Laneway Festival
Sydney College of the Arts, Rozelle
Sunday 31st January 2010

The Sydney College of the Arts is an ex-asylum. Looming sandstone walls, stone pathways, manicured hedges and paved courtyards suggest an orderly sense of occasion. Where once office workers and buses roamed the earth outside of Laneway's walls, here it's usually paint brushes being fondled and the whir of lawnmowers. A deficit of actual laneways that gave the festival its name notwithstanding - there's none - the new location more than makes up for the black bitumen and glass towers. In ease of wandering, shaded awnings and clear sightlines (if you're willing to mingle). The thing's almost...relaxed. Round up a selection of up-and-coming UK hipsters, a smattering of NY-types and local heroes, and you have three stages of music woven throughout a scenic, tropical-colonial-getaway-meets-level-of-DOOM setting for Laneway 2010. Yes please.

I make sure we arrive nearly specifically to see new Modular guy Jonathan Boulet. Who's debut was foolishly issued at the beginning of the December '09 rush but which has still been a regular on the stereo since. I've never seen him before, so I can only ask...is it always like this? A seemingly twenty-minute soundcheck takes place, as band members toy with their instruments, while Boulet himself wanders about the stage as if waiting to be told to play something. Looking at friends. Looking at his guitar. When the band does launch into several instrumental tracks there's none of the joy on the record, more a wilting indie-band trying to find their feet. (And there's no acoustic guitar present. Am I crazy or does releasing an album wholly based on the charm and interesting use of acoustic guitar over rock drums...and then not using one live, make all kinds of stupid sense?) Despite a hint of passion with closer 'Community Service Announcement', on the whole it's disappointing.

We head to see Scottish pales Frightened Rabbit sweating bucketloads on the Clocktower Stage in steamy conditions. (Stage named so because there is a giant looming clocktower next to the stage. Y'see). As with so many festivals of this magnitude, it's always hard to catch full sets from any one band. Moreso today because most starting times on the three stages are identical). While Frightened Rabbit's passionate indie-rock would make a meal of a dingier, indoor venue, today they're evoking passions that aren't on the radar yet. Soaring romantic rock has weak business this early, on these baking pebbles.

Maybe that's another story on the main stage because The Middle East are playing to a fairly huge, gently swaying crowd. They're also more suited to the cooler, darker hours (as seen yesterday in Melbourne) but there's little doubt they're becoming comfortable with the big stages and rightly so. The voices of Jordan Ireland and Rohin Jones' (and keyboardist Bree Tranter's, for that matter) all carry strongly, and with the amount of phones aloft for 'Blood' and 'Darker Side' - and that Fleetwood Mac-esque one the name of which I don't know - it's clear people are keen on soon revisiting the memories this band makes.

Sometime last year a friend sent me a link to a Wild Beasts track and, I kind've couldn't stand it. Live it makes much more sense. Go figure. The twin, oddball, Jeff Buckley-meets-Morrissey vocals of Tom Fleming and Hayden Thorpe (they could find two of these guys?) translates more in a live setting, drifting as they do over some mid-point between Tortoise and The Smiths. Add in a little of that percussive guitar left over from the smoking "dance-rock" era and it's something that intrigues. If not completely kills, though something suggests their sideshow might. Some muscle wouldn't go astray. Once again Mumford and Sons have a gigantic crowd on the car park stage mouthing every lyric, while on the inner sanctum stage The xx are playing to a crew of punters shoehorned into the bottleneck shaped space stretching between the buildings. From side of stage it's interesting to watch how the band's music comes together - and how little is involved. (As Ben Gook wrote of their sideshow in Melbourne, this is a plus). Jamie Price has a couple of MPC's, a dinky toy keyboard, a guitar pedal in his chain and a mixing desk, and it's from here that the trio's dub leanings rumble forth. I still don't quite get why he plays the drum pads with his fingers - beyond a cool thing to do, visually. You know, as opposed to pressing play - but the twin vocals of Romy Croft and Oliver Sims pull focus anyway. Sims in particular proves best supporting actor, all dramatic looks, humble asides to the crowd and spidery moves on the bass. Croft serves as the slightly unsure, blinking teenager shoved into the spotlight. Like her lyrics.

The Black Lips are wringing out some excellent, good-time drunk garage pop on the Clocktower stage, when a wobbly, tall guy in a basketball gersey comes up and conducts the perfect exchange to have while at a Black Lips show:.

