Live Review: Falls Festival, Byron Bay Day 3

Day 3: Saving The Best Till Last

As the already-oppressively hot sun dawns on our toilet-block-#7-adjacent campsite (which, it bears mentioning, was remarkably quiet last night) for the third and final day of Falls Festival Byron Bay for 2015-16, it’s clear that today is going to be a bit of a physical struggle.

In my experience, this is a fairly universal thing. Whether at Splendour, Falls, Woodford or even far-north Queensland’s Palm Creek Folk Festival (Palm Creek represent!) – heck, just name a camping festival – the final of several days’ worth of festivities is always something of an atmospheric dichotomy. Punters stumble around the grounds like zombies, all moans and creaks and aches and dead-eyed stares; volunteers have, by this point, had it up to here with any hint of nonsense; vendors reach new levels of desperation to shift their wares; roaming police mostly look on in bewilderment at how the people here are even still alive, much less standing up – and, yet, everyone still has an incredible time. We make it our business to do so.

As with yesterday, it’s arguably not so much the pull of the comedians ... as it is the lack of other main-stage attractions right now. 

To an extent, that comes down to smart programming on the part of the organisers – armed with delicious sustenance, we head for the shady surrounds of the Forest Stage, where we hear the sweet chill of wunderkind music-maker Jesse Davidson wafting over the mound before Spirit Of Akasha, featuring Andrew Kidman & The Windy Hills take over the duties of recharging the audience’s batteries. The show takes its title from Kidman’s acclaimed surfing movie of the same name, and here the wholly seated audience is treated to a live-score session from Kidman and his band as we let long waves of lush instrumentalism and intermittent vocals wash over us without any hint of resistance.

The audience grows again ahead of another bout of stand-up comedy but, as with yesterday, it’s arguably not so much the pull of the comedians themselves that sees the Forest Stage suddenly totally packed as it is the lack of other main-stage attractions right now. MC Adam Rosenbachs and performer Becky Lucas bring decent-enough laughs, while an ill-advised, self-inflicted restriction of material from the usually funny Nazeem Hussain – he announces at the outset that he will be improvising his set – only ends up being a positive thing in the sense that it makes us realise that just because nothing is going on at the other main stage right now doesn’t actually mean that nothing is going on anywhere else.

After all, Falls is a music and arts festival. So, with the mediocre comedy providing all the inspiration we need to leave, we get around to doing what we really should have done well before now – thoroughly checking out all the sideshow wonderment of the festival grounds. And, Jesus, does Falls have it in spades. From the human foosball table (field?) to the Palm Springs pop-up water park and inflatable slide; the Foxtel Movies hub to gettin’ your nails done; traversing the stalls to the welcoming commune of The Village, there’s something to please every taste and temperament.

We don’t linger for too long, though, as the ever-reliable world/electro fusion sounds of Tijuana Cartel emanate from back at the Forest Stage. We return to the scene of improvisational crimes to witness the energetic outfit continue their stellar run since the release of new album Psychedelicatessen back in September. It’s a performance thick with deeply primal grooves, irresistible flamenco and slide guitar lines and blissful brass, glued together with expert rhythmic depth courtesy both acoustic and technological percussion. Dexterous six-string work and intricate arrangements pour forth as if from a tap, with the downtempo strut and Eastern intonation of classic cut Run Away providing a deeply funky highlight among a sincerely unfaultable performance.  

Meanwhile, there’s a whole different vibe at the now-open Valley Stage, where Gang Of Youths have their crowd kicking up a dust storm with joy to the upbeat energy of Poison Drum. The Sydneysiders have deservedly earned their reputation for gloriously riotous live shows, the palpable fervour and infectious movement sweeping through the wiped-out audience testament to the band’s on-stage charm. If there’s any misstep at all, it’s a cover of LCD Soundsystem’s All My Friends, though it’s not the execution so much as the arrangement (that original repeated piano line is far more important to the piece than many people give it credit for, and removing it is a death knell) – but that’s a wholly personal gripe, and not one shared at all by the hundreds in rapture to frontman Dave Le’aupepe and his bandmates as they otherwise do justice to a cult favourite. Besides, Vital Signs more than makes up for it, as does the ominous, atmospheric Radioface. If Gang Of Youths have made one thing clear here, it’s that, given the right reasons, even the gnarled grip of exhaustion itself won’t stop us from wringing every last carefree moment we can from this party before reality once again takes us into its cold, cold bosom.

