Being a Splendour virgin this was my very first trip to the lush
surrounds of Belongil Fields in Byron Bay and I gotta say, it's such a
relief to not have to navigate the hot concrete, city towers and
general disregard for comfort inherent in other festivals of this size.
With the exception of the crush that happened during The Presets the
following day (more on that later), moving around the event was a joy.
Having each of the three main stages housed inside their respective
tents means some of the natural beauty of the setting is lost, but it's
exchanged for the sound quality in each one being pristine. I'll take
the latter thanks. Even better, like distant relatives Meredith and
Golden Plains, the isolation of each stage works as a natural crowd
barrier, easing congestion - and minimising the dickhead factor - as people mill
around a particular area rather than queuing to squeeze up the front of
a giant, double-fronted stage. So with the sun beaming and the
temperature hovering around the low 20s, photographer Tim and I left
our loaned abode and set forth.
After navigating tentacles of
traffic both human and vehicular, making our way past camping tents,
sniffer dogs and various security checks, we finally make it into the
fields. And with the entry being directly opposite from the Mix Up
dance stage we find ourselves at the feet of a beaming
Bluejuice, who have in turn found themselves seven years on from their inception
at this, the defining peak of their career.
With 5000 or so revelers
stretched to the back wall of the tent it's a whole new realm for the
band. One where a field of people pump their fists to keyboard solos,
shout lyrics to the sky and grope each other when the inevitable "big
radio tune" begins. Singer One, Jake Stone, plays the scene-stealing
rubbery-limbed jester to a t, while Singer Two, Stav Yiannoukas,
takes on the prowling straight man persona.
Backed by a tight
three-piece of bass, drums and keys it's this symbiotic attack that
keeps the band ever so exciting. At any given moment Jake, despite
already sporting a broken hand and leg from recent stage antics, leaps
off the drum riser, stage, anything, only to collapse onto the floor
before pulling himself up again. At one point after such a moment he stays down on his back moaning "Owww" into the microphone, prompting
Stav to crack "Yeah well with a broken leg what do you expect you
retard?" Fair comment.
Soon Jake rises once more with at least his
spirit intact to further hurl himself about. The crowd eat it up.
Predictably some stream out after the JJJ hit ‘Vitriol', but this
just leaves the heaving mass with more room to dance, particularly to
unreleased future-hit 'I'll Burn My Bridges Thank You Very Much' with
it's refrain of "I ain't tellin the truth no more". Turns out there is
place for self-doubt in hip-hop, party-funk.
Having seen
Tokyo Police Club at a label party the night before in town - once was enough - we catch a whiff of
Operator Please
on the way across the site. In short - they're awful. Though a crowd
has amassed to watch the youngsters, their songs and stage presence trade on little more
than shouting out numbers over rudimentary songs bereft of melody, mood
or meaning. It's formulaic and frothy; testing at best. The point isn't
that they're yet to develop song smarts, it's that they've been told they already have.
On the contrary, and proving that fun pop doesn't have to be soulless, over on the smaller GW McLennan stage is UK wunderkind
Lightspeed Champion.
I missed his sideshow the week before and watching him engage a
large crowd I kick myself. For as the frontman of his bare bones fourpiece - who skillfully provide a rich and nuanced sound using keys,
violin, bass and drums - Dev Hynes effortlessly works his
sophisticated pop into shape. The band's complex, chiming arrangements
frame his rich vocals perfectly. And after a detour via the theme from
Star Wars, he demonstrates his considerable talents on the axe, busting
into a few quick metal solos complete with double handed finger
tapping. Hunting cap on. Australian flag in mouth. Smooth.
Back at the Supertop it becomes apparent I had no idea how popular
The Music
are. Which is kind of stupid, since I thought the exact same thing back
when I first saw them at the Big Day Out in 2003, but still today it
surprises me as the big tent bent at the seams. I think it's because
they look as if they're more likely to accost you outside the fish and
chip shop than be, y'know, a live music powerhouse. But their get up is
as deceptively simple as their musical template - psychedelic dance
music for rock fans. Singer Rob Harvey has lost that wild mane of hair
that egged on those Robert Plant comparisons, but his voice is as
similarly huge and strong as ever. And it's needed, for the band behind
him conjure up a fierce, propulsive wall of sound, and at 4 o'clock in
the afternoon the Supertop goes ballistic. It's the first massive
moment of the day and some might say, Saturday’s highlight.
A quick trip across the field to catch the opening strains of
Bliss N Eso
reveals that enthusiasm for Australian hip hop is alive and well at
Splendour. It’s a shame then that the trio's stage show hasn’t moved
much beyond the "hype man" role; exhorting the crowd to jump, say "hey"
and "make some noise" etc etc. It’s only when these kind of crutches
are pushed aside that live hip hop really shines and while the crowd are vocal, it seems to be for the moment rather than the message.
A post on the Splendour forum now reads: "Before Saturday I thought
The Drones
were the best rock band in Australia. After Saturday I am fairly
certain they are the best rock
band in the world." How the Melbourne four-piece's equipment survives
from show to show I have no idea. And it’s not through wanton
destruction or displays of trad-rock posturing, but simply stretching
and bending their instruments to create sounds far beyond any "rock"
band I've seen. It's something invisible, closer to the kind of
wizardry present in Warren Ellis' violin for the Dirty 3; the woozy
electronic improv under the surface of Qua or the angelic voice of
Jonsi from tomorrow's headliners Sigur Ros - it's disorientating,
mesmerising and utterly weird and unique. And crucially, it elevates
their already weird and unique songs to exist dramatically in the moment. New
single ‘The Minotaur’ holds its own next to classics 'Shark Fin Blues',
'She Had An Abortion That She Made Me Pay For' and an absolutely brutal
version of ‘The Millers' Daughter’.
