Live Review: Golden Plains

Day One

It’s overcast and windy at the ‘Supe and surrounding campgrounds but not enough to deter typical joviality as yet another round of Golden Plains blossoms into life.

These things always seem to kick off with a bang and it’s pretty great to enter the Amphitheatre for the first time to the soothing sounds of The Meanies banging out 10% Weird. There’s a strong contingent out early to watch the Melbourne punk institution open proceedings, and the band is in fine fettle with Link typically in the moment and giving his all. Vintage tunes like the full throttle Gangrenous still feel as vital as ever, a great opening gambit.

Brisbane rockers HITS take the ball and run with it, debauched frontman Evil Dick the picture of scruffy sartorial elegance as they kick off with the rumbling Fuck The Needy. The twin guitars (and harmonies) of Tamara Bell and Stacey Coleman strafe the hill relentlessly during dirty rock’n’roll nuggets like Take Your Pills, Bitter & Twisted and Loose Cannons, while Dick faux shames a fan wearing the band’s shirt (in the nicest possible way) to intro (and throughout) Disappointed. They finish strongly with the version of Joy Division’s Shadowplay that they long ago made their own.

Courtney Barnett is taking her massive surge in popularity typically in her stride, brushing off the hero’s reception and wave of adulation she receives when entering the fray.

Melbourne indie royalty Twerps lower the rock quotient and turn up the jangle, their laidback vibe perfectly suiting the lazy afternoon. Their new songs translate well and Marty Frawley and Julia MacFarlane share the vocal load, while the vaguely hedonistic Who Are You should be the Meredith national anthem. They hammer the catchy He’s In Stock with a vengeance, and finish with the beautiful Dreamin’, keeping it awesomely languid to the end.

Next we’re graced by genuine indie-rock royalty, Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks opening with the bouncy Senator, with its flippant blowjob motif. Malkmus stays in catchy terrain with Cinnamon & Lesbians, then stays typically nonchalant as he shows off his considerable guitar chops in a long jammy segment perfect to zone out to. He throws in the ever-inscrutable Scattegories and then loses his axe and goes into full frontman mode to deliver a heartfelt rendition of Jenny & The Ess-Dog. Classic.

Sharon Van Etten brings a more cultured vibe with her raw confessionals and seems to be easily connecting with vast swathes of the crowd, but it’s time for a break and by the time we venture back its time to see iconic Oz rock legends Radio Birdman show their might, frontman Rob Younger convulsing like he’s being shocked with electricity as they open strongly with the driving Smith & Wesson Blues. Guitarist Deniz Tek is captivating to watch as he wrestles amazing lines from his guitar, so taut and powerful, the whole band firing on all cylinders as they power through Descent Into The Maelstrom, Do The Pop and Cryin’ Sun. Burn My Eye takes us right back to the beginning, New Race gets the whole hill yelling back and proves that our guitar forebears still rule, and they finish with their frenetic take on The 13th Floor Elevators’ You’re Gonna Miss Me. Yeah hup.

Courtney Barnett is taking her massive surge in popularity typically in her stride, brushing off the hero’s reception and wave of adulation she receives when entering the fray and opening with a solo version of Depreston, societal issues and all. Then the band join in the action and things get rocking, and pretty much stay there for the duration. It’s a different live beast, and Barnett announces that it’s guitarist Dan Luscombe’s last show with the band, which adds even more of a celebratory vibe, a fierce Pedestrian At Best and the ever-popular Avant Gardener eliciting mass singalongs. She’s clearly won over the populace and survives numerous stage invasions from the sides, History Eraser uniting the hill and the set finishing with a big rocking finale perfect for the good time vibes flooding the whole massive party.

Day Two

The hard-living but respectful Golden Plains community slowly rumbles back to life after a collective big ‘un, and back down amongst the action ramshackle Americana troupe The Felice Brothers add their trademark bonhomie to proceedings. With their old-time aesthetic and instrumentation, songs like Whisky In My Whisky sound timeless, while Cherry Licorice is catchy and propulsive even with its strange rhyming scheme. Ian Felice’s strangled drawl is so emotive, the washboard coming out for the strangely uplifting (given its narrative) Frankie’s Gun, and towards the end they show that they can do the quiet and introspective as well as the upbeat and rousing.

