Live Review: Falls Festival Byron Bay: Day 3
"For all its tough moments, Falls Byron once again made itself a joy to experience."
It only takes a few degrees.
We wake on day three of Byron Bay’s Falls Music & Arts Festival to a renewed, evident energy and sense of optimism hanging in the air across the grounds. Well, not hanging — that would have been a more precise term over the past two days, when hoping for even a light wind seemed like nothing more than a foolishly sanguine expectation — but rather being carried on the shoulders of the first real, sustained breeze we’ve had all festival. Along with the presence of some light cloud cover, the pleasant, cooling currents lift us all up in kind, and it truly feels like we’re in for the... well... happiest day of the event so far.
Despite my earlier scepticism (see day one) that some of these people would even make it to this point, it seems we’re destined to honour the spirit of the new year and finish with a bang.
After grabbing some iced coffee — hey, it’s still hot regardless — from the hard-working heroes at Le Waffle Bean food truck/van, who have kept us caffeinated and internally cool all festival and deserve a little shout-out for that fact, we head to the media tent for the morning ritual. Mostly, this comprises of using a computer while being at a music festival — a painfully nerdy thing to have to do even for someone like me, a huge nerd — but at least it comes with the added bonus of shade.
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Leaving the rest of the poindexters to their poindextery, we set off for the alternate refuge of the Forest Stage, where British singer-songwriter Shura and her accompanying band are easing their not-insignificant audience into the final day of Falls festivities. The 25-year-old vocalist and multi-instrumentalist trades in synth-splashed electro-pop delights aplenty, the driven, reverb-happy What Happened To Us? marking an early high point in what ultimately proves a most impressive display. Shura is an eminently charming performer, peppering further moments of sweetness into her set in gestures such as dedicating the keenly received, restrained 2Shy to the shy people in the audience (and explaining that “it’s about being really shy”, bless). She even jumps on guitar for the track, while a large inflatable ball bounces around the crowd.
Make It Up is billed as being “about being dumped in public and then crying in front of strangers on the way home” (cue a big old cheer, because humans are odd creatures), while apparent old favourite Touch — which she tells us was the first song written for her album, Nothing’s Real — gets an exceedingly ebullient response. The expansive, elegant White Light caps off a wildly encouraging start to the day.
But it only takes a few degrees. And, over at the Amphitheatre, the early-morning breeze has died just enough to make things uncomfortable for the small but dedicated crowd amassed for West Australian charmers Tired Lion. It’s clear that the slight rise in the heat, or the decline in respite for it, is not going unnoticed by the reliably entertaining four-piece, whose frontwoman, Sophie Hopes, soon enough requests that security bust out the water hoses to relieve their suffering cluster of fans. The band repay the crowd’s dedication with a solid and well-polished set that shows little sign of the physical struggle through which the members must be soldiering. It’s a more-than-respectable effort, but the discomfort down in front is swiftly heightening, and so we hang around just long enough to hear them crank out a few tunes (culminating with a super-strong take of upbeat, anthemic recent single Agoraphobia) before admitting defeat and seeking shelter elsewhere in the grounds.
We pass the usual wonderful madness of the Captain Morgan’s bar and have another chance encounter with yesterday’s roving brass band — who we find out are called the Low Down Riders — as we exit the Amp and turn right to rehydrate with some cold water from the bar (seriously, the strongest thing I drank all Falls was coffee).
Eventually, enough shade has manifested back at the fringes of the hillside arena for us to head back out and assume a SunSmart position for beloved indie vets Ball Park Music, who have attracted a seriously impressive number of people to their early-afternoon set. It’s a testament to the Brisbane band’s lasting appeal, which has helped spare them the same fate as so many of their late-2000s contemporaries, and a testament to the truly indisputable talents of frontman and primary songwriter Sam Cromack, a prodigious and prolific individual who inspires deep awe as much as murderous rage about how talented an indie-pop-smith he is.
Countless shows and several albums deep at this point, Ball Park Music are at the stage now — and arguably have been for a couple of years — where they’re able to pack their entire set with pretty much crowd favourite after crowd favourite, rarely if ever having to rely on filler material to get through their slot. Everything Is Shit Except My Friendship With You hits an early high mark as an inflated goon sack gets bounced around, and Cromack offers his sympathies to the crowd: "Are you guys doing OK? It's so fucking hot,” he laments. “It's just fucked up. I feel ashamed. It's not my fault but I feel ashamed." Whipping Boy and She Only Loves Me When I’m There keep spirits high before Fence Sitter knocks the whole thing out of the, erm, ball park.
Leef is pre-empted by a sweet little Sam-ism — “I wish I could make 10 million leaves appear; I’d attach them to branches to trees and you’d all be in the shade” — and the gleefully received Surrender and It’s Nice To Be Alive lead to a call to have “maximum shirts off”. The whole thing is ridiculous amounts of fun; this band is an absolute gift.
