Live Review: Mullum Music Festival

24 November 2014 | 8:32 pm | Steve Bell

From halls to pubs to schools to bowling clubs, Mullumbimby gets consumed by an eclectic mix of music.

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Mullumbimby is a beautiful little town nestled in the shadows of Mount Chincogan in the Brunswick Valley, roughly ten minutes inland by car from Byron Bay.

It’s a vibrant little place with a strong sense of community, a bond that is celebrated annually with the Mullum Music Festival. Now in its seventh year, MMF basically takes over the township, with hundreds of acts holding court in makeshift venues all over town, from halls to pubs to schools to bowling clubs (not even factoring in the swarms of buskers who set up all over town in every available nook and cranny).

It kicks off in anger on Friday evening, and we make our way down from Brisbane post-work and get settled in our accom, then waste no time getting amongst the music. We head straight over to the gorgeous Civic Hall which acts as a kind of fulcrum for events throughout the weekend, and get there as Kiwi expat Marlon Williams (now based in Melbourne) is in the midst of unleashing that massive voice of his, offering a lovely cover of Bob Carpenter’s Silent Passage. Next up is a rendition of Bob Dylan’s Moonshiner before he offers up brand new original Everyone’s Got Something To Say, then elicits a massive response for his version of Leonard Cohen’s Bird On A Wire (apparently this is his third MMF and people are responding to tracks they remember liking from festivals past). The casually charismatic singer’s voice is like a throwback to a bygone era and it’s perfect finding him in this rustic old school environment, and after Cocaine Blues, Strange Things and The State Hospital he finishes strongly with a couple of traditional numbers, I Remember You and When I Was A Young Girl.

Outside there’s a frankly incredible swarm of Christmas Beetles attracted by the heat and they’re literally to be found everywhere, in some places swarming in writhing masses that must find them numbering in the tens of thousands (like that horrible segment from Creepshow). They crush underfoot every time you take a step and get tousled in even the shortest of hair, a great way to get close to nature. Wandering around town we similarly find bands and music everywhere – a blues band at The Middle Pub has people hanging out of (and into) the windows – but we soon wander up to Mullumbimby High School (former educational facility of one Iggy Azalea, back when she was plain Amethyst Kelly) to spy the big stage there. It’s quite a hike – definitely the furthest point of the musical grid – but there’s strange party buses running between all of the venues that we’ll sample before long, and upon our arrival we find Melbourne party starters Saskwatch going through their considerable paces. There’s a big crowd in the gym and Nkechi Anele’s sultry voice fills the space and beyond, as they move from soul-inspired belters to more rock-edged fare with unaffected ease. They finish with the high-octane Hands, which inspires a frenzy of dancing and ends with an Animal from The Muppets-inspired drum solo.

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It’s late now so we head to the local RSL, which is doubling as the Village Vanguard stage, which resembles a huge speakeasy as hordes of folk dance the night away to a jazz party curated by this year’s festival patron Harry James Angus – it’s slightly random watching people dancing merrily to Puttin’ On The Ritz, but in a really good way, like we’ve entered an old gangster flick. A great finale to a fun opening gambit.

We awake Saturday keen to get amongst the action once again, and soon find ourselves down at the picturesque St Martin’s Hall watching Bongeziwe Mabandla, the South African singer-songwriter who charms using just acoustic guitar, compelling narratives and his super-expressive voice. Wandering back up to the Civic Hall we find Indigenous songsmith Frank Yamma entertaining a packed house, seated in the middle of the stage clutching an acoustic while a sidekick standing to his right augments subtly without ever detracting focus. Yamma’s voice is rich and sonorous, giving great texture to songs like One Lonely Night and Inside, and he patters away contentedly between tracks. The set highlight is the powerful Coolibah – a tale of alcohol-affliction he penned while in his teens – which is a superb piece of Australian folk music, although the droning Dream Lover proves to be not too far behind in the quality stakes.

