Live Review: Listen Out

It's just a regular early afternoon in St Kilda, with scantily clad folk divvying up their stashes into separate deal bags in parked cars. There's the usual police presence and sniffer dogs around the entrance, but the beauty of this site - right on the beach, palm trees everywhere - makes the perfect backdrop for all of your selfies from any angle, which is lucky because this is one image-obsessed festival crowd. While a group crowds around a smartphone screen to critique a shot, one member marvels, "That's such good light!"

As we wander through the festival entrance, Alice Ivy is already playing on the 909 stage and that dress main girl Annika Schmarsel's wearing has gotta be from Gorman. Schmarsel and her guitarist overcome some early technical difficulties and include a Sweet Dreams cover that flies into bangin' territory. RaRa are welcomed to the stage for some rap parts. Dashing from keys console to electronic drum just in the nick of time to smash out a beat, Schmarsel is a joy to watch. A stunning blonde is introduced to lend her pipes to a couple of tracks and sings so freakishly well you'd swear they were pre-recorded. "Thanks guys have a rare one," Schmarsel concludes. An act to dog-ear for return business. 

Listen Out 2016's standout fashion statement: dungarees.

Following the path past Doughnut Time (clocked for consumption later), we arrive at Atari stage in about one minute. JOY.'s doing her thing onstage, singing something about making it like it's your birthday every night. Her flesh-toned catsuit and cream muppet-hair coat are very arena-ready. She jumps into the photography pit to party with her people during the closer.

Back at 909 stage and Willow Beats are creating quite a rumble; the bass vibrates through your feet, right up and out the top of your head. Their sumptuous sounds massage us into the day. Singer Kalyani Mumtaz has sprouts of summer blossoms erupting from her high pigtail buns to offset her large gold earrings with bells. Her dancing is exotic, with armwork that calls to mind Indian classical positioning. The fact that this is a niece-uncle duo is just so damn adorable! Narayana Johnson also, impressively, takes turns on vocals. Mumtaz tells us they got bored so changed everything around and thus premiere a brand new set today. It does get repetitive and at times seems a tad loose and improvised, though. 

Number of drinks spilled down the back of this scribe's legs? Three. 

Ngaiire's harmonies beckon us over to Atari stage. They're fully invested up there and House On A Rock receives an enthusiastic reaction. 

The "Chill N Charge" lounge is a genius idea. Free phone charging while you chillax in the sun could never be a bad thing and about bloody time you don't have to fork out a fortune for a bar or two of battery life! Unplug. Race over to 909 stage to see Tash Sultana. Watching songs looped and created in front of you is always compelling, but Sultana makes it riveting. Right on cue, as a gnarly riff snarls into the arrangement, smoke billows onto the stage. The varied raised-eyebrows expressions Sultana pulls to help extract high notes are endearing. She even loops in a pan flute, for fuck's sake! "It's really strange playing a festival you used to come to," Sultana observes. That shimmering Jungle riff! Sultana's vocals explore so many more textures live. It's as if electricity courses up through the stage's floor boards to power Sultana's demented final guitar solo and shakes her hat off unleashing unkept curls plus dreads in the process. There's a flood of people waiting to move into the front section - in preparation for Cosmo's Midnight - as soon as Sultana plays her final chord.

Random observation: there's so much orange flesh on display around the festival! 

Hmmm, not sure Cosmo’s Midnight can sustain interest. Lots of chipmunk-esque vocals and background music for the munted to chat over. Next! 

En route to Atari stage, we see a bloke somehow manage to bust a plastic table. There are lots of wasted arguments going on as well as loved-up behaviour. A lot of techs are hunched over the console shaking their heads during Yung Lean's set-up time, which doesn't bode well. The set starts, but we can't hear the MCs. Then, SNAP! We get volume; as if they finally found the switch. There's a lot of, "What the fuck's up?" and plenty of effects on the vocals (especially during Motorola - "Gold on my wrist/Phone in my pocket"). There's absolutely zero charisma on display, but the Listen Out massive lazily pogo along regardless. Good drugs, maybe? This could be called 'ketamine rap' - warped and slow. 

The short distance between stages means it's easy to check you're not missing something better. A couple of costume-themed crews we spy this year include tennis apparel and a — what's the collective noun for Santas?

