Live Review: Golden Plains

SATURDAY

A few drops of light rain fall as the biannual pilgrimage makes its way through Meredith once more. There's not enough to make pounding in a tent peg any easier and not enough to be a dampener on proceedings. It's good to be back.

Kicking things off with, “Welcome to happy hour”, the opening well-placed boot to the head is delivered by Brisbane rockers SixFtHick. Led by the downright dangerous antics of frontmen Geoff and Ben Corbett, the five-piece certainly set a high standard for Golden Plains 8. Dust, sweat and blood cover the stage by set's end and it's a case of last man standing in the moshpit, the band giving many punters an excuse to peak way too early.

The goddess that is Adalita takes to the stage a little after 5pm, instantly causing men for miles to weaken at the knees. Attired in a simple white dress, she lives, sings and breathes from a different level than us mere mortals who gaze up from the ground. Adalita throws down a subtle blend of rawk chick-meets-reformed good girl, her two decades of experience coming to the fore for the common good. Backed by a more-than-able band, it's 40 minutes of unadulterated bliss.

When you choose to include a 16-minute song at the end of a 40-minute set, you put a lot of pressure on that tune delivering. But when you're King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard, and that 16-minute song is Head On/Pill, you've got nothing to worry about. The first half of their set is packed with the scuzzy sounds the seven-piece is known for and if everyone down front isn't so interested in throwing themselves into the nearest person, The Boot appears early.

There are high expectations on Chet Faker as he steps up to the plate and with his three-piece band in tow, he delivers a workmanlike performance. His show lacks the visceral edge of some of the bands before him though, and many in the Sup' are content to use this opportunity to mingle with their companions or seek refuge in a pink flamingo. Not helping matters is the poor-quality sound, the bass flooring anything else in the vicinity.

Charles Bradley, the “Screaming Eagle Of Soul” himself, is in fine form and justifies his primetime Saturday night scheduling. Between costume changes and crowd interaction, he glides across the stage with grace, his voice inspiring all just a little bit more. Bradley is backed by his tight-as-fuck band The Extraordinaires and the crowd is subjected to a set of pure enjoyment. We lap it up with glee.

Both decked out in Pharrell Williams' Grammys hats, Andras Fox and Oscar Key Sung's choice of accessory “gives Pharrell too much credit”, as put by one astute fan. Moreover, Oscar Key Sung's oversized red shirt leaves him looking like a child. Their breezy disco-pop draws a chilled, lazy crowd, though perhaps their sultry beats and pleasant dancey, r'n'b deserves more attention. Watery, marimba tones and (at times) heavy bass, ease us into a more grabbing set.

Acclaimed performer Gold Panda unfurls his highly intricate glitch-pop in an oddly early timeslot. Beach balls are pumped throughout the crowd, which proves a suitable activity given the immense heat. The afternoon sun makes it difficult for us to really lose ourselves to his beats. Mercifully, several punters are armed with water spritzers and aren't shy about liberally squirting the rest of us. In the background, Gold Panda's sweet rhythms and thumping drum crescendos culminate in his closing with You to a wildly appreciative clamour.

It's an official psych-rock party with seven-plus people onstage for hairy outfit King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard. Backed by suitably colourful zigzag projections, they slam their wah peddles and harmonicas through wacky, elongated instrumental segments, much to the crowd's glee. About halfway through their designated timeslot, they prematurely announce they're playing their last song – a tragedy! That is, until we recognise the beginnings of the epic, 15-minute space-out that is Head On/Pill, which they eventually close to several triumphantly raised shoes.

Indie darlings Yo La Tengo open with Big Day Coming, introducing their cacophonous sound that's at times beautifully dissonant. But with their huge back catalogue to draw upon, it's difficult for the band to rest within a singular vibe. Towards the middle of their set they tinker with more twee, acoustic numbers, which leave the crowd restless. But from the oozing, high octane fuzz-rock of Sugarcube, we're back on board, fully embracing their nostalgic, unpretentious brand of lo-fi rock.

With the aid of his wild LAYER3 projections and crunching, bass-driven electronica, Flying Lotus ensures that everyone feels like they're pinging. Some spectators definitely seem overwhelmed by the swarm of jellyfish-like images shooting through the amphitheatre. Despite his high profile and forceful performance, Steve Ellison is incredibly genial, humbled by his invitation to the festival. Incorporating winners such as rapped Captain Murphy songs and the sizzling Camel, FlyLo generates an all-encompassing sensory experience. 

SUNDAY

A hush falls over the crowd as all take a breather, and a seat on the ground, for a break in the music and keynote speech from renowned cartoonist, poet and voice of many generations, Michael Leunig. His delivery is thoughtful and well-paced, if at times a little awkward. His is not a sermon, but a parable – a melange of stories from his well-travelled life. At the core is a deep love and respect for Earth, something that is reciprocated fully by his captive audience.