Down the road the Mullumbimby Bowling Club has transformed into the Bowlo stage, and here we find folk artists Hussy Hicks going through their paces, with some early help from US vocalist Kristy Lee (who owns an absolute powerhouse set of lungs) on the evocative Grandma’s Hands. Soon the Hicks are left to their own family-friendly devices, singer Lees Gentz showing off her soaring voice whilst guitarist Julz Parker doles out red-hot blues licks like they’re going out of fashion, especially on the vibrant Whole Lotta Goodness. Next we backtrack to St Martin’s Hall to find the slightly eccentric Sydney artiste Jeff Duff banging out covers like they’re going out of fashion, clad in a fabulous white suit and sunglasses. He has a companion on keyboards and the whole vibe is like some strange RSL cabaret, although this man has history in the Sydney scene (which he reminds us in-between songs as he casually namechecks meetings with Bowie and McCartney) and a cool voice which he uses to belt through tunes like Chicago’s Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is, a lounge version of Lou’s Walk On The Wild Side and a fitting version of the Thin White Duke’s Young Americans.

Next up we hit the Courthouse Hotel, which is packed to the brim for a performance by inimitable Canadian CR Avery. Part singer-songwriter, part poet, part beatboxer but all entertainer, Avery has the crowd eating from his sweaty palms with his humorous gravel-voiced narratives and penchant for mixing things up. It’s equal parts wry and surreal as he unleashes weird heartbreak ode Happy Valentine, then reels off five sort poems before reimagining Dylan’s Maggie’s Farm as being done by DJ Shadow (it’s as odd as it sounds but a ton of fun). We wander down towards the Drill Hall – another wonderfully country-feeling venue – marveling at the washes of humanity that have gathered for the occasion, everything from city slickers to wonderful tie-died warriors, the hippies definitely outnumbering any other competing cultural interests. There we find wandering Aussie troubadour Archer in action, his voice seeming like it’s being beamed through some dusty old gramophone (indeed it seems like authenticity and amazing voices are the recurring motifs of this year’s MMF). Archer mines the music of yesteryear with great reverence – his huge vintage microphone adding to the antique feel of proceedings – and tracks like his beautiful original One Grain A Sand are perfectly augmented by adroit covers such as Jimmy Rogers’ Women Made A Fool Out Of Me. It’s like stepping back in time in a good way – this guy is a real talent.

We venture back to the Civic Hall now to see the first ever Australian show by New Orleans-based ensemble Hurray For The Riff Raff, and all of our anticipation is immediately proved to have been worth it. Diminutive frontwoman Alynda Lee Segarra starts in solo mode with The New SF Bay Blues and the capacity crowd is won over in an instant, especially when Segarra is startled mid-song by a wayward Christmas Beetle on her guitar – they’re not in plague proportions tonight but still flying around, drawn by the bright stage lights – and laughs it off, the other four members of the band filing out now to join her on Blue Ridge Mountain and a fiddle-led instrumental which has the entire crowd up and dancing in utter delight. Look Out Mama and Slow Walk get an airing and this band’s immense country-laced talents are laid bare for all and sundry, I Know It’s Wong (But That’s Alright) and Levon’s Dream nailing the appeal home with conviction. The band is tight and the songs stellar but it’s Segarra who’s the centerpiece, her amicable persona and mesmerising voice verging on stunning at times, especially during impossibly moving feminist diatribe The Body Electric and the affecting Crash On The Highway (which is musically fun and upbeat despite its dark subject matter). They continue on with Lake Of Fire, Ode To John And Yoko and End Of The Line and you can just tell that the band are delighted by the flurry of dancing and cheering which their music prompts, and this pleasure is fully reciprocated – it’s hard to do justice in words how great it is watching this band in this uniquely rural environment and everyone just having so much fun. They finish with a reverent cover of Lucinda William’s People Talking, but are pulled out for an encore which they smash in the form of Little Black Star which is delivered complete with synchronised percussion dance and closes the set in a sea of dancing, singing and smiles all round.

We stay around Civic Hall to catch Aussie blues rocker Mia Dyson show her quite considerable wares, and the four-piece band deliver a textured brand of rock’n’roll which further brings out the dance in her delighted fans. New tune Crazy Horse sits perfectly alongside feelgood recent single When The Moment Comes, the memorable hooks of When We’re Older settling in our brains for the long haul until they finish a killer set with a massive version of Cigarettes. An encore is almost a given at this tailend of the evening, and after a lovely torch song they finish with the rollicking Roll Me Out, this dancing frenzy a great way to end such a stellar evening. We have a couple of night caps at the Village Vanguard again – it’s open late and offering cheap drinks, a winning combo – before resting up for the final straight.

