Meredith Music Festival
Meredith, Victoria
Sunday 12th December 2010

by Marcus Teague, Andrew Crook and Ariel Katz

REVIEW AND PHOTOS - FRIDAY | REVIEW AND PHOTOS - SATURDAY

MT: The second day of waking up in a tent at Meredith is a little hairier. Dirtier. More gruesome. In fact if it wasn't for the gentle sound of tent zips opening and various things being rustled, there'd be no drive to get up at all. That, or the body's unerring ability to tell you thirty seconds after your eyes open that you're about to explode unless you urinate. Someone need to arrange a photo essay of hungover, half-dressed punters bursting from their tents and cartwheeling to the nearest long grass/fence post.

AC: Now, Master Song's Tai Chi is one of those hallowed Meredith traditions that, like Combo La Revelacion, is probably considered an optional extra. But Sunday's early risers are rarely disappointed, many going on to become those strange solo practitioners you sometimes see in parks. "What we is doing, is we are doing mirror image", Song explained patiently, as the field of disorientated revellers repeatedly confused their left and right arms. Dismayed, Song went on a karate chop-inspired yelling rampage that would have echoed all the way to Elaine, before imploring everyone to try again. Relaxing and invigorating all at once, as last night's crust settled calmly on the amphitheatre's downtrodden grass tufts.

Like a dodgy Ballarat version of Don Henley, The Dead Salesmen Duo - who played the inaugural festival in 1991 - specialise in melodic heart-on-sleeve slices of angst. The kind that, if left unexpressed, would have troubling personal consequences. As one mad dude, clearly on ice, banged on a Sulo bin yelling 'fuck the showers', Hap and Ryda casually produced quiet classic after quiet classic, many of which they'd performed twenty years earlier. On 'Wendouree' ("the football breakup, taken by the hand, led into a starless night, to lay behind the grandstand") and 'No One Fell In Love Without Nothing Forever' the two-hundred so watching were reminded of not only the small town roots of the band, but the original Peele and Nolan Meredith brainchild. A timely decision to get them back in an age of fluoro Raybans and face-paint.

AK: Sally Seltmann’s set was lovely and warm, and gave an almost triumphant feel to the Amphitheatre after everything we’d gone through the two previous nights. Having been raining and pouring not ten minutes earlier, the sun came out as Sally and friends launched in to the “sunny, lollipop love song that everyone seems to be getting married to” aka ‘Harmony To My Heartbeat’. Perfect. Her daughter was brought on stage to bop to ‘On the Borderline’, which was six shades of cute, and the cover of Carly Simon's ‘You’re So Vain’ sounded so perfect, you’d think it was, and has always been, hers. The set had an almost crushingly beautiful array of horns, cello, guitar, keys, drums and, of course vocals. Meaning it was now time for a drink and a little sit down. Also: Jerri’s Vegie Burgers are so good I could cry.

AC: Sometimes when an artist gets thrust into the US indie marketing cycle there's a slickness that creeps into the live show that either irritates or ingratiates, but rarely both. With the success of this year's Heart That's Pounding, the Sally Seltmann show has left Northcote, and all the other former New Buffalo fiefdoms, for dead. And for an artist that could be accused of overdoing it on the cloying preciousness, this is no bad thing. The extra muscle from a full band, and Jessica Says on keys, means that the honed Seltmann live show is a joy to watch. On stand-out single 'Dream About Changing', the spectacular "lake that never runs dry" bridge coincided with a burst of late morning sunshine. As the crowd went from spray jacket, to jumper, to t-shirt and back to jacket again, a flawless Seltmann leafed through her LP's other highlights, concluding with Carole King / Carly Simon / Chocolate Starfish's 'You're So Vain', which, with a breeze buffeting, eerily resembled this actual Carly Simon live video from the mid-80s. Amazing.

If Those Darlins had been billed as a country-fied comedown to soothe last night's excess, the band that emerged was the exact opposite. The potty-mouthed Tennessee femmes (there's a dude on drums) sounded instead like Radio Ethiopia-era Patti Smith channelled by Buck Owens in a foul mood. Such was the impact that just as 'Screws Get Loose' fired up -- a preview of next year's bilious second album -- one guy decided to remove his Bonds and begin simulated sex with a kindred spirit wearing muddied red dress and a pirate hat. A cranking encore of b-side 'Funstix Party', ("I'll bring the fun, you'll bring the stix / I'll bring the pussy, you'll bring the dick") nicely summarised the mud couple's nude escapades, and also boasted one of the filthiest riffs of the weekend.

