Golden Plains - Saturday (Day 1)
Meredith Amphitheatre
Saturday 6th March 2010

by Andrew Crook and Marcus T

“We’re like a painting on the stage.” So said Stephen Malkmus on Saturday night as the clouds rolled in over the Meredith Supernatural Amphitheatre. Malkmus could have been talking about the Jumbotron beaming his band’s set behind him. Or he may have been musing on the surreal sight of a group that hit their straps 15 years ago pumping out the hits like nothing had changed – the gap between performer and audience resembling an (impressive, award winning) art show.

"Welcome to 2010 motherfuckers" screamed Gaslamp Killer the next night, as LA's own mad professor dropped a scattering of unreleased Flying Lotus beats into a mix probably conceived on the fly, to mass dancefloor confusion. Such was the chafing between 30-something wet dreams (“man, imagine if we could get Pavement”), "reputation" live acts and wedged-in locals confronting 7,000 punters at the fourth annual Golden Plains.

A sold-out event charging $280 a ticket probably deserves continuity and flow, but this mightn't matter, with plush tent cities, random side shows and excellent culinary options tempting anyone failing to find inspiration on the main stage. But for the die-hards who slogged through the drizzle, the 52-hour marathon was best experienced as a series of sugar hits rather than a throbbing whole. Some acts rushed the pleasure centres, others struggled, and everyone else got - mostly - very wet.



Upon arrival however, the amphitheatre was, most unexpectedly, steamy. Lush green grass blanketed the ground, and with the sun working it's magic on the overnight damp, the effect was near tropical. To this, locals Royal Headache kicked off and surprised with an almost Ted Leo-level of catchiness -- the big surroundings cancelling out the usually unbearable sonic attack heard in Sydney's pubs and forcing the hooks to the fore on tracks like 'Eloise'. Good start, I thought, as veggie burger #1 and beer #4 settled pleasingly.


Crayon Fields

As strange as it may seem, The Crayon Fields worship at the same pop temple, but it was lead wimp Geoff O'Connor's prayers to a sun god that chased the drizzle away in a set bookended by 'Graceless' and 'All The Pleasures of the World' -- by the time O'Connor observed that "damp cheeks sparkle and glitter as we huddle in the rain", the gloom had magically lifted. The band are about to head to Austin for South By Southwest and they sounded like world beaters, tailor made for college radio and dorm room-romance.


Lou Barlow

Halfway through the Crayon Fields set a trickle of punters made their way to a cul de sac beyond the toilet block, to a tiny gazebo perched upon the edge of the canyon next to the masage tent. Under which was Sebadoh frontman (and Dinosaur Jr bassist) Lou Barlow, fiddling with a Fender amp and nylon-string acoustic. The story in the Golden Plains program goes that after Dan Deacon's wildly-successful  gonzo set by the toilet block a few years back, organisers felt it reasonable to ask Lou Barlow (as well as Jeffrey Lewis, slotted for an 11pm slot at the Cinema that would be rained out) to do similar. Resulting in the dulcet tones of 'Magnet's Coil' ringing out amongst  the leaves, free of lights, distance and a great many people. A crowd of around 100, which grew to 300 or so by sets end, crowded at Barlow's feet, clearly thrilled to be present at this secretive pocket of the festival. Barlow too seemed to be having a great time, taking requests, playing the hits ('Brand New Love', 'Together/Alone', 'Skull', 'On Fire') as well as - quietly hilariously - 'The Freed Pig', Barlow's scathing tale ("With no sick people tugging on your sleeve / Your big head has that "more room to grow") directed at J Mascis after Barlow's initial sacking from Dinosaur Jr. Whom he's here with today.

Around this point Melbourne was experiencing one of the most ferocious storms in 60 years, leaving a trail of giant hailstones, flooding, collapsed roofs, shopping centre evacuations and other apocalyptic tales. Us? A light rain. Nothing an $8 raincoat from Savers and an Egg and Bacon sandwhich from the Tucker Tent (now a wooden structure, mind) couldn't assuage.



Clairy Baby Brown and the Bangin Rackettes, an apparent favourite of between-band DJ Mohair Slim, looked the part but leading bellower Camilla McKewen's vocals struggled to cut through in a slot ideally suited to something a little harder-edged. That and the fact that in a era of soaring Winehouse excess, soul tunes are going be discarded, possible unfairly, as a novelty act. Total unfamiliarity with the songs couldn't have helped.