Los Coronas blast straight outta Spain and onto the Supernatural Amphitheatre. The audience is small at the start of their set, the harsh afternoon sun sending many to the relief of their campsites. For those that remain, and for those who join the throng as the set gathers pace, reward is immediate. From spaghetti Westerns to Misirlou (you'll recognise it from the opening credits of Pulp Fiction), Los Coronas stir up a mini, daytime frenzy for all to enjoy.

The beginning of Osaka Monaurail's set is somewhat subdued, as though an integral piece of the puzzle is missing. After a nervous few minutes though, the enigmatic Ryo Nakata bounds onto the stage, ready to show us why this band is one of the most happ'nin' funk crews in the world. Nakata knowingly channels James Brown and Ray Charles, and promises to take us back to the 1960s where ten shades of funk are thrown down. Worthy recipients of The Boot.

Something doesn't seem quite right with Mr Rogers tonight as You Am I tear it up. The band start a few minutes late and with Rogers anxiously checking his (non-existent) watch after every song, it's difficult to dive 100 per cent into their set. In saying that, they're a well-oiled machine and by kicking out the jams, old and new (and rounding out with a killer version of Berlin Chair), You Am I still prove a great choice for the witching hour tonight.

Fat Freddy's Drop give a slick performance, their dub/soul/reggae/hip hop causing plenty of hands to wave in the air and giving thousands of punters the chance to get loose and welcome in Sunday night. They've been in this game for decades and it's obvious they know what they're doing when it comes to crowd-pleasing, spine-tingling moments. For those who aren't ready to get too fired up – there's plenty of music to come tonight – FFD also provide a chance to mentally prepare for the onslaught to come.

That onslaught arrives sooner than expected with Public Enemy. Chuck D, Flavor Flav and DJ Lord put together a searing set, and for the army of whiteboys and girls in the crowd tonight, the cover of darkness offers the chance to embrace their inner rap star. Public Enemy lose points, however, for their constant requests for everyone to visit their website and tweet them mid-show – clearly no one thought to tell them that mobile reception in the Sup' is sketchy at best.

From an empty space to a shoe-filled arena, Hiatus Kaiyote summon a swarm of fans despite the fact that we're mostly scrambling about the outskirts. We can blame this on the sunshine and not on the boogie, however, as the band's free-form style of jazz fusion is a surefire hit. The epitome of a modern artist, frontwoman Nai Palm's incredibly soulful vocals showcase a touch of sass and a lot of sultriness. The band switch effortlessly between noisier, experimental segments and the warmer, lounge vibe of Nakamarra. 

The cute, jangly folk-pop set from brothers and sisters The Perch Creek Family Jugband prove a refreshing breather. At times they come across as a children's band – mostly due to their clashing rainbow outfits – but really they're just delightful dorks, like a troupe of sexy librarians. Amid hillbilly hoedowns and their killer use of double bass (the player of which is actually a boyfriend, not a brother), the band mostly impress with their strong country-style harmonies. 

Notable for their use of live instrumentation, indie-electronica act Seekae open with the moody Another. Though our group consensus is that older, instrumental songs (Void, Blood Bank, Go) are their most contagious and danceable, it's great to witness the captivating Alex Cameron emerge from behind his drums to take his place as vocalist, centre stage. He's certainly got swagger. A woman gyrates vigorously in the direction of the band during closer Snax as the female vocal sample coos, “Oh, oh, oh”. You can't really blame her. 

There's always a band that knows just how to bang-on give the crowd what it wants. Amongst the best of contemporary synth-pop outfits, Cut Copy deliver their '80s-inspired beats in a huge way, inducing a massive, celebratory dance party to songs such as Hearts On Fire and Lights & Music. We're simply mirroring the infectious energy of charismatic frontman Dan Whitford. Jumping on the drum kit with his arms outstretched before us, his performance can only be described as cultishly good. 

In stark contrast, follow-up Mark Pritchard generates an unrelentingly dark and often menacing brand of techno. With piercing, thunderous bass and screeching beats evoking an increasing intensity, it's no surprise that festival-goers become split between those too overwhelmed to stay (including two cardboard robots) and those who relish these messier, grindier times of night. His choice to play Major Lazer at one point is a great one, while wildly wiggling visuals satisfy our visual sensibilities – blurry as they may be. 

MONDAY

Waking up early on Monday morning to those familiar pangs of sunburn, dehydration and the piercing shouts of a still-drunk neighbour, so does another Golden Plains sadly end. Watching the hordes of cars slowly trickle out of the grounds, it's hard not to reflect on the uniquely familial nature of the festival. Cut Copy went from festival attendees themselves to ecstatic headliners, while members of many fantastic local acts (including Sunbeam Sound Machine, Atolls and The Stevens) were spotted throughout the weekend. Purveyors and lovers alike, to paraphrase the indomitable Flying Lotus: this festival simply attracts those who really care about music.