Ric's Big Backyard Festival #1
Ric's Bar, Fortitude Valley, Brisbane
Saturday 26 March 2011
What makes a good music festival? Let's make the educated assumption that, for the vast majority, value for money is the key determinant. If a buyer perceives a festival to be worthy of their time - and, more importantly, money - there's a high likelihood that the festival has a line-up that appeals to them. If not, the buyer refuses to part with their money, and spends their day elsewhere. Such is the dilemma faced by the first Ric's Big Backyard Festival - '#1 Autumn 2011', according to a note on posters and wristbands, and thus hinting at future events. The value proposition for festival #1 is thus: 20-odd bands for $75, spread across three stages near the Brunswick Street Mall in Brisbane's Fortitude Valley. More specifically, the majority of the festival action is contained within Ric's Bar, a long-standing pillar of this city's live entertainment scene. Ric's holds two of the festival's stages - the main stage is located behind the venue, in the laneway between the Royal George Hotel and X&Y Bar.
From the outset, one problem is apparent: the festival's value proposition isn't strong enough. Upon arriving just before 3pm, a trip to the Upstairs stage - where local act Velociraptor are playing - reveals a modestly full room, with a reasonable gap between skittish punters and the band exhibiting their idiosyncratic style of gang-pop. Their eight members include three guitarists, two drummers, a bassist, a keyboardist, and a singer. They play obnoxious, shambolic pop music that could easily come across as contrived, but manage to avoid it, somehow, probably because they don't seem to give a shit. It's a fine line between appearing to not give a shit, and actually not giving a shit, and they err on the latter. Still, even this early in the day, it's clear that the venue's close confines - or, to put it another way, forced intimacy - is going to work against the festival.
There's more space at the Outside stage, where Guineafowl are playing, to a crowd consisting mostly of staff from their label, Dew Process, and a handful of half-interested punters. It feels like a high school dance, where everyone's afraid of making the first move; or, in this case, enjoying themselves. The band are copping the afternoon sun in full force. This six-piece play indie pop which draws heavily from the U2 school of songwriting; lots of needly guitar lines, dramatic choruses, and extreme earnestness. They finish with something of a whimper, having barely elicited applause from the audience throughout their half-hour. I count eight Toohey's Extra Dry flags positioned near the stage; two banners are plastered behind the drum kit. Also within eyeshot are five Smirnoff banners and a few Red Bull umbrellas and tables. None of the above detracts from the musical performances, but it's pretty clear how Ric's have pushed the corporate sponsorship envelope.
At the Downstairs stage, Ben Salter is playing songs from his forthcoming solo album, The Cat. Salter is known - and loved - as the singer/songwriter/guitarist of Brisbane acts The Gin Club and Giants Of Science, among others. Few current performers in Brisbane can match his talent or reputation. Still, this is neither the right time nor place for slow, introspective ballads. No-one's doubting the quality of the songs, but Salter's act - accompanied by a guitarist, bassist and drummer - strikes the wrong chord today, and not particularly due to any fault of his own. It's just that the festival seems stuck in first gear, and it's not clear what will inspire a shift upwards. "You've got your money's worth, then; those who paid, at least," announces Salter, in reference to the event's sluggish ticket sales and resultant freebies.
Upstairs, the cymbal wash is intense during the hard rock onslaught of The Mercy Beat. Momentarily removing earplugs exposes the aural damage inflicted by an un-miced drum kit in close quarters. There's precious little enthusiasm being shown toward the band, despite their best efforts. Likewise The Medics at the Outside stage, who are filling in for The Honey Month at short notice. I like the way that these four carry themselves: no pretension, no extraneous bullshit. Just songs, well-crafted, and sincerely-delivered; crucially, not to the point of over-earnestness, as witnessed earlier today. The Medics weave their way through rock songs with a melodic pop heart. They seem like a band to believe in.
