Splendour Day One: Reviews, Mud and The World's Longest Traffic Jam
Mitch Knox and Benny Doyle take on Splendour
Thoughts, notes and reviews from Splendour's Day One.
Mitch Knox: Why Don't I Ever Listen To Myself?
A year ago, I said that if you could avoid coming to Splendour in the Grass on the Thursday night and setting up camp in the dark, then you should. But, somewhere along the line, I managed to convince myself that advice didn't apply to me, or maybe I simply forgot that it wasn't the genius plan I thought it was – either way, that's how I found myself in the world's longest vehicle queue at 8.30 last night, with dozens of cars behind me and half the country, it seemed, in front.
It would be 10.30om before I made it to the car park, which meant I actually spent more time lining up than I did driving here. Once finally out of the car, things got worse. It was a free-for-all land grab: simply find a spot wherever you could, claim it as your own and hope you weren't as far away from your vehicle as you thought. On the plus side, I found a spot near showers and toilets. But on the downside, I found a spot near showers and toilets. With the "help" of three really well-intentioned but totally, uselessly, intoxicated neighbours, I managed to set up – in a downpour – and then made several round trips to the car to get all my gear to the tent. As I was lulled to uneasy sleep by the patter of rain and the maddening howls of someone nearby loudly singing Matt Corby's Brother – or, rather, one part of Matt Corby's Brother over and over – I was truly glad that the next day would herald the start of the festival proper and I could focus on that instead of my frankly woeful survival skills.
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You see, Splendour is unique among the Australian festival scene. It is an odd and wonderful converging of the hippie, hipster and beefed-up pillhead communities, and I revel in the sheer absurdity of it all. As I entered the festival this morning after a short, angry security guard made me tip out the contents of my still-sealed water bottle, I knew this year would be no different.
The ground was damp and easily trampled, but spirits sure weren't. There were people dressed as the Bananas in Pyjamas, and a guy in a Pikachu outfit (again); groups of shrieking girls trouncing around in casually racist but, like, totes stylish Native American headwear; a beast that I swear was half-man, half-steroid, who crowed about having stomped some guy's beer after the poor soul had dropped it; jugglers, hula hoopers, and some dude with a beard and a tail (no, seriously) doing gravity-defying tricks with a crystal ball... God help me, it was like Christmas for someone as utterly bemused and amused by other human beings as I am.
But people-watching isn't the be-all and end-all of the Splendour experience. Well, I guess it kind of is, but the people you really want to be fixing your eyeballs and earholes on have instruments and/or computers and thousands of people screaming at them. And, man, did I see and hear some good stuff today.
Melbourne lads made good Baptism Of Uzi did their best to ease us into the festival groove in front of an impressive crowd, especially given the relatively early hour, before I acquainted myself with the harmonic strengths and effortless likeability of the frustratingly-named Songs. Seriously, do you know how stupid I feel googling the words "songs band"? Like Google's going to turn around and just say "yes, idiot, bands play songs", and I just don't need that kind of abuse in my life.
There wasn't time to ponder such important issues, though, as I made my way back to the Supertop to catch what I could of Dune Rats. I kind of stopped listening to punk a good decade ago, but damned if they don't make it incredibly hard not to love them a little bit. They do what they do well, they don't take it too seriously, they engage their crowds – it's kind of impossible not to at least respect, if not begrudgingly kind of like, their whole shtick. Ultimately, they're a lot of fun, and it's really kind of hard to hate fun, right?
Brisbane disco outfit Mitzi were an incredibly pleasant surprise, and made me realise how sorely lacking in funky jams my day had been until that point. Back to the Supertop, again, for Wavves, who honestly excite me as much as the prospect of catching Ebola, but the masses in attendance sure seemed to love it, so who am I to judge?
Actually, speaking of – I did see what I'm pretty sure was an improvisational performance piece set in a courtroom, replete with prosecution, defendant and stupid wigs. Or I hope it was improvised, because any pre-written skit with the words "but this was DOG rape, your Honour", should have been pulped and burned long ago.
I didn't hang around long enough to find out the context of said canine violation, because I had a date with quirky electro pop from the mind of American wunderkind Robert DeLong. His set was a genuine highlight for me, especially from a technical standpoint, but I really only immediately recognised that Global Concepts song, and I fear he will be the next Foster The People in that regard. I hope he proves me wrong.
But if we're talking highlights, it's hard to go past Alaska's Portugal. The Man. I waited all day for that set, and they more than delivered. Old songs and new bled seamlessly into one another, replete with sultry rendition of Dayman, from cult comedy hit It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia. The set was nothing short of a tour de force of showmanship and musical prowess, though I found myself getting kind of annoyed by the drunk girl nearby who thought she could do a better job at vocals than the inimitable John Gourley. Look, crowd vocals are one thing; trying to show how cool you are because you know the words to one goddamned radio single is another entirely. When I found myself hoping she'd choke on her own tongue, I just tuned her out and rocked out in my own little world for the next hour. It was the closest to pure bliss I'm likely to experience this year.
