Live review and photos - Splendour in the Grass 2010 - Friday

Splendour in the Grass - Day 1
Woodfordia, Queensland
Thursday 29th July and Friday 30th July

DAY 2 | DAY 3

by Marcus T, Andrew Crook and Ariel Katz
Pics: Tim O'Connor
Phone pics: Marcus

AC: Splendour 2010, a hulking four-day monster packed with 227 acts and nearly as many food vendors, may well become known as the centrefold in the year that indie festivals - formerly underpinned by community radio and dissident subcultures - took the last fevered steps into a full-scale bells and whistles cash-for-culture colossus.

While the rambling Woodford site’s 30,000+ capacity could be a temporary aberration before the shift back to Byron Bay next year (though nagging protesters are still hoping to scotch the move), this was clearly a premium experience built around tried-and-true pillars of the global festival circuit – with the likes of Florence and the Machine, The Strokes, The Temper Trap, LCD Soundsystem and Passion Pit providing both money for jam and a D-barrier sugar rush like no other.

Despite the obvious rewards - a defining array of A-list bands, fine amenities, staggeringly gorgeous location and a setup engineered to maximise multiple sensory overloads -  there's no escaping the fact that this is one expensive experience. Beyond the $465 ticket price, factor in four days of food (assuming a lack of non-perishable home cookery), drinks ($50 a day at a minimum, and much more to get truly maggoted, with mid-strength beer and premix served instead of household intoxicants), other stimulants and $10 programs necessary to check the line-up (where at most other festivals this is included) and you'd be lucky to escape the weekend with any change from $1000.


Thursday evenings traffic jam

Add in the 5 hours spent in traffic queues physically getting in to the event on Thursday, and expectations risked being snuffed out before the first kick drum had rung out across the amphitheatre. From waking up in Melbourne to putting the last tent peg down at Woodford, yours truly had been in transit for 17 hours. Still, the sheer calibre of the bill, and anticipation over the Pixies/Strokes/LCD/Florence etc, meant that was rarely anytime for contemplation, with each trip from the camp site to inside the festival grounds subsumed by a frantic, permanent stampede from stage, to bar, to tent, to kebab vendor to stage (“quick, better run and catch Goldfrapp...but what will that mean for Kate Nash?”, young minds demured as the walkways/aisles erupted into arteries of dust).

Entering the festival gates in a travel-day haze to a random mish-mash of DJs late on Thursday recalled a cross between Ikea and Kho Samui, with punters channeled through  a snaking gauntlet of hot dog vendors and aggressively-marketed chai relaxation tents to get to the live entertainment. MC Hesse of Sneaky Sound System was trying to get the party started on the Ibeefa stage (which involved a boat, a lakeside bar and some mind-altering lights), but with everyone still dazzled by the glow of brake lights the full-scale shenanigans would have to wait for 24-hours to properly break out. And with four nights ahead of us, it was probably just as well.

FRIDAY

Read how we awoke on Friday in a hail of expletives here.

MT: I felt a little sorry for the bands playing early at Splendour. There's no way they could be anything but a buffer, as one acclimatises to the huge, labyrinth-like surrounds. Unlike the old Splendour site, which is a large roughly oval shape with easily designated areas, Woodford is an undulating patch of land nestled between mountains, snaking ever-upward towards the main amphitheatre at its northern peak. It means there are constant discoveries. "Hey guys, behind the noodle tent there's a lake with a BAR on it!" It's inviting. Sure it makes it easy to get a little lost - and we do for the first day - but once figured, the joint reveals its use: it's never overwhelming, there are always secretive patches of grass for beer bongs and profiteroles, shade is never far away and the ever present natural landscape seems always in tune with the arrangement, never against. And when you factor in the gobsmacking, coliseum like grandeur of the main amphitheatre, ghost gums rising up from its highest ridge like silver teeth on a comb and, at night, the moon hovering above the stage on a string, it is - with apologies to Meredith - the most beautiful looking festival I've ever been too.


Main amphitheatre

AC: Finally, at 1pm on the Friday, we made it up to the amazing, steep-walled, world’s best practice amphitheatre to catch Violent Soho ripping through tracks from their charmingly brutal self-titled album. At a stage and occasion this big, ‘Generation’ and ‘Jesus Stole My Girlfriend’ careened recklessly around, an aggressive statement that couldn't avoid comparisons to that last ragged, greasy-haired grunge act that regularly played stadiums. With winds non-existent and crisp waves of vitriol knifing out of two state-of-the-art J amplifiers, the band made time for an excellent cover of ‘Rather Be Dead’ by Refused to provide the first real punk statement on a bill tilted heavily towards the accessible..

I only caught a sliver of Dan Sultan’s chubby show tunes, but a driving, extended version of his classic ‘Your Love is Like a Song’ prompted some faux-gospel gesticulating over in the GW McClellan tent, with each key change acknowledged by the lunchtime stragglers who had stumbled across the rave up. Sultan is a star whose concern with musical roots should chafe with this decade’s tilt clubwards, but instead the opposite was true. A feel-good knees-up, and like Violent Soho, a rare vibe that wouldn't get much of an airing over the next 72-hours.

