Live Review - Laneway Festival, Melbourne - Part 1

Sunday February 1st 2009

The 2009 Melbourne edition of the newly national Laneway festival expanded exponentially this year. Gone is the iconic original stage posited down the low end of Caledonian Lane, as well as the food stalls lining the main Londsdale Street stage. Replacing them are two free local stages, (one on the State Library lawn and the other in the main shopping area of QV), a DJ set up stationed down the alley outside Sister Bella and a larger stage on the crest of Little Londsdale street. Despite the event consisting now of six stages positioned in a two block radius of (a closed for the day) St.Jerome's itself, it's the events at the just one stage that will make the news. 

Upon arrival it's fucking hot, there are firecrackers marking the Chinese New Year splintering the air like gunfire and there are no signs pointing to anywhere. So I go and buy a hat. As I return down the side of the main Londsdale Street stage where Tame Impala are playing, I come to where I expect to arrive on Swanston Street. Instead I'm ensconsed in a black plastic fence blocking the end of the path. Two dozen shoppers are standing on the footpath with me enjoying a superb view of Tame Impala. As I retrace my steps back down and around to the main stage I see there are no signs telling the public of where they're blithely headed, even as I pass families strolling up the footpath towards the dead end. And Tame Impala.

Across the tram tracks and up Swanston Street Machine Translations are facing the grand structure of the State Library and its lawny incline. Fleshed out with band, Greg Walker leads his scruffy charges through his typically atypical reimagining of modern day folk-pop. Walker's laconic drawl suits the slowly steaming midday laze just fine. Back on the main stage Beaches are struggling to connect with their monotone guitar dirge, so a better option seems to be scooting down Caledonian lane and around the to Red Bull Stage for the weirdly early start time of Four Tet. I'm not alone with this train of thought. The bottleneck between Londsdale Street and the laneway is choked with punters aiming to follow suit. I make my way down to the line to find Four Tet isn't playing at all. He's on stage at 6.30pm, not 1.30pm as advertised in the program. Right. 

Passing a gaggle of kids taking photos of the new playing times pasted onto a wall, I make it out to the new Little Londsdale Street stage. It looks impressive, sandwiched up there between the towering, gothic walls of the library and the steel and glass of the QV building. Youthful San Fransican mega group Still Flyin' are the best thing so far, fusing sunny, reggae-tinged jams with the manic stage-party energy usually reserved for Architecture in Helsinki and Hillsong. The eleven-piece band have a couple of guys just dancing on stage at any given moment, lending an impromptu pool party vibe to the set and it resonates easily. A fawning, swelling crowd is already perching on every available ledge.

Back on the main stage ex-Pavement dude Spiral Stairs plays a solid version of that famous band's 'Kennel District'. Backed by three quarters of Gersey, the ol' summertime jam vibe that Pavement were so good at on songs like this, is offered up enjoyably to the faithful. Except they're not biting. Stairs asks "Are you still waking up?" after scattered applause, and as Preston School of Industry track 'Falling Away' kicks in there's an unmistakeable sense of people wondering who they're watching. Over on the now sweltering outdoor library stage, Karl Scullin of Kes Band is proving that there are still yet new sounds to wring out of a guitar. Despite a largely placid crowd, they stay put in the sun to watch Scullins wiry three-piece layer melodies upon unexpected melodies before cleverly tying the whole thing up in knots and starting again.   

Canadian kids Born Ruffians are rocking the shorts and singlet combo, as well as a large and vocal crowd on Little Londsdale. At times sounding a little like old-school Modest Mouse and a LOT like Vampire Weekend. The whole thing hinges on diminuative vocalist Luke LaLonde's clear vocals over the percussive clattering of drummer Steve Hamelin. It occurs that African influences are so commonplace now that it just seems a given among new guitar bands. Along with the primary colours and quiffs. It also occurs that a $4 for a beer at a festival is unheard of - even if they're on the whimsical side - and that the lackey who organised such a thing should be embraced. Port O'Brien meanwhile are looking every inch the fisherman's sons they are, despite one of their number a walking Dangerfield catalouge. Chorale beardy folk-rock is unexpectedly in vogue at the moment and the American's do it exceptionally. They even hit the crowd's sweet spot at 3:30pm in the afternoon with a slightly excitable crowd participation singalong for set closer "I Woke Up Today". The slower (and slightly better) tracks off last year's debut All We Could Do Was Sing are avoided here in favour of vigour. Everyone positioned between Myer's 'Men Suits' department and The Hobby Place seems to agree. 

At this point I'm realising that my freewheeling experience is singular. As I aim to walk down Caledonian lane to see Pivot in the Lounge I'm instead met with a hastily scrawled "No Access" sign taped to a fence that wasn't there before. Security are directing people in a large horseshoe line out the main area and back down the crowded footpath towards the beginning of the lane. There they wait to be led down to try their luck at the Lounge doorway. Even those with VIP passes are being knocked back, and with humidity reaching biblical proportions, tempers are fraying. The Londsdale street McDonalds is doing a roaring trade. 

Melbourne has finally embraced kinetic Sydney three piece Pivot. The Lounge is packed. The room would also be a perfect respite from the heat if it weren't akin to standing inside a burning 747. Pivot drummer Laurence Pike looks defeated by the humidity between songs, but it does nothing to slow him down while the band play; head lolling furiously above his drumsticks as he leads guitar toting brother Richard and laptop guy Dave Miller through a set that is reliably pulverising and dramatic. Two new songs featuring vocals stand out, a good sign of where the band might go next. (Watch our exclusive interview with Pivot at the festival here.)

Jay Reatard famously doesn't fuck around and with a count off into the first song his band powers through tunes as if they're running late for something. Reatard's aggro presence is offset by his almost reedy voice, but balanced by a bass player with more rock moves and "O" faces than Tenacious D. After three songs I need shade. And food. Attempting to watch Grand Salvo in a pub can be difficult at times, so seeing Paddy Mann play in the bowels of a concrete shopping behometh like QV seems appalling. Instead, the QV landing is a welcome if hard surfaced oasis. And full. This area is free, so it's a combo of curious latte sippers, festival goers and mildly interested furniture shoppers. A man and his child sleep on the astro turf in front of the stage as Mann and pal Zoe Randall (who appeared on this stage earlier with Luluc) provide lullabye respite from the clattering of lunch dishes reverberating beyond the cavern. It's all going well until Cut Off Your Hands begin on the Little Londsdale Street stage behind us up the stairs, their thumping drone puncturing the calm admirably won by the lonesome figures before us. Acousticians nimbly licking their spent burger papers collectively shudder.