Inevitably
at festivals, usually around feeding time, a band or two get the raw
end of the deal as punters pause to take a breath. For me it's
Scottish rockers
The Fratellis and ex-Death From Above 1979 kids
MSTRKRFT,
losing out against a vegie burger, cold beer and taking a seat in the
guest bar (which is resplendent in pine trees, a chequered floor,
Mexican restaurant and a small grandstand side-of stage under the
Supertop - deluxe).
As nightfall descends so does the biting cold,
which after the warm day catches most by surprise. It still doesn't stop
the roaming dudes with their bare, sculpted manboobs, or girls in
threadbare shorts and singlets plonking down in the middle of walkways however.
The knitted hippie-wear stall makes a killing while people cram into
the bourbon barn or the Big Tops for pure human heat. Against the fence
near the dance stage there's a couple throwing up together. The guy's
having the worst of it, so in between heaves his girlfriend wanders over to rub his back, before returning to
throw up her own organic meal. Glorious.
The side-of-stage grandstand is a prime vantage point to watch the
Cold War Kids
and their crew scurrying about their equipment for a good 25 minutes
past their allotted 7.30pm start time. When the band finally appear on
stage, the roar from the crowd continues well into the opening strains
of 'We Used to Vacation'. As the throng goes bananas for the
Californian four-piece, the bass player and the guitarist begin what
can only be described as affected peacock strutting across the stage. Maybe
it's just adrenalin but it seems weirdly over the top and distracting
from their stripped back soul-rock. As they settle into the main of
their set, the absence of any immediate, huge melodies and their
penchant for chopped up stop-start grooves wears away at their initial
burst from the blocks; their subtle creative twists and turns blunted
and a little lost on the large stage.
Perhaps they should've swapped with
Band of Horses
over on the GW McLennan stage, whose expansive, starry sounds are far
more suited to wide open spaces. Frontman Ben Bridwell is sweetness
personified. The bearded singer charms and leads his six strong outfit
through pretty southern inflected rock with a volume that belies their
folk roots. Boasting a three guitar line up, the band has coalesced
into a forceful, skilled group; a far cry from their shambolic
appearance at Meredith a few years ago. At 9pm in the evening and
squirreled away at the quiet end of the site, it's a perfect, dreamy
respite from the masses.
Being already at the GW McLennan stage we decide to wait for the
Polyphonic Spree rather than try and catch the
Living End
on the main stage. I never thought I'd say it but I’m not sure it was
the right decision. They begin with a large red banner pinned up across
the stage which, when the band are finished setting up, bears the
spotlit outline of singer Tim DeLaughter. With a pair of scissors he
cuts the shape of a heart into the fabric, before cleaving it
completely to reveal the band in full swing. While such sincere symbols
of unity usually go down a treat at festivals like this, the message is
dulled somewhat as DeLaughter is soon constantly asking the crowd to
show some love. Perhaps still trying to absorb the spectacle of 22
musicians on stage, the gathered are a little lukewarm to the band's
dense sound, but in these instances powerful songs usually do all the
asking for you (Arcade Fire anyone?). It grates a little so I cut early
to catch Devo. Which may have been a mistake because word comes back that
both the Spree and crowd warmed to each other considerably. It's just a
shame they expected it rather than thought to earn it.
It’s a young crowd that makes up Splendour, so apart from the obligatory mention of how old the band members of
Devo are,
one wonders whether many of the people gathered would know a Devo song
if it crawled into the bottom of their sleeping bag and munched through
their toe-ring. But it doesn't stop the Supertop being packed to the
hilt to watch the overall-wearing, pom-pom waving iconoclasts do their
thing. After 'Whip It' the adrenalin fades for some of the crowd - many
of whom split to see
Tricky (who along with
Lyrics Born
was my most regretted miss of the weekend) - but the headliners are
sharp and "entertaining" as ever; stripping off their yellow jumpsuits
and iconic hats halfway through the show to reveal black shorts and kneepads. Though rounder, grayer and yes, older than pretty much all their fellow performers on the day, they still manage to sound as fresh and
relevant - if not more so - than the majority of them.
As the
bar shuts and the Tipi Forest DJ stage catches the remnants of those
refusing to leave, we head for the exits. Whence we're latched
onto by a terrified bar girl who is being hounded by some creep whose
quietly instructed her he'll follow her to her car. Instead, we do,
and she gives us many thanks and a lift into town. We're deposited into a line of
a hundred people eating pies and waiting for cabs. After about 40
minutes and a move of about four metres, we manage to miraculously spy the
cabbie we made friends with on the Friday night before and run over to
him. He tells us to meet him on the sly around the corner outside Brumby's bakery in 10
minutes. This we do, and are finally driven home in his cab adorned
with a newly cracked windscreen that wasn't there the previous night.
Turns out after dropping us off he'd driven over a rise and
into a drunk standing in the middle of the road who'd promptly
tumbled over the car. An ambulance was called and two hours later our
hero got a call from the hospital to take a man into town - the same
one he'd put there. Byron is turning it on for us.
READ SUNDAY'S REVIEW HEREPhoto Gallery coming soon...
See the
Splendour fashion gallery