Golden Plains
Meredith
Sunday 8th March (Saturday review)

After crawling out of the tent and scoffing the requisite sausage and egg sandwich, I tottered stagewards to witness an unassuming Luluc laying down some gentle folk rock wonderment to a crusty fan base cradling takeaway lattes. Like her musical partner Grand Salvo, Luluc is well suited to the early morning slot, with the stoic tra-la-la’d chorus of ‘Body on the Water’ washing gloriously over the remnants of last night’s carnage.

With nothing much else to do but sit and watch, a freshly-showered Dan Kelly regaled the growing patchwork of picnic rugs with his amusing line in self-depreciation, the best response reserved for an intro to the homo-erotic musings of ‘Dandenong Station’. Recent single ‘The SUV Song’, veered way too far into the realms of the lyrically obvious, with disappointing harmonies provided by his two uniformed “Ukeladies”. Even more frustrating was the absence of the correct backing vocals on an otherwise cracking version of Sinead O’Connor’s ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’. Interestingly, the Kelly classic ‘Drunk on Election Night’ failed to rouse a singalong, 18 months of Kevin Rudd apparently dimming those days of rage way back in November 2004. Or maybe it was just too early.

Still, it didn’t take long for the inevitable momentum provided by 7,500 punters slooping down from the tent city to re-assert itself. With the sun inching higher over Mt Mercer, and the first Melbourne Bitter of the day seeping nicely into my frontal lobe, alt-county original Jim White’s excursions into loping folktronica seemed close to revelatory. Joined by John Doe on bass and impressively authentic hip hop beatz, the duo issued enthusiastic instructions to “let your freak flag fly” (a line from ‘Turquoise House’ off White’s 2007 album Transnormal Skiparoo) but rather than engendering further enthusiasm, just seemed a bit naff.

But at this point, my mind was wandering. The weird thing about Golden Plains is that before you know it, it’s already 4pm and a repeat of a descent into Saturday’s messiness begins to look unavoidable. I wonder how many days this twilight zone could last? If the festival went for a week, and roti wrap consumption reached double figures, would the whole place descend into some kind of Lord of the Flies hellzone or might good-spirited communalism break out? Difficult to tell.

Pivot are fast evolving into a five star international professionals, rivalling Mogwai for tightness, earnestness and audience chin-strokage. But here, with the sweat starting to bead, the trio managed to go beyond the bedroom and get a solid, thwacky groove going, anchored by some amazingly tactile drumming and basslines that darted every which way but down. Warp Records are on to a winner with these guys – next stop, Glastonbury.

Still, the temporary departure from the Nashville script was short-lived. After a hesitant beginning, the disarmingly jaunty but well-rehearsed fivesome Old Crow Medicine Show emerged clear winners of the annual “shoe in” prize for a resounding version of ‘Wagon Wheel’ – the spontaneous singalong all the more astounding given the band have probably sold about 12 records locally. Their cover of Bob Marley’s 'Soul Rebel' also did the business, prompting one of those satisfying waves of murmured recognition.

The overly cynical could make a pretty convincing case that Golden Plains is shaping up as the playground of Biscotti-nibblers keen to spend Labour Day celebrating privilege rather than toil. But to venture too far down that path would be a category error -- quibblers need only look to the kudos heaped upon the festival by the overseas imports to get firmly wrenched back to reality. This year, both Old Crow and Dan Deacon took a leaf out of The Shins’ book (Meredith, 2003), and communicated their heartfelt wonderment at the ability of a non-commercial festival to exist, and indeed thrive, in the V-sponsored era.

Unfortunately the love-in was halted the moment an very earnest My Disco strode on stage. Watching the trio evolve over the years, it’s been interesting to note the curious progression from straight-up hardcore to repetitive, tribal math rock [Dance rock?-Ed] (last LP Paradise being the apogee). But the meditative state required for total immersion seemed lost on the festival crowd keen to throw off the shackles that Ben Andrews and co. take so much pleasure in pinning down. Perhaps the sight of a man encased in a giant inflatable bubble, drinking a can of beer while rolling atop the crowd down the front was a touch distracting.