It’s about this time — in case you, too, are aware of how unusually lengthy that account was — that I realise I’ve pulled an amateur mistake, let myself get caught up in the moment, and stayed too long in one location, meaning that we’ve completely missed Parquet Courts. We also find out by way of Twitter that it seems a young woman had her head split open by a rock that was pelted in the pit during Ball Park Music’s set, which is just the most disappointing thing to read. Hugely bummed for a couple of reasons now, we trek over to the Forest Stage anyway to see what British electro-pop duo AlunaGeorge have up their sleeves.
As it turns out, they’re rocking a 20-ish minute delay to the start of their set, ultimately getting under way just before 4pm with recent outing Hold Your Head High from last year’s LP I Remember, and capably impress with an excellent rendition of the lurching Jealous from the same release (as well as its title track). It’s probably a safe assumption, too, that they eventually get to their bigger hits such as White Noise, but the hold-up in starting their set has ramifications for a busy reviewer, and so we depart the wooded enclave to return to the surrounds of the Amphitheatre. What we do see of the UK twosome, though, consistently justifies their renown.
When we get there, we see the effervescent Kiwi troupe Fat Freddy’s Drop holding court over a swaying throng of reggae-loving punters. They’re a few songs deep into an hour-and-a-half-long slot — eons, in festival terms — and having a hell of a good time in doing so. The Wellington septet have been doing this for nearly 20 years now and, with a six-studio-album catalogue to plunder, spanning from 2005’s Based On A True Story to 2015’s Bays, they excel at keeping their audience’s energy levels high and the vibes well and truly good, with the deep grooves and sweet horns of For The Love Of Music proving particularly exceptional among a uniformly superior performance almost entirely comprised of deep grooves and sweet horns.
A brief dalliance with the dreamy electronic of Vallis Alps is also enjoyable enough; Thru, Young, and a brand new track, What Would You Say (I think?), make it to the post-performance notes as being particularly strong, while things hit a moment of real cuteness as vocalist Parissa Tosif commissions the crowd in a round of Happy Birthday for her creative partner, producer David Ansari. The pair are good-natured, appreciative and endearing, and their contribution to the day’s proceedings only further improve its track record as being the most agreeable of the festival. Yes, friends, we are well and truly back on track now.
But... it only takes a few degrees.
While we're back at the bar near the media tent for more hydration (hey, free water is free water), there’s an ominous darkening of the sky. A nearby staffer tells us an incoming storm is about 10 to 15 minutes away, and kindly suggests we may like to retrieve our laptops from the media tent, and perhaps grab rain jackets, if we’ve got them. Having seen North Byron Parklands in a deluge before, it’s advice we don’t hesitate to take, and we pack our things and start making a move. On the way out, it’s obvious that many other punters have seen the clouds and are also camp-bound out of concern for themselves or their set-up.
When we get to camp, though, the clouds seem a little less threatening, and so I make the stupid, stupid decision to not switch out my canvas shoes for gumboots, deciding instead that a rain jacket will suffice as I slip my phone and what’s left of my portable charger into zip-lock bags. I know it’s a dumb move to not switch shoes, even in the moment, but it really looks like this is going to be all bluster and no follow-through at this point. Sure, things might get a bit damp, but whatever — frankly, it’ll be glorious after how much we’ve bitched about the heat. It’ll be refreshing. It’s just what we need.
So, no boots. On the way back in, we hear the sounds of DMA’s floating over the hill near the Forest Stage, and head over to have a gander, along with seemingly three-quarters of the festival. The crowd is nigh impenetrable, so we settle for a largely audio-only experience, catching Too Soon, Melbourne and Timeless, among others, as we debate the validity of the band’s complaints about (or at least indifference to) the admittedly obvious and easy comparisons with Oasis. We ultimately decide that, no, it’s not a wholly fair or representative comparison to make, especially musically, but there is validity to it nonetheless (otherwise we wouldn't still be talking about it, eh?). The whole “Aussie Britpop” tag is still ridiculous, though.
We amble back to the Amphitheatre to catch veteran troubadour Bernard Fanning and find a spot to enjoy a mix of his solo work spiced with Powderfinger as a sprinkling of rain softly drizzles over the audience. It’s cooling without being obtrusive or inconvenient. Like I said — just what we need.
Fanning is an unquestionably talented singer, songwriter and musician, but he is truly lifted here by his backing band, all of whom are individually excellent throughout the slot. The band tuck into a wide-ranging array of sounds across the set, chalking up several strong tracks including Which Way Home, which detours into a brief riff on Black Sabbath’s Iron Man for the benefit of Bernard’s kids, experiencing their first festival tonight (aww).
It’s Powderfinger-era hit Sunsets (the poetic justice of which, he notes, is ruined by the clouds, as otherwise it would be the most fitting song imaginable for the present time of day) and his 2005 solo piece Wish You Well, however, that receive the most spirited responses from the crowd, and we joyfully join the dance and sway of the revelry around us as I grow ever more confident in my decision to not switch out to those ungainly boots sitting back in our campervan.
I am, as it turns out, an idiot.