Sunday morning at MMF traditionally starts off with annual Street Parade, and even the oppressively hot conditions can’t prevent a cavalcade of preposterously-dressed locals from lugging their music instruments to the middle of town – everyone loves a happening – where Harry James Angus leads the ragtag parade through the Mullumbimby streets to the Civic Hall, where it all descends into noisy, colourful (and fun) debauchery. As an avowed St Kilda fan the group version of When The Saints Go Marching In remains a weekend highlight (obviously for all the wrong reasons).

We head to Village Vanguard to catch Brisbane gang Bullhorn but a massive early crowd has the venue at capacity, meaning we have to listen from the air-conditioned comfort of the RSL lounge. They’re clearly giving it everything they’ve got for an early Sunday arvo and leaving nothing in the tank, and when we finally make it in for the last couple of songs it’s great to see a local mob working such a big room with aplomb. We stay at the Vanguard for The Bashevis Singers, which is Husky Gawenda (of Husky fame) and two of his siblings playing the traditional Yiddish songs that they grew up around. Armed with an acoustic guitar and accordion (and later piano), the three share the songs handed down from generation to generation by their extended family, sharing anecdotes about the songs’ background and meaning along the way. The folk vibe transcends the obvious language barrier of the lyrics, the harmonies and melodies affecting anyway despite a lack of actual understanding.

There’s a massive crowd back at Civic Hall to see Native American singer-songwriter Nahko in solo mode, and we have to wait awhile before actually securing a vantage point inside the venue itself. The shirtless entertainer swaps between guitar and keyboard as he spews forth spiritual confessionals such as Aloha Ke Akua, the enraptured throng singing along en masse to songs which if anything have an early-Ben Harper kinda vibe. We wander over to St Martin’s Hall for another dose of Marlon Williams, lounging under a tree in the lovely garden and listening to the music emit clearly from the small hall, most of the songs having already been tasted on Friday evening until he unleashes a cracking cover of Townes Van Zandt’s acerbic Rake, which he somehow manages to make his own.

We’re a bit aimless now and eventually find ourselves on the garishly-painted double-decker Magic Bus which connects the various venues – complete with blaring music, dress ups and dancing girls in ‘60s attire – and after a detour to do donuts in a paddock (the driver is like Neal Cassidy reincarnated) while everyone sings and dances to Pharrell’s Happy we realise that things have probably reached peak strangeness for the weekend, no mean feat. After this we roll over to the Courthouse and sample a bit of the local comedy on offer for an hour each day, and are pleasantly surprised by the calibre of the laughs on offer – not too shabby at all.

By now it’s time to gather for the evening’s nominal headliners The Church, who pull a relatively massive crowd back over at the High School gym. After a delay starting the sound proves full and rich, frontman Steve Kilbey in fine fettle and the five-piece (counting touring multi-instrumentalist Craig Wilson) conjuring typically atmospheric textures as they reel through a set mixing recent tracks with a few classics (the first time they’ve done this since Ian Haug joined the band, of late they’ve stuck solely to new material from the brand new Further/Deeper album, clearly recognising that a festival needs some familiarity). Hence we get new tunes like Pride Before A Fall and Delirious nestling happily alongside old chestnuts like Reptile and Almost With You, and a huge gym full of contented people gently swaying with the rhythms and strange time signatures.

For one last hurrah we head back to the Civic Hall for a second helping of Hurray For The Riff Raff, and while the crowd isn’t quite as hefty as last night’s gathering they possess the same free spirit and willingness to get amongst the action, so even though the set is basically exactly the same as last night’s (until a slight change-up at the end introduces Too Much Of  A Good Thing to the equation) it matters naught – it’s a perfect ending to a wonderful weekend of music and small town hospitality. Sometimes you find the brightest treasures way off the beaten track and Mullum Music Festival is one such hidden gem, the boutique festival being not so much embraced by the locals as becoming happily entwined with the entire surrounding community. An unmitigated delight.