: the locals love their festival. Sure the procession of beaten up shit boxes and busloads of hipsters from Melbourne bolstered the numbers, but the bulging excess of humanity dodging the cow pats and shielding their eyes from the dust eddies screamed of local pride.
And that pride worked its way on to the big stage early, with Apes tearing the morning crowd a new one with a crunching earnestness. The Ballarat-via-Melbourne quartet screamed through a self-assured set which referenced the chaos of Baby Shambles, mixed with the tightness of the Arctic Monkeys.
Over at the tent stage, Brisbane’s Hungry Kids of Hungary proved a conundrum. They’re a peppy, high-octane quintet seemingly on the verge of something great, but falling inches short. The crowd streaming into the tent for the first of the day’s drawcards were certainly hooked: Set It Right and Scattered Diamonds raised the roof to ecstatic levels. But it all came across of more of the same, with newer numbers lacking that final push to get them out of the early tent slot and on to larger stages, which they so richly deserve.
Observation #2: dick jokes go over really well with a predominantly teen audience. And New York electro poppers Matt and Kim were purveyors in the fine arts of groinal humour, with their brand of synth and drum rock punctuated by quips on anal sex and pubic depilation. You could almost hear the parental tut-tuts of disapproval above the juggernaut of set-closer Daylight, but by that stage it didn’t matter, with the duet’s infectious liveliness winning over the growing mass.
Observation #3: some bands just really don’t work well on a huge outdoor stage. Unlike the previous scatological owners of the Udder Stage, Melbourne’s Alpine just simply limped along. The somewhat dreamy and insipid soundscape seemed more akin to a velour-walled club with martinis and fascinators than a dusty showgrounds oval under a cracking crystal sky. Radio favourites, such as Gasoline and Hands, got nod-worthy recognition, but it mostly just became muzak for the vast majority in search of sustenance, brews or friends.
Unfortunately the same fate befell Scottish rockers Frightened Rabbit, who seemed to cower under the mid-afternoon sun’s evil gaze. Some of the more subtle highlights largely got lost in the muddy mix, such as set opener Yes I Would from 2010’s The Winter Of Mixed Drinks. Despite frontman Scott Hutchison visibly wilting thanks to the sun’s rays, they persevered with the downright peppy Backyard Skulls and The Woodpile from this year’s Pedestrian Verse. Despite the less than stellar setting, it more than satisfied the backpacking 30-somethings holed up on the drinking section’s fence hollering every song word for word.
Observation #4: the ubiquitous “oldies” acts just may well out-shock the kids these days. Now a mainstay of any self-respecting festival, retro acts always ensure a fair smattering of greying rockers sneering at the yoof and hanging out to show the young whipper-snappers what it’s all about. Brisbane’s Regurgitator seemed to take Matt and Kim’s rambunctious claim as the dirtiest band on the bill as a personal affront, unleashing I Will Lick Your Asshole and I Wanna Be A Nudist early on in the set. Resplendent in their now customary white uniforms and their even more customary late-afternoon festival set, The Gurge wheeled out their old favourites (anyone still get a Bong In My Eye?), while 2011’s crunchy Born Dumb rounds out the set and hints that maybe the oldies slot may be a bit premature.
It was certainly not premature for 1990s cult marvels, They Might Be Giants, whose quirky brand of geek-pop ensured all faces under 30 years old were set to “huh?”. With Dr Worm an early highlight (“I may not be real doctor, but I am a real worm”) and Birdhouse In Your Soul providing a flicker of recognition to casual fans, it was a mid-song crowd chant-off which really piqued interest. In a feat of acquiescence, singer John Flansbough not only managed to divide the audience – literally, a 2-metre gap widened from the front barrier at his beckoning – but was able to convince one half to violently chant “people people people” at certain song cues, and the other to chant “apes apes apes” at others. The peak of crowd participation came with the “people” being named as the victors in what seemed to be a rather elaborate pun on Plant Of The Apes. A pun greeted with askance views by most, and knowing grins by others.