The sense of anticipation rose for IDF-induced crazies Monotonix, whose three inebriated members dawdled front-of-stage as Clairy Brown wound up. Beginning by dragging their instruments into the crowd, what the trio lack in the technical department they make up for with dexterity, with nutbar singer/drummer Ami Shalev pulling out his party trick and performing, complete with leather stool, atop the mosh. And all this without cordless mics. The sporty theme was underlined by first of the festival's two tennis namechecks, the band reeling off a list of local legends in a breakdown (Kylie Minogue!, Rolf Harris!) before saluting the "greatest Australian of all", two-time Grand Slam winner Rod Laver. Rod Laver!!


Monotonix

While the mustachioed Israeli's antics would make for fun photo album highlights, their random bursts of guitar and percussion showed scant musicality. The band were eventually asked to cut their set short due to safety fears. (This would be confirmed the day after, when Monotonix cancelled their Brisbane appearance due to Shalev re-hurting his already broken leg at Golden Plains).

Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra have been mining the Brooklyn-via Africa vibe for 12-odd years, and it showed as sweat-drenched saxophonist Stuart Bogie conducted his crack 8-piece band in a note-perfect performance built on reputation and the indie cred of Tortoise's John Macintire. Some pertinent political comment on the Federal Reserve's bank bailout and recognition of the festival's service industry hordes (mostly trainee lawyers working for free tickets but no matter) was anchored by a blistering set driven by Fela Kuti worshipper Amayo. Party central, and probably suited to a post-bands set, rather than early evening.

Campsite shenanigans and an ill-fated stumble with a feast plate from the Hare Krishna tent (Golden Plains/Meredith has better food than most neighborhoods, let alone festivals), led us into the evening. Despite the random showers, the temperature never plummeted, something of a blessing. Unbelievably, the totem-tennis field was never required.

Scheduling two of the biggest post-Nirvana glory acts back-to-back was a huge gamble, prompting one friend of The Vine to muse on the possibility of Stephen Malkmus telling people "to stick around for Dinosaur Jr" -- the materialisation of Pavement running through a flawless 'Silence Kit' from 1994's Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain had a tangible air of disbelief attached to it. All wobbly legs and fretwork, Malkmus is no stranger to the Amphitheatre, appearing with the Jicks 2005. But this was a set crafted for the festivals the band will play to this year in the lead up to a four-gig finale in Central Park NY. An accompanying greatest hits CD, Quarantine the Past, says it all, and there was nothing in way of new material. But with four albums of gold (plated) soundz to pick from it hardly mattered, Malkmus reprising his patented early 20s guitar-stance as tricks man Bob Nastanovich prowled the perimeter on 'Stereo' and 'Date with IKEA'.


Pavement

Scott 'Spiral Stairs' Kannberg will soon move permanently to Melbourne and the band had local knowledge in spades, dashing off tributes to Magic Dirt and Roland S Howard and name-checking Colac. But when Malkmus spat the immortal "pay your dues before you the rent" line on a sped-up 'Range Life' he hinted at the main reason for his band's run of shows this year. Even with the memories rushing back, 19 tracks over 80 minutes was probably on the indulgent side of acceptable nostalgia for some.


Dinosaur Jr.

By contrast, J Mascis' Dinosaur Jr. have released two impressive albums in the last decade with every indication of another five to come. Mascis looked snug wedged between four enormous Marshall stacks (all surely at full volume), with one at 45 degrees unhelpfully obscuring fans to his left. All the hits were there, but an epic 'Plans' from last year's Farm blew minds I tell ya. 'Out There', featuring possibly the best double pop change-up of all time, drenched everyone in glory as the rain picked up. Hard.



The frigid exodus after Mascis, Barlow and Murph sauntered off was close to biblical but for those cowering from the rain in the packed Pink Flamingo, Andee Frost, with a burgeoning reputation on the back of Saturday night blowouts at Melbourne's Toff in Town, promised much but ended in the middle, wanting to play up to the dwindling pop kids when a better option might've been something like his stellar Beats in Space guest slot.

By the time DJ Ransom's house-heavy and clunky set was halfway through, the spectre of what DJ's aim to achieve is at this early hour in the Meredith Supernatural Amphitheatre is raised. Do you go the defiant artist route, sticking to your obscure excursions into self-satisfaction? Or do you drop the obvious, embracing the community to shield them through the night via the ol' 'House-of-Pain-into-The-Cure-mash-up-with-INXS route? Ransom seemed to exist unsatisfyingly between the two worlds, and as his closing timeslot of 3:30am drew to a close, great swathes of the dancefloor remained motionless. Ouch. The late Rowland S Howard's 'Shivers' played out in full during the DJ crossover, and as we watched the unlikely backdrop of a slowly striding giant astronaut on screen play along, we felt the moment - and night - defeat us.

Gloriously, the tent wasn't even cold.

GOLDEN PLAINS 2010 PHOTO GALLERY | GOLDEN PLAINS SUNDAY REVIEW