Sometimes you just need live instruments up on that stage and Anderson .Paak boasts full backing band. There's mad energy and about bloody time, too! That's one bedazzled t-shirt he's sporting up there. "It's good to be back in this bitch... I see you all, ladies. What's up?" .Paak inquires. Finger-snap percussion is crisp as an Iceberg lettuce and .Paak sure can sing. "If nobody loves you I love you, okay?" he puts out there. Those keys sound so vibrant! The "new shit" is next level. "Everybody say, 'Fuck that shit!'"/"FUCK THAT SHIT!" Glowed Up (the Kaytranada song .Paak features on) turns turf into trampoline. One song features keys that sound like a drunk Mr Whippy van - choice. 

Meanwhile, over on 909 stage, everyone's going apeshit for Gorgon City's Ready For Your Love with those irresistible hi-hats on the off beat. 

Garment slogan of the day: More Trees Less Assholes. 

On Atari stage, Baauer plays music that should welcome you through the gates of hell or, alternatively, soundtrack a computer game where you're fighting for your life while being pursued by mutant robots. 

Many climb up the towers near 909 stage, whether for a better view or just a boogie. Enter two cats wearing matching top hats, white gloves (obviously they're not turntablists/scratchers then) and gold masks with oversized curly beaks. These same masks are on a lot of punters as well. Are they for sale at the merch? To commence Claptone's Immortal Live show, the gents mount rostra - with realistic flames on screens in front of them - positioned like bookends on either side of the stage. Stunning black and white footage of owls taking flight and individual people running in slow motion immediately transfixes. The sounds are soulful deep house. This is a class act. There's some basic unison armography to get us clapping along (if this were in perfect sync it would be even more impressive). The Only Thing gets bodies moving and the nuanced Good To You increases our movement vocabularies. Their remix of Gregory Porter's Liquid Spirit ("clap your hands now") is everything. There's an extra melody injection when The Lovin' Spoonful's Summer In The City is spliced in and then No Eyes gets us fully peaking. The pair stand at the front of the stage with backs turned to the audience, facing a full moon moon on the back cyclorama. They each raise one arm before slowly lowering to cue gradual blackout. Both masked characters then face their audience, bow and give us a clap. We're not worthy! 

Number of empty tinnies that sped past and just missed this scribe's head? Two.

Seeing out the entirety of Claptone's set (no regrets), means we're a tad tardy to A$AP Ferg's party, but we get the gist. Call and responses ("That's my block"/"Hungry ham") and gunshot sound effects. The songs are dealt in snippets, even the Missy Elliott-featuring Strive. "Y'all fuck with ScHoolboy Q?" is how Ferg intros the next number, Let It Bang (featuring said 'fucked with' artist). More gunshot sound effects. "I think it's time to go to work!" Ferg hollers and Work he does. It's all very slick, but Ferg definitely has it down. And after an "A"/$AP!", "A"/$AP!" call and response they leave the stage. 

Number of people witnessed wheeled by on a stretcher? One.

Next up on the Atari stage is Travis Scott. But first we must endear a lot of, "Check-check-muthafucker" mic tests and geeing up thanks to his hypeman. "Middle fingers in the air!" Finally, Scott materialises. He's like a drill sergeant: "Put your cellphones up!" (punters hesitate since it's drizzling rain). The stop/start pacing continues and by 90210 we're all AutoTuned out. Stage invaders are told they need to stage-dive back off (Scott: "Rage or go home!"). And one dude who makes his way on stage holds out his phone and requests a photo with Scott, but is denied: "This ain't your fucking party!"

A possum actually runs past us and scales a tree directly in front of Atari stage. We hope it's got earplugs. 

A fancy circular lighting rig is set up on stage to prepare us for RUFUS. Those who forgot to bring jackets penguin their way into the centre of the mob. Singer Tyrone Lyndqvist looks delighted to be here as the band throw out a string of their trademark bliss-bomb songs commencing with Be With You. It's a welcome change in tone from all the heavy, cussing feels. The trio play in a straight line formation across the stage. Lyndqvist has a gorgeously vulnerable timbre to his vocal. Brighter positively glistens as we dance in the rain. We could do without Lyndqvist's boring banter, though ("Happy Saturday night, Melbourne"?) Rufus attract the biggest crowd of the day. Electronic plus organic drums certainly do the trick and we proudly acknowledge this killer Australian band in headliner position. 

As we approach 909 stage, Tchami cranks out Push It by Salt N Pepa so, of course, a rhyme-spitting, move-busting competition ensues on our way to the exit.