Live Review: Fairgrounds Festival

As we crested a hill just north of Gerringong, the sleepy burg drying out below us after catching some decent summer rain, a red noodle truck was bombing along the tar ahead of us.

A side door was ajar, secured only by several strips of electrical tape. A large gas bottle peeked out, clanging gingerly against its jerry-rigged prison. The driver, gripping the wheel with tattooed arms terminating in several straining white knuckles, wasn't concerned. He leaned forward, focused intently on his mission: get to Berry. Get the spot. Sell the noodles. This level of intensity was the high watermark for the entire weekend.

Fairgrounds turned three this year. After two stellar events and already showing signs of growth and evolution, the crew had nothing more to prove. Berry had enthusiastically opened its arms (and wallets) to the circus that had sprung up in its midst and the masses that flocked there were as diverse as they were excited, spreading out around the various small towns in the area, snapping up accommodation like bees in a field of flowers. This year felt like Fairgrounds was settling into its own skin, and enjoying a rhythm and energy it had already established. That said, perhaps it did that to a fault.

Much like last year, it rained on the first day. Once again, like last year, we escaped a vibe-killing deluge and were instead ushered out of the venue after Gang Of Youths wrapped up under a steady drizzle — damp, but certainly not defeated. The second day was text book festival weather — gloriously sunny, with a light breeze pushing through the throng. Perfect.

The line-up was good, as expected. It was a solid selection of internationals, which was heavy with singer-songwriters that pushed a peaceful agenda and featured a handful of heavy-hitters among a stacked crowd of progressive neophytes. A couple of key acts were a no-show. The word is that The Teskey Brothers had flight issues with the upside being that Japanese Breakfast had an extended set; a decent trade-off. Holly Throsby was struck down on the second day with an illness that scratched her off the bill, with everyone shifting up.

Chicago native Noname and her sensational band took us into the evening on Friday night. Her post-everything jazz/rap/poetry/R&B approach was sublime under the moody evening sky, and her banter was warm and cheeky.

Future Islands, playing with every molecule they could wrangle, punched well above their weight in terms of energy versus crowd size. Vocalist Samuel T Herring, sporting a smashing handlebar-chinstrap combo, is the posterboy for 'commitment', slapping his chest and growling like a possessed man, wringing out meaning from every syllable. Their unique style of flamboyant pathos played well.

Trust Donnie Benet for transforming a sheep shed into a warehouse party. His set culminated in about 30 people jostling and jiving onstage with him, under the tin roof of the Windmill Stage, and the cheers that followed him off raised the roof.

We headed to the main stage to catch Gang Of Youths' U2/Powderfinger power-pop mashup. They diligently posed, stretched, windmilled, hair-flicked and sweated out their enormously popular songbook for a frothing crowd of admirers, and their wonderful bass-heavy mix thundered across the wet field as we huddled under umbrellas. The silhouettes of shoulder-mounted punters swayed in front of us and the mood was jubilant, despite the rain.

Day two was a different story. Right from its dusty, headache-plagued beginnings, the azure sky was endless and uplifting. We virtually bounded through the gates, with hangovers denied entry. The food was good and the lines were mercifully brief. The queues for booze were almost non-existent, thanks to the sheer volume of bars, and the fact that the drink selection was narrow, meaning people didn't swamp specific locations.

Jen Cloher and Aldous Harding were a great one-two combo early in the day, with Cloher's slacker paramour Courtney Barnett lurking around helping out on stage and off. Hockey Dad blasted out their gleefully sunny surf-pop and, to balance out all the cheerful machismo, Stella Donnelly offered a superb folk set that was as galvanising as it was weightless. The gently devastating Boys Will Be Boys stopped hearts. Marlon Williams cooed and swayed under the hot December sun and his southern doo-wop lilt was spellbinding. On reflection, the Christchurch troubadour was our pick for day two.

Spiral Stairs (Pavement founding member Scott Kannberg) lumbered through an amiable set, but failed to strike gold. DD Dumbo didn't quite capture what makes them special on record, but their sleepy spot was good enough. You Am I were You Am I ("Get a haircut? What, and look like you? I'm Tim Rogers, mate, I wouldn't be you for quids"): loud, proud, and always a winner.

Super-pithy indie lifers The Shins played a tight, lively set. At this point in his career, James Mercer can play his hits in his sleep, but the fact that he summoned as much energy and showmanship as he did was a real credit to him and his veteran performers. While the crowd wasn't full of diehard fans, the response was good.

Client Liaison's unfunny, noisy glam-pop certainly had presence and volume, but not much else. It was an odd choice to choose a parody act as your climax, but Fairgrounds can afford a misstep or two, given how well the whole thing is managed.

The screws felt a little loose this year. The market element was fine, if a little oddly stacked with pricey items north of $150. The record store was, as always, a trove of great material and the lucky-dip bore some sweet fruit. The food, as mentioned, was pretty great (the noodle truck made it!) and Garden Bar was a success. The crowd (5,000 of us this year) was a little muted perhaps, but, again, the presence of kids was a far better alternative to extra security (who, by the way, were great).

So, where do they go from here? Do they tweak the market? The food ideas? The non-musical attractions? The whiskey tasting and spoon whittling were fun little diversions, so maybe more of that? Whatever they decide, they've earned their stripes. So this year might be, in retrospect, a year of experimentation and reflection. See you next year.