Observation #5: the headliner is often not who the organisers think it is. This was more than apparent during TMBG’s twilight set, with more than a fair chunk of its crowd a spill-over from people trying to get any advantage possible for band of the moment Tame Impala. I’ve never rated the 60s nostalgia lovers – in fact, I more or less discounted them as nothing more than yet another in the long line of Oz retro rockers who burst onto the scene, are championed by an overseas magazine and are then swiftly swept into the realm of self-parodied excess and irrelevance (think The Vines, Jet, Wolfmother). And from their two opuses, while interesting and accomplished, are yet to convince me that this is something to get excited about. Clearly, though, by their set opener I’m in the absolute minority as a crush of bods has me pulled this way and that as eager punters vie for a glimpse with a growing sense of anxiety.
And it’s an epic hour, with the prog rockers loosely jamming its way through a hit laden set. Backed simply by a mesmerising frequency modulator jumping and cresting with every strum of earnest frontman Kevin Parker’s guitar, the quartet takes mindblowing to whole new levels. Opener Solitude Is Bliss wafts and hangs over the heads of the throng in front, while Elephant thumps back down to earth and hits it straight in the solar plexus. Feels Like We Only Go Backwards brings the audience on stage with the band – it’s euphoric fifth member – while set closer Half Full Of Wine ruminates and rumbles around a circular pattern for a full ten minutes, either unwilling or unable to let go. I don’t think anyone at the Prince of Wales Showground would have minded if it didn’t.
Observation #6: groups of teenage music fans seem to know only two speeds – full sprint, or collapse. And while some minds were still in collapse mode thanks to a frisky impala, many others set their legs as steel springs to hurl themselves across to Flume in the Moolin Rouge tent. And were promptly stopped in their tracks by the near moroseness of the atmospheric producer and his arresting visual arsenal. It’s the perfect time for this brand of euphoria, bridging the moment between the excitement of the day and the wonders that a festival night can bring. Set highlight Sleepless was a study of abstract ideas colliding, while Holdin On flashes images of the possibilities such a night can bring.
Observation #7: what is a musical festival without costumes? Summer festivals curtailed the more outlandish numbers thanks to practical matters of heat and sweat, but the same concerns might dictate GTM audience’s particular love affair with the animal onesie. And not without good reason: with the setting of the sun came a ball-tingling temperature drop which buffeted the oval. Those in onesies looked gallingly cosy, trumped only by the dude dressed in full night clothes, right down to his woolly dressing gown and slippers. And certainly one-up on the fully encumbered matadors or the nostalgically skimpy Wally (which, for once, finally plays up to expectations when there’s only one in a crowd of 15,000. I spotted her twice).
This only added to the carnival atmosphere of The Kooks. Bouncing into the frigid night air with a joyful rendition of Ooh La, singer Luke Pritchard seemed like a kid high on life and sugar. Utilising every inch of the stage, including a stage-long ego platform for that extra height, the frontman espoused everything there is to love about Brighton, England. Regret tinged lyrics meld seamlessly with hook-laden melodies designed to evoke endless possibilities. On Seaside, you can almost taste the saltwater rolling in from the English Channel (not to mention the frigid air shocking you to your core), whilst set highlight Shine On tempers the night air with a warm melodic cuddle.
Observation #7: refer #5. Ostensibly, The Temper Trap topped the billing, but by no means topped the audience pick. With a crowd noticeably dwindled in comparison to their predecessors, the Coldplay-lite rocker’s stars may just be dimming a little. A forlorn set opener of Love Lost failed to sway many undecided to stick around, this reviewer included, with the remainder of the set a soundtrack to a bus queue or a last minute drinks run. It was a fizzer of a closer, but one which nevertheless failed to dampen the spirits of an otherwise spectacular showing.
Review by Ben Connolly
Visit www.gtm.net.au