Live Review: Laneway Festival

This year's festival kicks off with a cheesy set of electro from kitsch-tastic duo Client Liaison who have ditched the props and drawn the focus to their songs and peerless production sheen. While they don't play the scene-stealing show they did at last year's Golden Plains, this early electro-pop slot suits the assembling crowd (and a noisy core fanbase) just fine.

Looking like a Red Hot Chili Peppers cover band and sounding like a ticked-off Real Estate, the muscular indie-pop of Bel Air is manna to the shade-huddled crowd. What they lack in vocal chops they make up for in imaginative song construction and their smart way with riffs that promises great things down the track.

The Dean Turner Stage is not far shy of a kilometre from the entrance. One round-trip to see Mt Warning's opening set of grittily euphoric blues and you've earned yourself another cider. The trio seem to draw their energy from a deep inner well. Singer Mikey Bee – with his American twang, Springsteen punches and chiselled handsomeness – is only the first weapon in the band's arsenal and their set makes a nice gearshift from the rest of the bill.

Opening with your best-known song is a bold move and Autre Ne Veut's brilliant Play By Play has the potential to be a golden festival moment. More suited to the underground clubs that gave birth to his dubstep/R&B fusion, the moody tension of his voice, swathes of glittering percussion and flabby bass tones don't quite transition from bedroom to stage.

With shipping containers, cranes and passing trains behind it, the River Stage is a perfect setting for the country chug of Cass McCombs. Playing mostly new material, McCombs' warm, languid tones and delicate hooks make his set a sheer joy to behold, especially when he ups the volume and the noodling guitars take on a menacing edge, which results in raucous cheering and new fans.

Kirin J Callinan again gently battles his mic stand, but this time in makeup, a mullet and Ken Done outfit. He tears through a brilliant set to a core group of fans and several hundred stunned onlookers. “This next song is called Halo. It's from my album Embracism. If you don't have it, fuck you!” he jokes, but not without that lingering sense of unease that threads through his best work.

Back at Future Classic Stage, Run The Jewels provide the most aggressive fun anyone could ask for. Their intro tape is Queen's We Are The Champions, punctuated by cries of “make some motherfucking NOISE Melbourne!” El-P and Killer Mike's blistering tag-team rap is full of the edgy theatre that the best shows boast. Enough of the crowd knows when to shout the song titles back (“Do dope, fuck hope!”) to keep things exciting for newbies and the band themselves are clearly having a sweaty good time.

Sweating over some very different sounds is Youth Lagoon. A master of textures and a writer of bizarre and wonderful hooks, highlights from last year's Wondrous Bughouse album litter the set. While the record is a rewarding listen on headphones, here, the mewling textures are fodder to chat over. Although once the choruses arrive we're hooked.

Up the hill at Moreland Road Stage it's time to ramp things up. Savages look elegantly vampiric and focus on their intimidatingly exciting set. Opening with Shut Up they move like a gang none of us will ever be cool enough to join, their music is cavernous yet immediate and songs such as She Will, No Face and the searing closer Husbands mark their set as a highpoint of the day. Seeing band members walk among the crowd later, people look and point but no one seems brave enough to approach them.

In sharp contrast, Dick Diver act as though they've come over to play a house party, laughing and joking with the audience from the get-go. Head Back gets a rowdy response. It's hard to dislike frontman Rupert Edwards, who plays what many bands would regard as a gig of their lifetime while dressed in Rip Curl boardies. Gap Life, Calendar Days and the closing Alice epitomise the easy charm missing from every other band today.

As the sun crawls across the sky, punters jealously guard shady spots. While Cashmere Cat's dulcet piano, swooping vocal effects and buzzing hi-hats appeal, the pulsing party jams of Unknown Mortal Orchestra draw sundazed punters into their orbit. FFunny FFrends and a blazing take on So Good At Being In Trouble emerge out of extended flurries, squalls of psych guitar jams and perfectly calibrated effects settings.

There is little change in personnel along the front barrier by the time Parquet Courts launch into the set of the day. Blasting through the first four tracks from their Light Up Gold album, half the audience are soon gleefully screaming, “Socrates died in the fucking gutter!” into each others faces while the other half smile, bemused. Stoned And Starving generates the most noise and several fresh Parquet Courts T-shirts are spotted before the day is out.

Despite sound problems that bite into a good fifth of their set, Chvrches nevertheless deliver a show resplendent in some of the best sound and visuals of any of the day's acts. Closing with The Mother We Share, a sense of icy perfection lingers after the final chord dies.

Earl Sweatshirt draws a massive crowd and then proceeds to diss us with the aid of DJ Taco. While Earl Sweatshirt's album Doris is full of inspired rhymes and production, live he relies on brief, two-minute bursts of song, moving swiftly between tracks. Disappointing when compared to the seething energy of last year's Odd Future show.

Down at River Stage, home of the languid rocker, Kurt Vile emits good vibes that entrance. The songs are glorious but the man himself remains frustratingly enigmatic. Behind dark glasses, a thick curtain of curly hair and an emotionless voice, Vile switches from acoustic to electric as he eases his way around the glorious Wakin On A Pretty Daze album, with help from one of the most hirsute bands in recent memory.

A crowd far more vocal in their appreciation of a band can be found at the Dean Turner Stage, watching Haim. Almost unfeasibly exciting and talented, the Haim sisters chat easily with the crowd between dishing out stellar pop tunes. The Wire garners one of the day's loudest responses and by the end of their set the crowd comprises dancing circles of friends.

For those unable to get close, several screens have been set up. These prove popular and help to spread out the crowd, most of whom now assemble for Lorde. Flipping her hair and gesticulating wildly is how Lorde interprets her songs. Choice covers of Son Lux's Easy and The Replacements' Swingin' Party go down well, but the set is built around her hits.

As the night takes over and sunnies and hats are put away, Warpaint close Moreland Road Stage. The band stand stoic, bathed in purple and red lights, as they introduce the crowd to their most recent record. Love Is To Die is a clear standout. A mysteriously sexless cover of Donna Summer's legendarily sensual I Feel Love is a low. While a smart band of producers, Warpaint's songs come across as disappointingly inert, despite the talent that went into their creation.

At Future Classic Stage, a bangin' club set from Jamie XX is followed by Four Tet's more textured and dynamic show. Emerging from a laser-lit cloud of dry ice, chiming melodies float out over vocal loops and whirring percussion. A fantastic set to close out another triumphant festival.