Live Review: I'll Be Your Mirror

DAY ONE (curated by ATP)

The frazzled bus driver on the train replacement service from Footscray to Altona drives over roundabouts and every available gutter. We lurch about the cabin trying not to land in the laps of strangers. Luckily a lady knows where we have to get off. She's actually miffed her Saturday bingo has been cancelled to host this weekend's (as she calls it) “Mirror Festival” at our destination. The bus sideswipes a parked vehicle in the main Altona shopping strip but the driver pretends not to notice and accelerates. Many people alight at the next stop. After convincing a refuelling maxicab driver to take us the remainder of the way, we are informed we'll be lucky to find a taxi to drive us home since they “don't like to come out here”. We start to feel like involuntary participants in an ep of The Twilight Zone and this feeling doesn't disperse as we explore the Sports & Leisure Centre complete with indoor climbing wall, tennis courts, giant chess and Connect 4 games plus huge astro turf animals that could've escaped from the Edward Scissorhands set.

We finally obey a computer-printout “IN” sign that's been taped above a doorway and locate Stage Two. Two former Devastations, Conrad Standish and Tom Carlyon (aka Standish/Carlyon) hold court and gorgeous, layered textural noise washes through this room that's more accustomed to bridal waltzes and The Chicken Dance. Both gents have the kind of allure that should see them cast as the live band for a scene to be played out in a hip bar. In a yet-to-be-filmed, destined-to-be-huge HBO series. And altered states are teased from us before we even partake.

Boxes of earplugs rest on a table en route to Stage One where Swans are in full flight with pummelling kick drums to kickstart your heart. Frontman Michael Gira doubles as a conductor, beckoning his bandmates into a swell of distortion as he sends himself off into a trance, arms windmilling all over the shop. Earplugs in (for the first time ever. Seriously). Coward – with those purposeful, sparse riffs – is menacing enough to make you wince: “I don't know you/I can't use you/Put your knife in me.” The commitment on display here is mesmerising.

Not sure whether or not it's a reflection on this festival's demographic, but lots of injuries are being nursed with moon boots, crutches and elastic bandages in abundance. Back in the wedding reception room, New War fast-forward these influences to the now, although bassist Melissa Lock's high-waisted stretch Faberges sure take us back. Snarling frontman Chris Pugmire paces like a caged Richard Parker (from Life Of Pi). The complex drum/percussion rhythms make you twitch while the bass bothers your core throughout Ghostwalking. Standish watches intently from sidestage and New War are where it's at. Revealer sneaks up on you, woos you “oo-la-la-la-la-la-la”-style and then threatens to make you levitate with those intoxicating, sustained keys. They channel all the best parts of Ollie Olsen's Win/Lose (it's on the Dogs In Space soundtrack – Google it).

Godspeed You! Black Emperor can best be described by a couple of scenarios unfolding near the Stage One sweet spot. A pair of beer cans have been placed on a ledge in the middle of a speaker stack. Godspeed… vibrations from the speaker they're propped up against cause these cans to rotate in slow motion, in perfect unison. The music is powerful and purposeful, but also gradual and elevating. People are filming the beer-can ballet on their smartphones. Inches away from the action, a wasted dude leans against the speaker tower, eyes closed serenely and with earplugs responsibly in place. Half an hour into GY!BE's set, at 7.44pm, a punter proclaims, “All the songs are sort of the same. I'm getting a bit sick of it,” then proceeds to play catch-up with his mate. “How was Japan?” Time to find a new vantage point. Godspeed You! Black Emperor's film projectionist Karl Lemieux is considered an official band member and rightfully so.

There's various cut-out photo props in walkways for golden photo ops and one features three cats' bums with the cut-out circles where the anuses should be. Three lads have the bright idea of flashing moonies through said holes and seem surprised that no one follows suit: “What? Don't tell me we're the only ones to have thought of this!”    

Apart from the 20-ish people chillaxing on beanbags in the (perfectly air-conditioned) cinema watching The Night Of The Hunter, all assemble in the ginormous converted sports stadium for My Bloody Valentine. If only this roof retracted à la Etihad Stadium! Many timecards now double as fans. Unlike Swans, earplugs are not mandatory while watching MBV who sound like godfathers of The Horrors. Some of the chord progressions on keys call to mind The Boss's vocal melodies. Old farts sure do love yelling shit out in between songs! (But, then again, long periods of silence do separate these lengthy, atmospheric numbers.) Animated falling-down-a-rabbit hole footage accompanies truly face-melting, echoing riffs. Some of these guitar tunings evoke the cries of a hippogriff caught in a trap. Yet somehow they manage to make it all sound so sweet. Bilinda Butcher delicately coaxes notes from her instrument, which purrs obediently. And then it happens. What can only be described as a riff stampede (we endure five minutes' worth before leaving in a huff) sees punters thrusting pointer fingers in to block both ears. Hearts also threaten to explode through chests. It's as if My Bloody Valentine realise they have the final ten minutes of their set to kill, but have exhausted all rehearsed material. Anticlimactic. 