AK: Hypnotic Brass Ensemble are very aptly titled. Watching a stage full of ripped, brass-weilding man-babes is oddly hypnotizing. Their jazz roots x hip hop tastes had the crowd shaking what they could. Did you know that they are all actual brothers? Pretty impressive gene pool. Even more impressive is that eight guys with brass instruments can get the crowd jumping that much.

MT: If there's a party-starting trick in the book, this hip-hop meets brass band collective have it down pat. Crowd divides? Say "woah"? Making us crouch down before wiggling back up again? Check, check, check. Judging from the forceful roar of the crowd throughout (particularly notable for 1:30pm on the last day of the festival) and the sea of willing, bouncing hands, the eight-piece troupe from Chicago were the perfect nurse for what ailed. And man, were they loving it. Running through jazz inflected hip-hop, to ska to gypsy music, the ever rotating line-up saw various members put down their instruments every so often to convincingly spit on the mic, a trick that pulled focus well. Quite simply, there couldn't have been a better show of heart and flare - nor astonishing musicianship - at the tail end of the festival, and if they're ever invited back it will be with open arms.

AK: My first Meredith Gift and… Wow. Naked bodies running are pretty weird, huh? The girl standing behind me probably summed it up rather simply with, “That’s a lot of knobs.” And it was (although there have probably been many more in previous years, I’m sure). The idea of being naked not only in public, but in a pit of dirt, strewn with rubbish is not entirely appealing to me, but it was certainly being embraced by Meredith.

AC: Angus Sampson from popular ABC comedy The Librarians MCd proceedings, wondering aloud at one point whether former Queensland fast bowler Carl Rackemann was participating. A friend had apparently told him that Rackemann was circumsized, having assessing his manhood through some dressing room terry towelling the cricketer had donned a few decades back. Alas.

Hoss fronted up for the traditional post-Gift Toterock set (Legends of Motorsport, The Dacios, Even etc etc). In what looked like specially-made t-shirts and the expectation that more people would have bothered to stick around, Joel Silbesher and co battled on anyway, running through staples from a career that's lasted nearly as long as the festival. A companion remarked sagely that there weren't enough genuine rock and roll bands on the bill, and Silbesher was keen to make amends, grotting all over the stage and tearing through 'Ark', 'Bombs of Joy' and 'The Bullshit Never Ends' at toe-curling volume. Way over time, and with the stage manager getting antsy, they even managed to squeeze in a cover of Cheap Trick's 'Goodnight' before returning again for an extended wig-out and again for a impromptu version of Right Said Fred's 'I'm Too Sexy'. "For my shirrrrt, for my shirrrrt," Silbesher wailed in commendable defiance, as a snaking line of cars headed for the exit.

AK: From their website they say that, "Meredith is built, defined and refined specifically for a full weekend of sonic adventure. Planned and random highlights happen at any time on any day into night into day into night into day." And to that all I can say that it was, and it did. Meredith was muddy and transcendental and I feel like I may have broken a small bone in my foot, but it was worth it. One stage is blissful, Pink Flamingos are a delight and in the damaged words of Frenzal Rhomb, "I've never had so much fun / No I’ve never had so much fun / I can’t remember when I’ve ever had so much fun."

MT: Twenty years on and the quintessential Meredith experience remains as elusive as ever. Just when you think you've got the weekend pegged, cogs shift. Friends change. The weather flips. Money fluctuates. Your favourite band sucks and the one you've never heard of rules. You're in a tent, a van, or someone else's. You get a bit confused. And yet despite all the changes, both personal and festival, as soon as that Amphitheatre settles into view upon arrival, the unseen orbit you were on becomes clear once again. Hi Meredith.

REVIEW AND PHOTOS - FRIDAY | REVIEW AND PHOTOS - SATURDAY

(Pics: Tim O'Connor)