We arrived in time to see a yellow jump-suited Bluejuice playing 'Broken Leg' on the main stage. They then played 'Vitriol'. They had a giant crab-ish, whale-like blow up set of things on stage. "Do crabs have vaginas?", Jake Stone questioned everybody. For a band who played to 40 people at The Evelyn in Melbourne two years ago, they seemed fine playing to perhaps 5000 on the main stage today. Over in the boiler room M.A.F.I.A had a respectable crowd going bonkers, before the crowd dispersed some for the more thoughtful sounds ofDecoder Ring. Who would do better to be on outside stages, where they can let their booming sounds travel. St. Helens sounded great in the Hot Produce stage, albeit to a scattered collective of 70 or so, finishing with a spirited 'Coffin Scratch' from their debut of last year.
Doug Wallen: As expected, Mastodon unleashed much of last year’s Crack The Skye as well as material from the three prior albums. The Atlanta prog-metal warriors were fearsome in both appearance – singer-guitarist Brett Hinds with his neck and head tattoos – and proficiency, finessing a flurry of rapid-fire parts from all corners. If the appearance of a flying V and later a double-guitar seemed indulgent, the band was a damn sight tighter and less ridiculous than the Mars Volta, who paraded classic-rock excess on the same stage a few hours later.
DW: All clad in black, Magic Dirt summoned some of the best hungry hooks and wild guitar effects of its long career, in a Converse Stage set dedicated to bassist Dean Turner, who died of tissue cancer last year. With bass duties fulfilled by Sons of the Sun’s Matt Sonic, the quartet veered from the 2000 single ‘Dirty Jeans’ and early anthem ‘Ice’ – inserting a well-placed “fucking” into the line “Am I wasting all my precious time?” – to the rollicking 2003 gem ‘Plastic Loveless Letter’ and last year’s ‘White Boy’. Ever the snide, volcanic frontwoman, Adalita's voice was fantastic, even when screaming plenty. And after the band toasted Turner with his favoured Jager and Coke, she commanded, “Let’s fucking rock this shit" before careening into the rare, once-Turner sung 'Fairy Park'. The ferocious set trailed noisily off with a song by Mudhoney, Turner’s favourite band. Their legacy may be long but Magic Dirt fresher, more fiery and more relevant than many of the acts elsewhere on the bill.
Kasabian were doing the business on the main stage, with a fantastically received set that peaked with 'Short Fuse'. Back at the Green Stage The Temper Trap had an enormous crowd , so much so that punters were asked to move back before the band would come on. Also so much so, that anything short of bombastic neglected to translate to the outer reaches. 'Fader', however, had the crowd all the way to the bar dancing. Weird. It will also be the haunting soundtrack to whoever was being dragged away by paramedics at 2:30 in the afternoon. Somewhere in the boiler room, buried beneath a heaving sea of people was Greg Gillis aka Girl Talk doing his thing. Should've been on late in the day at an outside stage for full effect.
DW: Boston’s Passion Pit seem unlikely stars in a sense, as singer Michael Angelakos began the set sitting at keyboards and warming up his falsetto with ‘Eyes As Candles’. But the huge crowd knew all the words to every song from the band’s global-sensation debut Manners and reacted accordingly. Buoying its live instrumentation with canned beats and other extras, the five-piece kicked out swooning, squealing keyboard hooks and similarly blown-out rhythms as Angelakos got up and moved around the stage for the irresistible pop triumph ‘Let Your Love Grow Tall’ and other album tracks. Even the band’s more chintzy, disco-damaged moments were gobbled up by the young, sun-stoked mob. Their set closed with 'Little Secrets', the crowd a seething mass of flesh all chanting "higher and higher and higher".
DW: Wagons seem to approach every show as if the Melbourne alt-country greats need to live up to their reputation as a raucous, uber-engaging live band. In unabashed rock mode despite the presence of a washboard and an acoustic guitar, Henry Wagons was especially spirited early on for ‘The Gambler’. He elicited the favourite number of crowd members for the song’s titular character to place a bet on, all while his voice was at its booming, mournful best. Also from last year’s career high The Rise And Fall Of Goodtown, a cover of the latter-day Elvis tune ‘Never Been To Spain’ was down-home and proud, and Wagons didn’t let up from there.
On the Green Stage, first time visitors, Portland's The Decemberists started with a small crowd that grew pleasingly, if never exponentially, over the course of their set. Drawing heavily from The Crane Wife, the band did pull out older cuts in 'Engine Driver' and 'Leslie Anne Levine', before finishing with a crowd participation effort in '16 Military Wives'. While the bands visit was sorely overdue, it was disappointing that Meloy elected not to play any of the more tender moments in the catalogue. Meanwhile The Horrors were doing their thing on the Converse stage. Sticking to their dress code of black, they came across as unintentially comical in the 30+ degree heat, sporting leather jackets and jerking moodily around the stage to seemingly little musical effect. So much so that a hot dog suddenly seemed imperative.