"Look man...don't take this the wrong way, and I don't mean any offense, but what the fuck is it with Channel V when..."

"Uh...I don't work for Channel V."

"Are you serious? Are you fucking serious...'cause I was gonna...aw man. I'm not gay right but it would be so much easier".

I won't say Daniel Johnston is leading his pick-up band - in this case, Old Man River - through a set of of timeless songs because, well Johnston doesn't really seem to know the musicians are there. It doesn't matter because the band make a decent hash of it, and when Johnston belts out 'Rock and Roll EGA' they prove their worth - insofar as they get it right. But when Johnston is without them he's far more compelling. Maybe he likes the back-up, maybe he likes the volume and safety net. But Johnston is too mesmerising, interesting and heartbreaking a character to be stuck in a band. Give the man the mic (and guitar side-kick Brett Hartenbach) and already he's more powerful than anyone that could stand on stage with him.

Dinner time at Sydney Laneway throws up the problems that befell yesterdays event in Melbourne - not enough food stalls. We select an vegetarian curry line and wait half an hour for such a thing. It is - and from what we can see on offer from the other six gourmet stalls - delicious. But when you're 30 metres from a band at any one point, food should be something you purchase on the way to the stage. Not instead of. Talk turns to desiring Mexican food, ease of access and beer cans, and we wish momentarily for roving "hot pie" sellers snaking through the crowd. Something for next year?

With the onset of dusk comes some respite from the heat. Today's humidity has made today's 27 degrees feel like 37. The sandstone architecture retains some of this and with high walls on every side there's no evening sea breeze coming to cool us. Beer will have to do, as ever, friend. With so much drama surrounding the cancellation of Echo and the Bunnymen, at first the Brisbane Laneway and then Melbourne (due to frontmouth Ian McCulloch's partner giving birth, apparently) the eventual materialising of the Manchester legends is...underwhelming. Maybe it was jet lag. Maybe they believe their own legend a bit too much (no, they definitely do: "This song's the best song ever written!". "This songs the second best song ever written!" etc) but the Bunnymen proved to be not worth the wait. McCulloch rambles - possibly endearingly so - but his drawl chews up any connection with the crowd, and the at first large mass of punters, dwindles. Even 'Killing Moon' sounded dreary. Over on the inner sanctum stage Dappled Cities were proving far more watchable, even with co-vocalist Dave Rennick reportedly suffering tonsilitis. It didn't show. Their penises did, however. A lot. The band were wearing head to toe, tight, shimmering gold jumpsuits, that, in the right flicker of stage light, clearly displayed which side they tucked from 15 metres back. When Sarah Blasko arrived onstage to sing a fantastic version of 'Vision Bell', at least eyes were averted momentarily.

With Eddy Current about to take the stage, we wandered over to see about 30 people waiting for N.A.S.A to show up. At five minutes past lift-off they still hadn't begun, and with the Frankston four-piece hammering away in the background over yonder we made haste. If the space and absence at N.A.S.A was eerie (they reportedly got the party started later on) the crowd gathered at Eddy Current Suppression Ring was at least a little more enthusiastic 21st birthday campfire. Mikey Young's charges were LOUD in the Inner Sanctum, and as they ripped through the set it was fun to watch people slowly streaming in. Then joining in, then jumping in. The tension created by this band is laughably infectious, no matter how many times I've seen them play. I leave for the main stage and miss the point where Brendan scales the awning and sings at the crowd from on the roof.

Leaving for the main stage we quickly find out the reason for the ghost town vibe hanging over the rest of the site: Florence and the Machine. Did anyone know she was going to be such a superstar here? Florence Welch and co don't quite inspire the euphoria seen in Melbourne the night before, but it doesn't stop her getting everyone to do that jump thing in 'Dog Days' towards the end, then proclaiming "Wow. Best ever!" Before correcting herself: "Oh wait, we said that last night". Nonetheless, the silhouettes in the trees and the circles of people dancing as far back from the stage as you can get, suggest that Florence has found a sympathetic territory in Australia. And Laneway it's unexpected highlight. Which, Big Day Out take note, should be the DNA of any festival worth their salt. This year was a re-birthing of the Laneway brand, and if they can recreate another fresh lineup for their next installment, now that their new digs are sorted, this weekend's gathering suggests the tastemaking paradigm has shifted.

(Pics: Will Reichelt)