As we depart the Amphitheatre, the light rain suddenly becomes “torrential downpour”, and pretty soon everything goes to shit. We take advantage of our proximity to the media and VIP area to literally sprint for shelter in the catering tent. This is an imperfect solution still, as water swiftly encroaches on the fringes of the structure, forcing us all in a little tighter — this is the most people that have been in here at one time at all this Falls, to our knowledge — and really hammering home how much I wish I’d changed into gumboots earlier. Nonetheless, I try to remain professional and optimistic, and head back out into the storm to return to the Amphitheatre for Catfish & The Bottlemen.
Two things become quickly clear: 1. My rain jacket is totally useless, and I kind of want a refund because I am soaked under here but am unable to recall where it was purchased, and 2. Catfish & The Bottlemen aren’t where they’re supposed to be. It’s wholly understandable why that is — the rain is totally messing up the stage, causing all sorts of electrical mayhem and concern, and nobody wants to see fried Catfish right now. But, still, we stand out in the pit for nearly their entire set slot without word from the festival as to what’s happening. Photographers are standing down the front, their gear — endowed with variable levels of waterproofing — getting pelted by the rain. The punters are soaked, still eager but at least a little bit miserable, left to wonder what’s happening.
Eventually, the festival tweets that all acts are indeed continuing and the show going on, with some rescheduling, choosing to release those times via their smartphone app alone. Sure, a bit of rain is far, far, far from the worst thing that could happen (as we're all aware, given incidents at other events, so I stress that I'm not trying to over-inflate the severity of the situation by any means) but to leave that many people until so late in the game with no information as to whether the band they were waiting to see was even going to perform is a little disappointing.
Went out in the storm to see @thebottlemen at the Amp but it seems as though proceedings are on hold for now? #fallsfestival #ByronBay
— theMusic.com.au (@TheMusicComAu) January 2, 2017
@davidwc1308 @TheMusicComAu due to weather, we're working on new set times. All acts will be going on stage and going ahead x
— Falls Festival (@fallsofficial) January 2, 2017
The band do ultimately take the stage, but by that point we’ve made the call to once again head back out to camp so I can finally do what I should've done in the first place, and switch out for gumboots. There are still a few hours of the night ahead, and small comforts are paramount now. Hot coffee and staying dry are chief among those priorities, so we sort out some sweet bean water and head to the Forest Stage to see Tkay Maidza, who has her utterly jammed-in audience wrapped around her pinky as she swaggers across the stage and belts out tunes with undeniable power.
At this point, the process of taking notes on a smartphone, through a plastic bag, using wet fingers and peering through rain-splotched glasses is becoming somewhat laborious, nigh outright unreasonably difficult. So, hopefully it is forgivable to mostly just allow ourselves to enjoy the performance and forgo the struggle. You can rest easy knowing that Maidza more than capably lived up to the growing hype she’s seen accrue around her exceptionally polished live performances in recent months.
Rejigged set times in hand, we make our way back to the Amphitheatre for London Grammar, who deliver a rejuvenating set despite still dealing with an unfortunate amount of rain. My phone dies immediately after posting a moment to Instagram, undoubtedly not aided by all the moisture inevitably seeping into its makeshift protective case.
With the assistance of the final juice in the charger, it comes back from the brink to muster a bit more than enough life to note down the strength of the atmospheric peaks and troughs of the minimalist Nightcall and the ethereal, sauntering Flickers, while we’re given a special treat in the form of brand new song Rooting For You. Vocalist Hannah Reid delivers a truly evocative and exceptional performance, her co-conspirators Dan Rothman and Dominic Major helping to create a genuinely warming experience for a whole lot of people who need exactly that right now.
We defy our dying tech, an admitted lack of experience with the genre and artist, and a swiftly fading will to stay awake any longer today to stick around for main-stage closer Alison Wonderland, partially out of pure interest and partially because we didn’t come this far to wimp out now. We recognise her well-known track Run pretty early in her set, but honestly not much else, and keeping further notes are now basically just wishful thinking, though that doesn’t mean there isn’t a whole lot to enjoy in this professional and insanely energised display.
Wonderland herself is an engaging electronic party-leader in the way so many of her contemporaries aren’t; where they are happy to largely stand where they are, bopping along or maybe even throwing their hands up, the feverishly buoyant Wonderland treats the stage as her own personal playground, climbing the desk and dancing around with reckless, wonderful abandon. Her energy and enthusiasm is infectious, and her massive audience — such a good effort, Byron — are in thrall to her movements and music, while the beautifully constructed light show only heightens the happiness levels and sense of achievement as we reach the event's peak and marvel at what we're experiencing after having braved it all over the past three days — extreme heat, massive rain, and the loveable and unwashed hordes alike.
So, yeah. We did it, just like we were destined to. We had pretty much everything thrown at us that nature could muster, but we did it.
We finished with a bang.
Yep. Falls Byron has been an exceptionally memorable way to start the new year and, for all its tough moments, it has once again made itself a joy to experience; we’re hugely thankful for the opportunity to have done so. After a somewhat rough batch of events over this New Year's period, the festival faces unavoidable challenges moving forward — and not all of them are its sole responsibility, either — but there's no shame in admitting that there's always room for improvement.
Thanks to you, too, for following our adventures these past few days. We hope you’ve had a blast but, now, in the surest sign that this was a successful few days, I could really, really use some sleep.
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