Today I’m forced to question my whole worldview as a mid-afternoon supply run to our campsite has us bear witness to one of the most stunning pieces of cosmic justice I’ve ever experienced.

As it turns out, reality is coming for some people much quicker than others. I’ve never really been one for karma, on account of all the shitty things that happen in the world that routinely go unpunished. But today I’m forced to question my whole worldview as a mid-afternoon supply run to our campsite has us bear witness to one of the most stunning pieces of cosmic justice I’ve ever experienced; namely, the sight of security and police surrounding our first-night adversaries (who now appear to be absolute shells of the bold, invulnerable pricks they were earlier) and ejecting them from the festival, the group having now – on top of everything else – been discovered with a serious amount of contraband smuggled into the event via a false floor on their camper trailer (which explains the drill we’d been hearing at night).

It takes a phenomenal amount of self-restraint to not just stand there and video the entire thing for posterity, so we don’t linger to watch the entire affair play out; rather, we grab our things and return to the festival feeling vindicated, re-energised, and certain that they still won’t have learnt anything. By this point, we’ve reached a friendly rapport with our wonderful camp controllers, Tracie and Carmel, so we stop in to share the good news on the way. Everybody’s day improves. We should be dragging our heels; instead, there’s a spring in our step. It’s schadenfreude in its purest form, and I have absolutely no guilt about it.

We ride that wave all the way back to the Valley Stage for Leon Bridges, where a criminally small number of people are showing the charismatic crooner (“all the way from Fort Worth, Texas!”) the love he so evidently deserves. Bridges and his band offer up an accomplished run of bluesy, rollicking soul tunes, the man at the centre of it all an exemplary performer in every right as he grooves and jives his way around the stage. The easy, relaxed stroll of Shine, with its imploring catchcry “Lord, don’t remember my sins/ my sins from my youth”, is an early highlight before the pace picks up a bit with the utterly sublime Better Man, which starts with advice from Bridges for all the fellas out there to show their ladies unconditional love (“…one ‘Amen’ in the house? Cool…”). Back-up singer Brittni Jessie is similarly stunning at what she does, sweetly complementing Bridges’ crisp, evocative vocals. The entire showing – including the tenor sax-led, almost Doo-woppish Brown Skin Girl, the 6/8 delight of Pull Away, and the sentimental Twistin’ & Groovin’ (which Bridges explains is written about how his grandparents met) – is a demonstration in next-level musicianship, which leaves only one question: where the hell is everyone?

If the diversity of sounds on offer at Falls was ever in any doubt, it’s shattered into a thousand shards by the sonic challenges presented by Young Fathers back at the Forest Stage. However thick the aural scrub, though, it’s well worth the effort to face it head on and cut through as the cult Scottish outfit unleash an inventive, nebulous, even occasionally guttural attack of cacophonous celebration.

The whole tent shakes as the crowd lurches along with their set, the eclectic noises of tracks such as Get Up, I Heard and Old Rock N Roll proving to be the perfect way to keep spirits high as we carry on into the final evening of the event, even if it's one of the most confusing things I've ever seen. Not in a, "What the hell is going on?" sense, but a, "How does this work? This shouldn't work. But it does. It works. I am furious and a little aroused" kind of way. Kudos, Young Fathers. That's a rare feeling to evoke.

We allow ourselves a reprieve to hunt down some dinner, passing the waiting parade – a spectacle in and of itself, featuring an oversize giraffe (and grizzly bear), trombonist, dancing troupe, newly wedded couple (seriously – they had their ceremony during the festival) and all manner of other characters ready to strut their stuff for the visual benefit of the masses. Their self-sacrifice, denying themselves freedom to watch bands while committed to their cause, is admirable.