On the same stage, New Zealanders Die! Die! Die! provide the day's first - and much-needed - shock to the system. Never the kind of band to let audience malaise get to them, the trio launch into 'A.T.T.I.T.U.D.' from their 2007 release Promises, Promises, and do their best to elicit something - anything - from the crowd. Singer/guitarist Andrew Wilson is soon in the audience, playing on the bitumen in front of his bandmates. While this usually provokes a friendly mosh at the band's own shows, by now it's pretty clear that not too many Die! Die! Die! fans are in attendance. Though they've pulled the biggest crowd today so far, most seem to treat them like an exotic, indie-punk beast, to be observed from a distance instead of engaged with. It's a pity, because their setlist contains some of their best work; 'Sideways Here We Come', 'Ashtray! Ashtray!', and a handful from their outstanding 2010 album, Form. They're an incredibly tight unit, owing largely to the strength of the rhythm section. But try as they might, the Kiwis can't force an atmosphere; even when Wilson and bassist Lachlan Anderson are singing and playing down on the bitumen during set closer 'We Built Our Own Oppressors', there's barely any crowd reaction. It's a damn shame.
Braving the sardine tin-like inside stages seems like folly, so we wait outside for Pangaea, an utterly ridiculous band who existed for a few years in the 1990s before disappearing completely. Tonight is their first show in 13 years. While I've never seen them live before, I did purchase a copy of their first (and only) album, Freibentos, from a second-hand store a few years ago. Essentially, they're a hybrid of punk and thrash metal. Singer/bassist Ben Ely is nowadays better known for his role in Regurgitator. It's not hard to see why. Though Ely, guitarist Jim Sinclair and - especially - drummer Dave Atkins (ex-Resin Dogs, Wolfmother) are all skilled players, the ground they tilled with Pangaea had to have sounded dated when they first formed. In 2011, their style is hilariously out of place; the band members seem to know and embrace this fact. Even the dudes with devil horns in the air, while Sinclair shreds, have got to be taking the piss. During the only new track they air tonight, the guitarist plays a riff lifted directly from 'Master Of Puppets'; in 'Watercress', Ely taps out a complicated rhythm on the fretboard of his bass. Bass tapping - that's the kind of band that Pangaea were, and are. One suspects the world does not need Pangaea in 2011, any more than the world needed Pangaea in the 1990s. It's worth mentioning, however, that Dave Atkins is probably still the best drummer in Brisbane. (Interestingly, he's seen chatting with Andrew Stockdale, his one-time Wolfmother bandmate, at show's end. Reformation/side project forthcoming?)
What does it say about this city if Violent Soho are held up as one of our most recent success stories? They're up next on the Outside stage. The crowd gathered in front of Soho would barely fill the Downstairs room inside Ric's. By now, everyone knows the schtick: distortion, power chords, flannel, angst, flashy drumming. By now; aren't Violent Soho a parody of a parody of a parody? It's hard to tell. Who still takes them seriously? Is the joke on them, or us? I watch their whole set, and can't make up my mind. They make people nod their heads to their big, obvious hooks, but little more. Curious.
It's past 9pm by the time that headliners You Am I start, and boy, does this festival need a knockout performance to retain some semblance of self-respect. Thankfully, these four pros - and their touring keyboardist - deliver the goods. I have never seen a bad set from You Am I, and I struggle to picture how such a situation could even eventuate. With so many classic songs to choose from, they simply can't go wrong. And they don't. We're privy to the likes of 'Constance George', 'Coprolalia' and 'Berlin Chair' rubbing up against the best moments from their 2010 self-titled album, in 'Pinpricks', 'The Ocean' and 'Trigger Finger'. This is just the kind of music-affirming experience that this festival needs to end on. A shirtless Rogers names 'How Much Is Enough?' as their last song, before changing his mind afterwards and ripping through 'Thank God I've Hit The Bottom', sans-guitar. The band return for a lightning fast encore in 'Cathy's Clown'. It is a commanding set which booms out onto the Valley thoroughfare Ann Street like a threat to their peers. As if any living Australian rock band could come close to what You Am I live and exhibit.
Though the Melbournites were the stars, it's fitting that a Brisbane institution closes the night: Gentle Ben & His Sensitive Side, who fill in for Sixfthick's absence due to personal reasons. Handily, both bands share a singer in Ben Corbett, who alternately croons and yells at the full room. I leave after witnessing a startlingly macho rendition of 'Was There Anything I Could Do?' by feted Bris-pop band The Go-Betweens. To call the first Ric's Big Backyard Festival an outright failure is erroneous; instead, let's call it an ambitious proposal that mostly succeeded at its goal of bringing an attractive line-up of Antipodean talent to Brisbane's live entertainment precinct. If there's a fault it was that the price wasn't right; punters voted with their feet. Or lack of. As a test case however, though, the best bits of Ric's Big Backyard #1 bode well for future events.
Andrew McMillen