Here’s What Went Down At Splendour Day One

Watching Melbourne’s Harts ferociously open up the GW McLennan stage at the festival-early hour of 12.30pm, a punter turns to his friend and, with great concern – hands on shoulders, uncomfortable eye contact and all – asks him earnestly, “Dude, are you going to vomit again?”

No matter how many times I attend Splendour In The Grass, I don’t think I will ever stop being surprised by the sheer number of people who arrive here apparently completely unprepared for the fact that this is a multi-day festival. I’m not a prude or an aspirant officer of the Fun Police by any stretch, but there is no way, at the first act of the first (proper) day of this year’s event at North Byron Parklands, that the word “again” should have formed any part of that concerned man’s sentence – but, lo and behold, here we are for another year, apparently older but certainly not any wiser for the intervening time. To wit, there still aren’t enough toilets, white people are rocking Native American headdresses as though last year’s considerable backlash against the practice never happened, and large crowds still struggle to read signs that clearly say “EXIT ONLY”, blissfully unaware of their contribution to the inevitable crushes that swiftly choke the inter-stage thoroughfares.

All of that said – for all the people who wrote themselves off before the sun even set today; for every arsehole deliberately splashing mud at other people; for every volunteer who clearly has no idea what they are doing – there is joy, and boundless amounts of it, woven into the very fabric of this festival, and it’s far too infectious to allow any such (admittedly minor) grievances get in the way of that. Not even the persistent threat, and eventual follow-through, of considerable rainfall, nor the endless sludge it leaves in its wake, seems to pierce the armour of positivity that emanates from the shifting masses, even at this early stage.

To be honest, though, it’s little wonder – none but the most miserly, Scrooge-like of souls could navigate the sensory wonderland that is your average Splendour and not find something to make them smile. From the quirky capitalism of the Very Small Mall and the unbearably esoteric intellectualism of The Forum to the various booze-sponsored mini-clubs that keep the punters pissed and partying all day (the Captain Morgan’s bar is shaped like a pirate ship, which is actually very cool) and spread of alternately intriguing/way-too-fucked-to-handle artworks and installations that dot the grounds – yes, even the inexplicable inflatable Nicolas Cage head… in a cage – not to mention the permanent waft of something delicious that must be coming from one of the multiple, multicultural catering tents, the festival is a living, breathing testament to forgetting the banality of reality for a few days. As it was put to me this afternoon, by a drunk guy in a Captain Morgan’s pirate hat (which he claimed he had found): “Mate, it’s not often you get five days off work, so why not be fucked the whole time?”

As well as being quietly impressed that he managed to wrangle an entire working week’s worth of time off for a music festival (plus, free hat), I’m sure that philosophy works for some people. However, I personally get the most out of Splendour when I’m not doubled over moaning on the ground because my liver is trying to explode out of my side. You see, if I were only really focused on filling the coffers of drinks merchants who think it’s fine to charge like a wounded bull for beer-flavoured water, I would just miss so much else that’s worth seeing at an event such as this.

Naturally, I’m not telling you how to enjoy live music. If getting paralytic by noon and vomiting on your mates (again) is how you roll, then you just keep doing you, you beautiful disaster, but at least acknowledge that your perception of the experience might be skewing just a bit shitward. And that’s kind of a tragedy, especially with the calibre of acts that are on offer at this year’s Splendour. Today alone, I took in triumphant sets from local and international acts of all walks – most I’d heard before, some I hadn’t, and some from both of those lists play music that I ordinarily wouldn’t touch with a 10-foot pole, but them’s the perils of journalism. Along with Harts, I spent time jiving out with genuine glee to Gengahr, DZ Deathrays, San Cisco, Seekae, Everything Everything,Death Cab For Cutie and Peking Duk.

At the end of the day, by all means, treat Splendour like the mini-holiday that it is – you can’t peg it as anything close to an everyday run-of-the-mill experience if you’re being honest, plus it's a free country – but do make sure you take the time to ease up and breathe it all in. Not literally, necessarily, since the entire place will reek of damp wood chips by Saturday morning – but certainly from a wider experiential standpoint. After all, you don’t want to be the person who is waking up on Monday morning with the devil’s hangover and a crumpled Captain Morgan’s hat that you can’t even remember stealing from one of the bartenders in the pirate ship… right?