Also worth mentioning, not without some ulterior motive, is the pop-up stall for newly formed Brisbane record store Sonic Sherpa, whose litany of signings – from Seth Sentry and Courtney Barnett to Birds Of Tokyo, Paul Kelly and Mac DeMarco, among several others on the festival bill – keeps a solid line of people out front for hours at a time.

It’s a rare and fantastic opportunity for average festival-goers to get up close and personal with their favourite performers, and it’s clear that many of them consider it too good a chance to pass up.

Arriving back at the Forest Stage for Toro Y Moi, we’re blessed with the sounds of phaser-heavy, jangly alt-indie opener Half Dome, central figure Chazwick Bundick flanked by a performance-enriching backing band for this showing.

The funky, easy strut of Buffalo and the ethereal daydream of Lilly both mark particular highlights, but the whole outing is incredibly fun, incredibly professional, and incredibly worth it.

We barely let the final strains of Toro Y Moi’s set ring out before we’re headed back to the Valley Stage for US guitar virtuoso Gary Clark Jr, similarly the brightest star among a stage of musical shining lights.

 Speaking of, Bright Lights marks an early high point in his set, while the retro rock of Ain’t Messin’ Round takes a gleeful detour into wailing, glorious dissonance. When My Train Pulls In, too, emits infectious grooves galore, but in total honesty that could be said of any of the arrangements put forth by Clark here today.

He’s an acclaimed performer for damn good reason and it’s absolutely insane to me that an act like Peking Duk – not to belabour the point, or pick on them particularly – can pack out this space while Clark’s lucky to have a full pit witness his brilliance.

No matter how much today’s acts have kept our energy levels above “comatose”, the rigours of a three-day festival on a 30-year-old body inevitably catch up with me, meaning that I cannot bring myself to move from my spot back to the other stage for Elliphant (who apparently performed resplendent in a green Falls Festival volunteer shirt) or The Avener, instead conserving what strength I have left in anticipation of a massive showing from Foals.

The UK indie mainstays don’t disappoint, either, proving a much more capable live act – particularly in the case of frontman Yannis Philippakis – than previous occasions on which this reviewer has attended their shows. It stands to reason, of course – they’re now a full decade on from their venerated debut Antidotes, and though the band’s sound has changed pretty dramatically over the ensuing years, their set retains a remarkable sense of cohesion, demonstrated from the outset as new cut Mountain At My Gates gives way to harmonics-led classic Olympic Airways. An admittedly awkward transition into the bland-as-ever My Number follows, while London Thunder provides a rare moment of introspective tenderness and quietude. That feeling extends to the creeping build of Spanish Sahara before loosening its collar for its open-rock midsection and beyond, while Vessels – another Antidotes favourite – as well as the big-rock chorus riffage of Inhaler and snarling drive of What Went Down keep everyone pleased as punch on the way through to utterly gargantuan, dancetastic closer Two Steps, Twice. Yes. A thousand times yes.

We pick up our carcasses to head back to the Forest Stage for Django Django, though their split slot with third-night headliners Disclosure means that we’re forced to put obligation above personal taste and cut our time with the Double-D short to head back to watch the British beat-makers close things out at the Valley Stage, where they kick things off with big ol’ hit White Noise, to uproarious applause. The early excitement – remarkable in its strength considering we’ve all been carrying on for 50-something hours at this stage – doesn’t waver for a minute, the electronic duo keeping our dying spirits aflame through banger after banger, hits and clear favourites such as F For You, Holding On and You & Me being unleashed with a cool, composed meticulousness — yet undeniable energy — that fuels the total looseness on the ground. It is, in summary, a most excellent way to round out a long, gruelling and utterly incredible weekend at Falls.

Famished, we pass the illuminated giant milk-crate robot overlord that I have neglected to mention until now, grab some delicious, freshly cooked, bread-of-life Byron Bay Organic Doughnuts (send free goods please) and head back out to the campsite, thoroughly satisfied that, despite the earliest indications yesterday morning, 2016 really does look like it it’s going to be a hell of year, at least as far as live music is concerned.

Back to Day 2→