DAY TWO (curated by The Drones)

A decision is made to drive in and the journey over the Westgate Bridge is painless. A Toyota dealership across the road from the festival site has been offered up for free parking throughout the course of the weekend as well, which makes for a pleasant change. Detroit octet Crime & The City Solution warm up the unofficial sauna room while their frontman Simon Bonney chews gum between verses. Violinist Bronwyn Adams dances like a zombie being electrocuted when she's not playing but her rapidfire fiddling adds compelling urgency. A tri-national line-up such us this – with members from Australia, the US and Germany – demands full introduction and Dirty Three's Jim White on drums gets a rousing reception. Six Bells Chime (which features in the Wim Wenders film Wings Of Desire) is luminescent despite sinister instrumentation. Crime & The City Solution close with the title track from their forthcoming album, American Twilight. They play this rollicking jam with vigour (the song's intensity evoking Say Goodbye by Hunters & Collectors) and leave us gagging for more new material.

Over on Stage Two, The Stickmen frontman Aldous Kelly announces, “We don't exist anymore, but we do today,” and it's true: this long-defunct band was requested to re-form specifically for ATP I'll Be Your Mirror 2013 by Mike Noga of The Drones. Turntablist Matt Geeves conjures aural blizzards and bassist Luke Osborne may look like the most unassuming dude ever, but his playing is metronomic. And we always knew what drummer Ianto Kelly could do via his new project, The Spinning Rooms. Sure, there are moments where unsure glances are exchanged and grooves momentarily lost, but this band offer something that refuses to acquiesce. Who Said It Should Be Good? Well no one, but it sure as hell is and let's hope the band's extensive range of merch suggests more than just one sideshow.

The festival may be into its second day, but it's still weird hearing punters say, “We're off to have a quick game of tennis,” between bands. Time to leg it to watch today's curators, The Drones. New single How To See Through Fog promises much and the band are beyond on-form today: the privilege of joining this prestigious ATP/I'll Be Your Mirror curator family obviously igniting their collective flint. Gareth Liddiard is dangerous up there, hurtling himself around the stage like a shark caught in a net. Shark Fin Blues rips us a (“nah-nah-nanana-nah-nah”) new one. 

What's that? The King Of Comedy's currently being screened in the cinema? Time to grab a burger and mangiare in peace. Lost Animal in full-band mode brings the heads over to Stage Two, but it's time to score a decent posi for sexy Tex (sighted earlier and lookin' mighty manly) fronting Beasts Of Bourbon. A fair smattering of really early material gets an airing and Psycho is just as startling as it was back in the day. “I bought this record when I was 15. I feel like I'm on Countdown,” enthuses a neighbour is the crowd while gesticulating wildly stageward. Man, it sure is fun watching people sign to each other in the crowd 'cause they're wearing earplugs. Beasts Of Bourbon need to keep on gigging.

A quick stopover in The Cave to learn about Pricasso, who paints portraits with his knob (obviously), finds him on a dinner break. He's standing there starkers (apart from knee-high Lycra spats and hat) feeding himself from a plate with a fork. Curious. 

Arriving in the reception room just in time for Don Walker proves to be the call of the weekend. Backed by The Suave Fucks (featuring Red Rivers on guitar and a bassist whom Walker intros as “the original Suave Fuck”). Cold Chisel's Yakuza Girls sounds better with Walker behind the mic, his diction emphasising racy lyrical content. On HQ454 Monroe, a song he penned with Troy Cassar-Daley, Walker bemoans the “fat tyres vs big tits conundrum”. Garret Costigan's pedal steel is flawless and Harry Was A Bad Bugger has us hanging off every word. If old mate stage left playing the multi-neck guitar had his stool positioned any further afield he'd be playing from offstage, but Walker's onstage presence is undeniable. This set keeps us focused while swinging our hips for the duration and Walker's catalogue of songs is world class.

Einsturzende Neubauten. The very band name instils fear. To close a festival such as this where there have been no acts that could be struck off and dismissed for toilet breaks is an honour for which only a rare few outfits could even be considered. And custom-built instruments are brought onstage to help elevate almost every song, one of which appears to be a selection of industrial pipes strapped together that would never fit in an overhead locker. Blixa Bargeld accepts this offering with some dubiousness, “O-kay, o-kay,” although he's none too thrilled when it continually prods him. Almost deafening bells toll and Bargeld's banshee screams become angelic mourning. “Don't worry, we'll be a finished before public transport stops,” he deadpans and often hushes the audience with a hand gesture if they begin to applaud before a track has reached its rightful conclusion (this can be hard to determine). Dedicated to style, Bargeld leaves his suit jacket on for the set's duration, and no one else could slap sounds from their cheek and then loop them to create nuanced bedrock for this industrial sonic art.

The musical programming of ATP I'll Be Your Mirror? Flawless. But the location and conditions leave a lot to be desired. For those fortunate enough to descend on Mt Buller for Australia's inaugural Nick Cave-curated All Tomorrow's Parties Melbourne event in 2009, this second outing can realistically only be remembered as a bridesmaid experience.