AK: With her album only out that day, it was quite amazing to see how many people had already jumped on the Megan Washington bandwagon and found their way to the GW McLennan tent. On stage Ms. Washington is enthusiastic and charismatic, and I particularly enjoyed the fact she doesn’t sing in that cutesy manner that many of her female Australian peers do. (That shit irks me). Her Splendour set saw her alter between having hands furiously playing the keys in front of her one minute and then having them waving about in the air the next. By the time she got to 'Cement' and 'Halloween' both boys and the girls were on shoulders singing her lyrics back. Nice.

MT: I expected to like Yeasayer more than I did. Odd Blood sounds like an amazing swampy, cosmic pop jam from hippie shamans of the near future. So it was a little disconcerting to absorb how much '80s cheese pop they seemed to be sending out. Beyond the samplers and vocal tics, I couldn't shake the thoughts of Miami Sound Machine (alright), Michael Jackson (yes!) and even Ricky Martin (mmm). These aren't bad things necessarily, but it repositioned the bands abilities for me. From one of futuristic pop wizards to a band that picks over and dresses up the past more than suspected. Still, they were enjoyable and I suspect they would've absolutely killed it if they had've been in a tent at night rather than plopped into a blistering arvo slot on the main stage in the sun.

They were only my second band of the festival but, when I think about it now, Foals were my clear highlight. Holy shit they were great. Here's why: live, they pull together the elements that work from other genres and make it sound whole. There's the unimpeachable indie guitar rock noodlings; there's the disco beat thrust, energy build and release of dance music (which perhaps accounts for their slot here on the Mix Up stage); there's the melancholy undertones and sweeping cinematic grandeur of stadium rock; there's the arrangements and soulful voice of the singer/songwriter. I can't think of a note that didn't work. While their records are great, live they add frantic life to the sometimes cold sounds that frame their albums. Every member throws themselves into it, and more than any other act on the festival, they use one another to get their songs to a higher plane. Their incredible musicianship is their costume, their zany singer, their "hit", their crowd participation, their cool, their gimmick. Really. With a tent bulging at the seams and chanting "Foals! Foals! Foals!", I wouldn't be shocked to find they're playing much bigger venues than they were when here last week.

Crowd

We fully intended to see how Little Red might fare over the amphitheatre at this point, but with a good 10-15 minute walk uphill in the blazing sun being the only way to travel from any point A to point B, we instead took refuge in the bar. As 'Rock It' lifted over the hill we scanned with horror through the available drink choices - due to the festivals move to Queensland, that states liquor licensing laws come into effect. Meaning no full strength, full size cans of booze can be sold publicly. Choices then were mid-strength versions of Coopers, Smirnoff Ice, Bundaberg Rum, Slate Bourbon and other mixers. Meaning that if one was to get truly hammered - as Australian festival punters traditionally claim as a birthright - then one would have to consume roughly $80-$100 worth of drinks per day and in quick succession. You can see why mountains of illegally smuggled booze containers lay littered throughout the camping grounds.

AC: Maybe it was the reliably excellent festival soundsystem but Melbourne ingénue Sally Seltmann, backed by a familiar cast of indie luminaries (AK: ...looking like she found them one lunchtime at the Pancake Parlour...), transformed the the fey ditties on third album Heart That’s Pounding into a torrent of brilliance. ‘Set Me Free’, apparently about the need to take breather when you’re feted as a attractive songstress about to take over the world, filled out the darkening McClennan tent with strains that would have impressed its namesake. A cover of Carly Simon's ‘You’re So Vain’, the track Seltmann recorded for Triple J’s Like a Version compilation, even came across as husky and commanding - again, a world away from the recorded version. And after a rousing finale with ‘Heart That’s Pounding', Seltmann and band had approached something close to redemption. Smiles all round, and a possible reason to return satisfied to the tent to drift off into the ether.

One excellent initiative this year was daily music trivia over in the forum tent, which also hosted panels on issues du jour like social media and privacy, a feminist letter writing event and a Wil Anderson chat show. The usual questions on ‘one hit wonders’ (for some reason, Tal Bachman always gets a guernsey) was overshadowed by the team names as Splendour in Your Arse and Busta Hymen and the Penetrators duelled for supremacy to nervous giggles from upstanding hosts Myf Warhurst and Sam Pang. Though when the heckling turned racial it was time to leave.

MT: As the sun truly set (it darkened a little earlier here than most festivals, due to the towering mountain ranges either side) we found refuge in Jerry's vegie burger stand. Jerry's, the Organic Doughnuts and the Noodle Cone stand were CLEAR culinary highlights amongst a huge array of excellent options. Whilst standing in line for noodles, some guy - who wasn't even in line - walked past saying "That's the best food of the festival, hands down". Wheras in the doughnut line I was asked by a stranger "If you got someone pregnant and they wanted an abortion what would you do?". Which is different.