DW: Forgoing gimmicks and guests – despite past collaborators Calvin Harris and Lily Allen playing nearby slots – Dizzee Rascal delivered 60 minutes of fun, vulgar, quirky rap. Grime no longer, he was smoother and less bratty even when revisiting the early cut ‘Fix Up, Look Sharp’. Tracks from his mainstream-teasing Tongue N’ Cheek were inevitable, and they came in the form of ‘Road Rage’ and the closing smash ‘Bonkers’, with 'Holiday' and 'Dance 'Wiv Me' somewhere in between. Dressed like a baller in Lakers gear, Dizzee moved like one too, joined by a DJ and sidekick MC. All in all, his endurance was as much a feat as his breezy self-assurance. Easy to do when the ground literally shook with the rise and fall of jumping humans.
DW: Playing to one of the smallest crowds of the day, freak-folk early adopter Devendra Banhart showcased his more recent direction, playing world-tinged guitar-pop with his four-piece backing band the Grogs. Past flecks of tropicalia worked their way in, as did what Banhart jokingly warned was “white reggae”, and it was all light, summery, and welcome. Foppish and visibly relaxed, he cited the San Francisco-Roxy Music axis at which the recent song ‘16th And Valencia, Roxy Music’ sits. He was fascinating vocally, recalling Bowie and Lou Reed at times while also engaging in various ticks, quivers, and falsetto. Too bad more people weren’t there to see it.
DW: Fresh off placement in Triple J’s Hottest 100, Townsville’s the Middle East continues to be the Little Band That Could. Despite an Arcade Fire-ish swell to some of their songs live, there’s seemingly no reason a bookish baroque-folk ensemble should have rocketed into the hearts of so many Aussies. (And Americans – they’re playing South By Southwest and Coachella this year, as well as already landing American management.) But this set largely explained that, as the seven- to eight-piece ranged from tiptoed quietude to robust climaxes. Banjo, accordion, mandolin, flute, and lonesome singing all factored into the emotional heft in the unlikely confines of the Hot Produce stage. Bree Tanter’s turn at lead vocals isolating her saturated sigh of a voice, and despite the thump of people going ballistic to Calvin Harris next door, the closing rendition of breakthrough single ‘Blood’ was incredibly faithful to the recorded version, including horn, harmonies, whistling, xylophone, and other goosebump-y touches.
Lily Allen had a large crowd on the main stage paying devoted attention. But despite her charisma, her pop tunes just don't have enough punch to carry to the back rows. On the Converse Stage Ladyhawke looked scared stiff in the face of a large crowd, while Jet were working the Green Stage to a reasonable crowd far short of their hey day. To their credit, the band worked hard to kick up a fuss and it paid off, with punters streaming in as the set neared it's finish. It's a bit mean to call Jet's waning popularity a fall from grace, rather this is perhaps where they belonged all along.
DW: It’s impossible to deny Peaches live. Armed with the flexible backing trio Sweet Machine, the beloved provocateur pulled off eye-popping costume changes while slipping from punk to pop to electro without betraying the transitions. A visiting Shunda K (ex-Yo Majesty) guested on the rap-tilted ‘Billionaire’, and Peaches ran through such highlights as ‘Shake Yer Dix’, ‘Boys Wanna Be Her’, and tracks from last year’s I Feel Cream. Closing the long, animated set, she made a huge singalong of her classic ‘Fuck The Pain Away’. For an encore, shirtless bassist/keyboardist Cornelius Rapp donned a wig to do Iggy Pop’s part on ‘Kick It!’. Now in a giant white-glove costume – her head in the middle finger – Peaches got much of the crowd’s front section (male and female) to take off their shirts and whip them in the air as she finished with ‘Set It Off’. She and the band then bowed together like actors and shuffled off stage as one. It confirmed her set as - certainly - the best of the day.
The boiler room had a netting design running down its concourse this year and Sasha was using it to full effect. Stuck in a booth in front of the setting up Groove Armada, he finished with a sweetly building, melancholic-tinged wash of synths that perfectly elevated these tired feet. And finally, Muse. You know those big swathes of artistically designated canvas that hang in front of the speaker stacks on the main stages? Muse effectively turned each pylon into a projector screen, upon which them, computer generated matrix's and other weird, 3D-esque imagery splashed. Impressive, and at times, breathtaking. (The man swimming in that water tank and not going anywhere? I swore that was real for awhile). The UK trio led by the prodigiously talented Matt Bellamy, finished by bringing Jet's Nic Cester out for a note perfect rendition of AC/DC's 'Back In Black', before screaming into 'Knights of Cydonia'. Smoke machines went exploding. Bellamy stuck his bum in one for fun. Another Big Day Out was, exhaustively, over.
By Doug Wallen and Marcus
(Pics: Tim O'Connor)