Memphis garage godfathers Oblivians are one of those bands that you just kinda assume you’ll never get to see, so it’s slightly surreal to see the trio emerge and start smashing into it, their blues-infused rock ragged and primal. They swap vocals continually as they power through a stream of nuggets like Memphis Creep and Lightning Happens – each fiery burst like some long lost hit – and eventually get into some of their famed instrument swapping as well, Greg replacing Eric behind the kit, allowing him to join the dual axe attack and bring some more boogie into the equation. Rousing.

Opening with the manifesto “We are The Bennies from down the street and we’re here to fucking party!”, The Bennies proceed to do just that, busting out the Sublime-esque Smoke Some Weed. They always look like they’re having so much fun playing for you that it’s easy enough to get swept up in their hedo-party anthems. Lysergic stomper Mushroom Tea builds into some weird mindfuck zone and later they appropriate The Angels’ “No way, get fucked, fuck off” crowd chant – it doesn’t really get much more Aussie. A dollar a drug reference would probably cover your costs for the weekend but it’s almost a tremendous jest and plenty of fun, especially when they send the crowd into a frenzy with a cover of TISM’s (You’ll Never Be An) Old Man River, complete with masked dancers doing the choreography in a great homage. Never Get Enough inspires plenty of dance and they score plenty of boots so clearly leave a mark.

We return to find Something For Kate powering through a quite faithful cover of Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean, which is mildly disconcerting.

Hairy Swedes Graveyard carry on that finest Scandinavian tradition of dirty rock in the vein of The Hellacopters or The Sewergrooves, and while they’re not really breaking the envelope they bring plenty of grimy grooves and hooks. Guitar histrionics are present and accounted for without being overbearing and they throw in a few torch songs, but for the most part it’s a riff-heavy display that gets many heads banging.

The Felice Brothers return to the fray, this time supporting their old mate Conor Oberst, who delves deep into his catalogue offering up everything from Bright Eyes songs to his more recent solo fare. The partnership works well with an easy chemistry on display, songs like Whisky From A Well and the plaintive Ten Women dripping with sincerity and conviction. It’s a tad earnest at times, but the beautiful setting sun adds a certain gravitas that works nicely.

We return to find Something For Kate powering through a quite faithful cover of Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean, which is mildly disconcerting, but they finish with a roaring take on old chestnut Captain: a cool moment.

NY indie wunderkinds Parquet Court are greeted by a massive yell and waste no time with formalities, kicking off with the one-two punch of You’ve Got Me Wonderin’ Now and Bodies Made Of. They’re an exciting machine and the sound is massive, magnifying their taut grooves and compelling worldview. Co-frontman Andrew Savage is compelling as he spews forth invective with such authority and borderline distain, and they change moods with the staccato Careers In Combat and the bendy Dear Ramona. Pretty Machines is massive and hook-laden, Instant Disassembly is cruisy and laidback, and they get a massive send off as they finish a great set with the anthemic Light Up Gold II and the manic Sunbathing Animal.

The party mood is all-pervasive and the crowd is full of people dressed as their favourite member of the Village People, the feeling that a weird new disco resurgence may be upon us rammed home when a massive disco ball is lowered over proceedings by an enormous crane, turning the Supe into a huge dusty nightclub. The VPs give their usual schtick – cheesy choreography and even cheesier banter – but their hits, like Macho Man, In The Navy and Go West, bring a tsunami of dancing through the property, everyone grinning inanely as they bop, seeming to revel in the time warp. The entire festival doing the YMCA arm movements in unison is a magic moment that may never be repeated, a fine place to wrap it up for another year.

It’s always sad to leave your happy place, but it’s nice to know it’s there waiting for you to return down the track.