AC: A shuffle back up to the McLennan tent, which was by now providing most of the early highlights, revealed Midlake -- with an intimidating six dudes lined up across the stage - ambling through a mournful 'Acts of Man', a plaintive plea to recreate the authentic look and feel of late '60s bohemianism. The band increasingly seems like they've been preserved in amber, their self-confidence swelling around the tent with the audience almost incidental to the reverie. But it's precisely that quality, the air of casual disregard, that draws everyone in. By the finish, we were enmeshed in the aural equivalent of the bucket bong compression sessions that were likely breaking out across the camping expanse of Woodfordia. If not the shire at large.



MT: In the Mix Up tent, Hot Chip provided the first INTERNATIONAL BAND HYSTERIA with the opening strains of 'Boy From School'. Suddenly it all made sense. THIS is why we foolishly trek from state to state, from airport to car to road to human sandwhich. For this shot at joyous community. Hot Chip lifted the night perfectly. One man down with the absence of co-singer/songwriter Joe Goddard due to his being "home having a baby", presented no problem for the act. Goddard's white-caked face appeared "the moon-like" on a screen set between the synths to sing his parts. Like much of what Hot Chip do, it was slightly geeky, slightly loveable and very awesome. 'One Life Stand' followed by 'Over and Over', predictably sent the tent and its too-many occupants seizing with rapture. I won't lie - I was one of them.

AK: Hot Chip was the crowning moment of Friday for me. Their set gave me the feeling that festivals are okay, that being near 30,000 people for another three days was going to be great and that maybe I should throw my hands in the air and sing 'Over and Over' like it’s 2006 again. Their synth-ridden electro-pop had just the right amount of cowbell and cool.

MT: A quick jolt of satay vegie burger and dubious alcoholic fluid and we were back to the Mix Up tent for James Murphy and Co. LCD Soundsystem always get seem to get stuck with the term 'dance punk', which to me has always seemed stupid considering their crisp, considered recorded output. Live however it makes total sense. The once hidden guitar on 'All My Friends' is beefingly distorted and at the forefront, the subby electronic drums on 'Pow Pow Pow' veritably punch you in the belly. Murphy rarely gets kudos for his voice but live it really stands out, his pitch-perfect ragged croon soaring over the top of this well-oiled dance machine. Murphy has said this will be the last touring incarnation of LCD (though he will be back with it within a year, apparently) which is a shame. They're one of a kind and will be sorely missed. As expected, the aforementioned 'All My Friends' provides the fists in the air moment, even if Murphy does shamefully shorten the songs final refrain. Also, in electronic noise whizz Gavin Russom, they have a serial killer on synth, piano and percussion. Seriously, that guy looked terrifying.



AK: I left LCD Soundsystem not long after a perfectly apt 'Drunk Girls' in an attempt to catch the Temper Trap. I hadn’t seen Dougi and his band of boys play live in years and I was intrigued as to how (or if) their recent success stateside had changed them. Also, they were playing in the amphitheatre, which I hadn’t yet made it to despite it being evening already. Curiouser and curiouser, I know. Essentially - and obviously - the main thing that seems to have changed is the sheer amount of people that are into them. They were playing to thousands and thousands of people in this absolutely epic arena and it suited them so well. Dougi’s voice is amazing and he looked in his element in the amphitheatre’s very grand setting (although I really think sometimes his emotive hand gestures are a little over the top, as was the way his shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a pec). They had their chums Mumford & Sons (not due to appear themselves for another two days) join them on 'Down River' and the crowd went batshit at what was basically a Triple JJJ Hottest 100 wet dream. 'Love Lost' garnered an almost equally ecstatic reaction from the crowd too. 'Sweet Dispostion' - go figure. Well played, lads.

AC: Grizzly Bear are unlikely stage headliners, but in the G.W McLennan tent their hushed meditations made an easy transition out of chilly, rising-damp plagued bedrooms and into the humid Queensland night. Early on, a drawn out 'Fine for Now' from last year's Veckatimest - a song that features vocalist Ed Droste musing existentially about the nature of time before crashing into a muscular breakdown - was greeted with a rapture usually reserved for a band like The Strokes. Although newer cuts dominated, 'On a Neck, On a Spit' from Yellow House also got an airing at the close, the "each day I spend it with you now" refrain prompting some soft cooing that, multiplied by a thousand, drowned out Droste's mic. A triumph of brainy understatement just as the day's indulgences threatened to get messy.

AK: Ana Matronic and Jake Shears sure know how to please a crowd. The Scissor Sisters scene-chewers disco/caberet hybrid was one polished act and they both looked fierce to boot. Their new stuff didn’t get anywhere near the attention that old favourites like 'Tits on the Radio', 'Laura' and 'Take Your Mama Out' still do, but theirs was still an extravagantly entertaining act to behold. Their choreographed dancing was punctured by brief chats to the audience – one of which saw Ana read the How to Take Speed Safely brochure she procured from the Rave Safe desk earlier in the day. I learnt about shafting and shelving and then walked off into the night feeling like dancin’. Which, let's be frank, is exactly all one could want from a Scissor Sisters headline set. Though I did miss, as I would later hear around the flickering light of the camping table, Jake Shears stripping completely bare to finish off the set. What happens in the tent, stays in the tent.

DAY 2 | DAY 3