Dreams of immediate liberation were further dashed the moment “swamp tech” husband-and-wife duo Quintron and Miss Pussycat opened with a bizarre Punch and Judy show recalling an outtakes from a late 90s episode of Recovery. The more techy tunes impelled some limited ass-wiggling, but with the spectre of The Church starting to build it all seemed a bit puerile.

The scene was set -- enveloping darkness the perfect backdrop for Steve Kilby’s vagued-out space pop. The rest of the band seemed a bit limp early, possibly anxious about squeezing their stellar 20-single legacy into a 50 minute festival slot. But as soon as the opening bars of 1985’s ‘Tantalized’, began to wend their way out of speakers, Kilby had the kids firmly onside. ‘Under the Milky Way’ got a an unexpected guernsey while still-storming 1988 single ‘Reptile’ (last heard locally via an atrocious Smashing Pumpkins cover at last year’s V-Festival) closed out proceedings, leaving the by-now fully darkened amphitheatre gagging for an extended 2-hour wig out. I won’t even hold the omission of ‘The Unguarded Moment’ against them. Basically, The Church are one the best pop acts of all time, deserving of a run of sell-out shows at Rod Laver arena with The Triffids and The Sunnyboys in support. Michael Chugg, where are you? OK, feeling good.

To say Tony Allen was anticipated would be shocking understatement but with an opening stanza plagued by audio problems (the basic issue seemed to be a lack of volume) the all-star band struggled to get out of lounge mode. The man looks good on paper but was possibly the wrong choice in the context. That and the disturbing similarity between some of his grooves and that bonus track off the Boogie Nights soundtrack. Hardcore fans would’ve been pleased but for everyone else Allen was a bit of a damp squib.

As a consequence, The Drones, currently the best live band in Australia, could afford to be confident. Such is the strength of last year’s Havilah LP that tracks like ‘Shark Fin Blues’ and ‘Baby, Baby, Baby’ from previous years could have been omitted. The bravado was obvious, Liddiard’s unhinged posturing a foil to Dan Luscombe’s steady stage-left hand. When the band were last here -- at Meredith in 2006 -- it seemed self-destruction was imminent, but now, with a Havilah-heavy live show down pat, the focus is solely on Liddiard’s songcraft. A rollicking ‘Nail it Down’, ‘The Minotaur’ and the addition of a lubricated Dan Kelly rejoining the stage on acoustic guitar for ‘Oh My’ sealed the deal. Liddiard’s lyrics, especially his directive to get some “Heinz baked beans and a 12 gauge” seemed appropriate for the rural setting. Oh, and Kelly’s a descendent of bushrangers.

At Golden Plains, it’s always debateable who's actually headlining, but the pre-press had been all about Gary Numan. Coincidentally, one of the more curious aspects of GP to date has been the audience’s almost entirely monoethnic makeup. The disturbing imagery wasn’t helped by noted Thatcherite Numan's set, heavy on the Fascist allusions with some inexplicable lame nu-metal crunk slathered all over his newer material. Hair transplants are never a good look but at least ‘Cars’ and ‘Down in the Park’ got an airing, the howls of recognition coming as a relief after this sub-Nine Inch Nails assault that would’ve grated with sections of the audience jacked up on serotonin. [Though if you were up for the sublime, triumphant ridiculousness of it all -- *raises hand* -- there was nowhere better in the world - Ed]

For those particular peeps, the night was a long one indeed, with the B-more worshipping Opulent and DJ Mujava teaming up to send relentless 4/4 beats well into the outer paddocks until just before dawn -- both a slightly anti-climactic end to a premium quality festival and a savage rebuff to those punters intent on getting any sleep whatsoever.

GOLDEN PLAINS 2009 PHOTO GALLERY