SITG: Day Three

Dressed, bathed, and breakfast of Byron Bay Organic Donut + iced coffee from Cafe Latino digesting nicely, Gossling provided the first real part of today's soundtrack with a lovely set of easy listening over at the GW McLennan Tent (henceforth "the G-Dub", because part of me desperately wants to be relevant somehow). Was greatly impressed with her casual dismissal of a smart-arse request from an audience member. "You sing the Woolies song," she hit back at the punter, with equal parts good nature and tempered vitriol. She sounded stunning, though. It's hard to believe such a big voice can be packed into such a small frame, but only if you really don't understand how biology works.

 

Passed the Tipi Forest on the way through to the Supertop. Once again (or possibly still) just one big outdoor rave. Avoided. No regrets.

 

The next band to make an impression were London indie outfit Zulu Winter, who started off looking like they would be playing to a relatively intimate crowd until probably halfway to three-quarters of the way through their set. Still, even before the boom in numbers, their frontman, Will Daunt, couldn't say enough positive things, even going so far as to say that despite its Glastonbury-esque weather on day one, Splendour had, for them, achieved the impressive status of "nicest festival in the world". The organisers should make that into a trophy and put it on a mantelpiece somewhere, or include that quote in future press blurbs or something, because it's pretty high - and well-earned - praise.

 

Speaking of praise, back at the G-Dub (yes!), J. Tillman - aka Father John Misty - definitely earned his fair share with a visually entertaining, audibly luscious set broken up by moments of hilarious and off-kilter banter ("There are so many beautiful babies here. Beautiful... Australian... babies."). Kudos to his backing band, also, for their technical aptitude and complementary, never overdone, contributions. Backing bands don't get enough credit, generally speaking, so a belated hats off to Gossling's accompaniment, also. The humble musos who provide instrumentation for singer-songwriters are arguably every bit as important as their frontperson, so three cheers for them and all those like them. You're alllllllright.

 

Perhaps the biggest surprise of the day came in the form of New York's fun., and I say that purely because going into their set, I had never heard a solitary song of theirs except for that We Are Young thing that all the kids seem to love these days and so had no idea what to expect. I always found that song a bit lumbering and flat, myself, but hey, there was a whole tent of people ready to prove me wrong by the time they busted it out. It carries a remarkable energy in a live setting, and hearing frontman Nate Ruess' voice soar above the audience singing along to the chorus was actually pretty uplifting. Even more uplifting was the discovery that fun.'s songs that didn't make it into the singles charts are actually far more interesting and make it a little easier to understand why they've done as well as they have. Bonus points for ex-Straylight Run/fun. touring drummer Will Noon and his '70s porn moustache. Badass.

 

On the way back to the G-Dub (oh, man, that is getting some use) I spied a Mad Hatter's tea party, replete with March Hare, and decided to take a slightly longer route in order to not venture too close, pausing only to snap a quick photo for posterity, but refusing to linger in case I got pulled in to join the festivities. I caught the end of Perth's San Cisco and their absurdly popular Awkward, and remained as unmoved as ever. It's nothing personal, it's just... look, I have friends that could write superior songs in literally less than four hours. Simple chords (two, actually; I'm pretty sure there's two in the entire song) topped with simple vocals? I don't understand the appeal. Sure, it's catchy, but so what? Mix that shit up. Throw in some complex, considered rap or something if you're going to ride the same riff for three and a half minutes. Are these just the ravings of a bitter and jaded soul, jealous of young people's success? Probably. But then again, I'm totally fucking right. 

 

I considered hanging around for Angus Stone's set, then remembered that I actually needed to stay awake to drive home, so thought better of it and departed. Lingering ever-so-briefly at Metric just long enough to hear their power failure, I took the lull in their set - accompanied by a suddenly heightened awareness of my sore feet, tired body and frazzled mind - as a sign and headed for the gate to begin my journey home. Sure, this little factoid makes me sound like a giant piker, and part of me genuinely regrets not hanging around long enough to see how Billy Corgan and the Smashing Pumpkins Tribute Band played out, but a larger part of me knows that I have a non-music-related day job to front up to tomorrow from which I don't really want to get sacked, and so common sense won out. 

 

So, for me at least, Splendour didn't end with a bang. But it didn't quite end with a whimper, either. Nonetheless, the weekend was, as it always is - regardless of how it ends - a thoroughly enjoyable and memorable experience. I saw some genuinely amazing bands, caught up with old friends, made some new ones, saved a tent in a hailstorm, screamed at my ailing 3G connection more times than I'd care to admit, ate like a barbarian, played good samaritan by offering my water bottle to a really seedy-looking drunk guy, got fist-bumped by another guy that had the same wolf hat as I did ("my Wolfbrother!"), saw a girl on her hands and knees searching for her lost iPhone in the mud (RIP iPhone), and generally forgot that there was anything even close to a real world on the other side of the festival grounds' boundaries. In other words, it was, all up, a phenomenal experience.

 

But now, as I type this, safe at home and with a warm shower calling my name (I hear you, I'm coming!), the real world is not far from rearing its ugly head and bringing the Splendour dream well and truly to an end for another year. All I can do is hang on to the best moments, let go of the worst, and start the countdown for next year. 

 

I'd like to thank those of you who've been following our live coverage, and who have been reading these wrap-ups, over the last few days. I hope you've enjoyed taking it all in as much as I have being a part of contributing to it. 

 

I feel like a special mention should also really go out to the amazing folks back at theMusic's newsroom - those tireless soldiers who have been making some semblance of ordered content out of our tweet stream, frantic texts, frustrated emails, and last-resort carrier pigeons in the face of dying technology (where is your techno-God now, huh?). This wouldn't have been possible without them, and with the base assumption in place that they don't cut this part under the guise of editorial liberty, I just want to offer my genuinely heartfelt thanks to them, as well as our esteemed editor Dan Condon (who was alongside me on the ground, as you well know), for their patience, resilience and dedication. They deserve as much applause as any of the acts I saw over the last three days.

 

And with that, dear readers, I think I might sign off from Splendour for the last time this year. If you were there, I hope you had as good a time as I did, if not better. If you weren't, I hope we've inspired you to do whatever you can to come along next year. Either way, I hope you enjoyed the ride. Drive safe, travellers, and - in the words of Bill and Ted - be excellent to each other.

 

Love,

Mitch