I took a sabbatical for dinner (delicious, warming Thai) to recharge myself and ensure my toes had not frozen solid in my gumboots as I suspected, and decided to finish the day with two acts I've loved well in my time. TV On The Radio were what Bloc Party should have been at last year's festival – that is, totally deserving of their hype. Finally, my dalliance with longtime festival favourites Architecture In Helsinki, to whom I navigated in the wake of four cops on steam-snorting horses, was a predictably joyous (but never predictable), energetic end to an exuberant, if exhausting, Day One. Enjoy your beds, you guys at home – I'm heading back to the cold, hard ground and awful lullabies of drunken revellers. But I can't wait to see what tomorrow has in store.
“Dishevelled bloke just got into the Amish area, brought Smirnoff cans. The community looked disappointed when security broke up the potential party.”
BENNY DOYLE: Klaxons Fuck Yes
Nothing like feisty rock babes in high cut shorts to get the blood pumping, and Deap Vally provide a heart starter of a set early. If Meg White brought the vocals, this is what The White Stripes would have sounded like. Lindsey Troy lets fly with continual bone rattling riffs, her howls impassioned and sassy, and the drumming of Julie Edwards is primal and all kinds of bruising. Lies kicks complete arse.
They might come across as slackers in the press, but Wavves can put it together on stage, and when they do – such as today – it's pretty fucking special. They dominate the Supertop with a collection of fuzzed out jams that sit smoky underneath Nathan Williams' shout-along choruses. Post Acid makes a lot of people very happy, while a bunch of tracks off Afraid Of Heights highlight the constantly strengthening chemistry between Williams and his bass-strapped running mate Stephen Pope.
Fucking yes Klaxons. The Brits continue to improve in every facet; the melodies more cohesive, the guitar work noisier, the keys pounded with more conviction. James, Simon and Jamie bounce and cut moves as colour palates wash over them, and although their maturity can be felt through the performance tonight, the pinks and blues signal that they'll always have the blood of fluorescent adolescents. Van She's Tomek Archer fills in on the drums and he destroys it, especially on higher intensity cuts like Atlantis To Interzone and Magick. Meanwhile, they air a bunch of new tracks, and the piano-driven house that's presented sounds positively exciting.
Mumford & Sons play Little Lion Man early to a crowd that is haemorrhaging from every corner of the Supertop. A bank of bright lights beam out from the stage – you get that campfire vibe – and best summarised these tracks are a bunch of folk marshmallows, soft and full of sugar. Banjos are given a little tickle, Marcus Mumford shoots smug looks to the other bodies littering the stage and the Brits show a complete disregard to any latecomers by ploughing through more hits early including I Will Wait and Lover Of The Light.
INDIVIDUAL REVIEWS
Baptism Of Uzi.
A small but enthusiastic crowd quickly blossoms into a sizeable mass to welcome Melburnian pop-rockers Baptism of Uzi to Splendour in the Grass, and they coolly justify the attendance rate with a sonically polished and instrumentally tight set. They don't exactly possess what you'd call a high-energy stage presence, but it's charming nonetheless and the largely laid-back grooves found in songs such as Believe and Stray Currents, an obvious highlight, do wonders in easing us into the festival vibe. MK
Songs
Harmonies are certainly a forte for this band, the he/she voices dancing around, into and between each other as something of an aural hallmark. Their tunes are enough to get a foot stomping, a head nodding in agreement rather than shaking violently in joyous disbelief, but that's honestly okay for this time of day. They're not without drive, but they're also not going to make anyone start energetically Picking Up Change, either. That said, meandering heart string-puller Pain gets an incredibly warm reception, so it's probably fine that they're good enough at what they do to keep us interested despite the relaxed pace of it all. MK
Dune Rats
It's a simple proposition backed by simple composition and simple lyrics, in the fundamental belief that polish is for nerds - but, fuck, is it fun. They're into it, the pit's into it, the stragglers on the outside are into it, the security guards appear to be into it - it's kind of hard not to catch the disease. It's like a far less obnoxious Bleeding Knees Club. So if you'll excuse me, I have some slam dancing to do. Somebody hold my glasses. MK
Mitzi
Two words immediately spring to mind as Brisbane disco revival outfit Mitzi kick off their set over ye olde Mix-up Stage way: awwwww, shiiiiit. Coming across like one part World's End Press and two parts LCD Soundsystem, the quartet seemingly effortlessly drops a ream of jive-driven, funk-laced arrangements. An as-yet untitled new song makes expert use of vocal samples and four-to-the-floor bass kick to lead sensually into a Daft Punk-esque chorus and club-style bridge build, and even if you fucking hate Daft Punk – *cough* - you have to acknowledge they know their way around a catchy hook. And so do Mitzi, it seems. This band is bound to make a lot of dance floors incredibly happy in the near future. MK
Wavves
The beach has seemed pretty damn far away all day, but LA's premier purveyors of surf-slash-indie rock, Wavves, make everything seem a little more carefree and coastal as they are incredibly warmly greeted by their overjoyed audience. Rocket science, this isn't, but the energy emitted by the band's core duo is palpable, and the audience responds with heaving reckless abandon in kind. A knowing cheer goes up for perennial favourites No Hope Kids and Green Eyes, though latest single Sail To The Sun rivals them both in terms of reception (despite some pretty ear-shredding feedback issues early on). An ill-advised/borderline awful cover I don't recognise, and whose title is barely even mumbled, also makes an appearance towards the set's conclusion. But it seems even after four albums, people still can't get enough of just having an old-fashioned damn good time. MK
Robert DeLong
Robert DeLong is clearly happy to be here. Equally, the screaming throng of salivating groovers at the Mix-up Stage seem thrilled to have him. It's a confluence of positivity from both sides and it makes for one of the day's most memorable sets so far. Naturally, the response to his quirky, wonky electro-dance-dubstep-pop is nothing short of thunderous for songs such as Basically, I and Religious Views, and perhaps never moreso than for his wildly popular Global Concepts. Honestly, it seems like he could be playing the spoons up there and people would cheer for it. His act is tremendous in a festival setting. MK
Unknown Mortal Orchestra
Trans-Pacific rock outfit Unknown Mortal Orchestra have enjoyed something of a meteoric rise, and after only a few minutes of seeing them in the flesh, it's not hard to fathom why. Ending the standout How Can You Luv Me with a wild percussive interlude and drum solo is an inspired choice, and one that earns them rapturous applause before seamlessly dropping into the musical roller coaster (and a psych-drenched guitar solo enthusiast's wet dream) that is Strangers Are Strange. They take things down a notch with the easy amble of Jello And Juggernauts, but whether this band is casually delivering tunes such as this or their more upbeat arrangements such as Swim And Sleep (Like A Shark) – which has something of a false start, not that it matters – they clearly enjoy what they do, and that makes it incredibly easy to enjoy what they do in kind. A classically strong performance from a classically strong band.
Haim
It's no stretch to say that the music of sisterly trio Haim possesses more balls than that of most of the male-dominated acts getting around these stages. Their decidedly non-demure approach is such a welcome change from the litany of delicate-as-snowflakes, overly cutesy lady-led music that seemed to be de rigueur for a while there. Showcasing songs from their recent release Falling – the title track is particularly well received, but then so is the rest of their set – the siblings leave no doubt about how deserving they are of their spot on the Supertop stage, their thundering drums, pounding bass and crunching guitar makes for a performance that leaves all in attendance buzzing to their very cores. MK
Portugal. The Man
From the opening strains of Purple Yellow Red And Blue, Alaskan rockers Portugal. The Man prove that they are not only one of the hardest-working bands in the world in a recorded output sense but in a performance sense as well. The band, fronted by the outrageously dreamy and perfectly on-form John Gourley, barely stop for breath as they treat the excited and excitable crowd to an almost non-stop barrage of aural deliciousness: a super dirty, slow interlude featuring part of The Home leads into a lengthy, almost Mars Volta-esque loose jam, straight into the upbeat jank of Evil Friends, into a super sultry rendition of Dayman, from It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, into last year's well-known So American, into People Say from The Satanic Satanist, into Guns And Dogs... You get the idea. It is, for want of a better encapsulation, practically perfect. It is a magnificent display, and it can be said with fair certainty that if you were somewhere else while this has all been going on, you have missed out on what will be seen as one of the best sets of the entire festival.
Darwin Deez
Now that night has descended upon us and the chill has set in, the sunny good times on offer from renowned indie poppers Darwin Deez are welcome sights and sounds to warm the cockles. The call and response with the audience during Bed Space is especially nice, performer and crowd clearly enjoying the exchange, and the latter reward the former with genuine, heartfelt applause. You Can't Be My Girl is similarly enjoyable, the optimistic vibe put forth by the instrumentation more than enough to overcome the kind of downcast lyrics, and the canonical dance the band performs as a prelude to standout Bad Day ensures everyone departs to their next adventure with wide, wide smiles on their faces.
Architecture In Helsinki
The GW McClennan tent is utterly packed for national treasures Architecture in Helsinki, and it's a good thing, too – all this extra body warmth is pretty sorely needed at this particularly nippy hour. The festival veterans make sure to bring the tunes to make people move, too, with new tracks gracing our ears alongside old faithfuls such as Desert Island, Hold Music and Like It Or Not (featuring ultra uplifting horn action) ensuring the party vibes and energy levels remain at acceptable levels at the bottom end of a long day. There's no need to wax lyrical about this band – they know what they're doing. The entire spectacle is just one big celebration.
theMusic.com.au's Splendour In The Grass Coverage
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