FRIDAY
It all just comes around so quickly each year. Procuring tickets, gathering provisions, conducting the roll call who's coming this year and who's piking, checking the timetable (although with only one stage there can fortunately be no clashes, brilliant for a festival), basically making sure all is in order for the two-day blowout. We hired a camper van for the first time this year, for logistical reasons more than anything but given the high winds it ends up a good investment (we spy plenty of tent and annex fails over the duration). A friend texts us that they've had a fender bender outside the Meredith pub but it's a hire car and not their fault and everyone's alright (and it's a hire car) so no major drama. We arrive too late to join friends in Bush Camp so we end up high in the hills at the newer Tom Mankeys campground, but that's cool – nothing's ever too far away and we get a bit of exercise, even if we do feel like high plains drifters.
Soon everything is set up and we're ready for action, so we head down to the gorgeous Supernatural Ampitheatre and join the throng in front of the stage for the first time as Pond kick off proceedings, clad in suits and adding an aura of sartorial elegance to proceedings as they effortlessly mix visceral noise and pop nous into one delightful maelstrom. It's even enough to forgive them for blatantly stealing the name of a really cool US band from the '90s (I mean, seriously, if one of your friends came up to you and told you that they'd started a new band and named it Slint you'd punch them in the eye, right?). They proffer a dervish of classic retro rock where bombast is embraced rather than frowned upon, and (although possibly it's just the suits) it all reminds one of Nick Cave's experimental bent as they throw themselves around and manipulate sounds, finishing a great schizophrenic opening gambit for Meredith with a closing instrumental burst which hits like a tidal wave.
After a prearranged stint in the Pink Flamingo bar to catch up with friends we reconvene down the front a while later to catch Californian instrumental psych trio Earthless, who don't disappoint and get heads banging with a big heavy groove that doesn't relent for the full 40 minutes of their set. They're heavy but not overpowering and the trippy visuals behind them add to the experience, and by the end of their long jam they've garnered a shit ton of early boots and thongs in the air from the heavy music-loving throng loving the kick off to their personal voyages.
Dinner and drinks ensue, and it's nearly dusk by the time we return to the stage to see Sunnyboys triumphant return to the live music fray after a couple of decades hiatus (saw them in Sydney at Dig It Up! earlier in the year but they were billed as Kids In Dust then so we won't count that). Frontman Jeremy Oxley seems in good health and spirits and there's a tangible air of expectation (admittedly mainly emanating from among the older punters), and as they kick off with a run of great songs such as Love To Rule, Tunnel Of Love and My Only Friend the most notable thing is how great the band sounds – literally, the separation and sound quality is stellar – but when they hit the opening salvo of Happy Man it's like an Oz rock revelation as more and more people realise that they know (and will soon love) this amazing band. Peter Oxley and Richard Burgman are running around the stage like kids in a candy shop – clearly loving revisiting this music from another part of their lives – and Peter offers a dirgy (but great) rendition of The Stooge before handing the reins back over to his brother, and the four-piece smash out the remainder of a brilliant set which encompasses classic after classic such as Let You Go, You Need A Friend and What You Need. The evergreen Alone With You has the hill jumping and singing in unison, before a brilliant return closes with the awesome Show Me Some Discipline. Welcome back!
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Spiritualized deliver a typically intense set, even if Jason Pierce does seem rather relaxed as he delivers his performance sitting down in a chair mid-stage. But it's a combination of his veering psychedelic music, the lush arrangements delivered by well-drilled bands and backing singers and the immense light show that makes it such an intense experience, especially if one were (theoretically) to load up and go right up the front so that songs such as Electricity seem like they're going to tear your head off when delivered in conjunction with the blinding strobes. Well played Spaceman!
An absolutely massive crowd has gathered for Tame Impala, but after the intensity of Spiritualized both the music and the visuals seem rather flaccid – this is obviously in the eyes and ears of the beholder though as the massive crowd is eating it up, most of the 13,000 campers seemingly in attendance at the amphitheatre and going hard – but for us it's time to reconvene at the camp site and catch up with old mates from around the country, all brought together by the great music and the ever-wonderful 'No Dickheads' policy which makes coming here so unrelentingly special.
SATURDAY
We awake early because there's gold from the get-go today, and we eat and hydrate (with beer) to ward off the beating sun – lucky that wind is around to make it all more bearable. A decent early crowd has gathered to see Melbourne wunderkinds Twerps kick off day two, and they offer a typically shambolic (and completely endearing) set of indie classics-in-waiting. Early on they make a complete meal of He's In Stock and sadly stop it after a couple of verses – even when it seems like the band are playing two different songs it's so catchy! – but they quickly get into their groove and deliver a string of bendy, catchy gems such as Work It Out, This Guy and Recall. Frontman Marty Frawley is fun to watch, Dreamin sounds amazing and the hedonistic chorus to Who Are You could be the Meredith national anthem if they ever decide to secede from Australia, and as they finish with a cover of Psychic TV's The La La Song it's obvious that this has been a perfect start to proceedings.
Sydney's Royal Headache seem to have built up a solid following over the last couple of years – “probably that freaking ridiculously good self-titled album from last year” one can't help but think – and the dust starts to fly near the front of the stage as they open with Down The Lane and people start to get their dance on as frontman Shogun battles slight mic problems. Even fighting the wind the sound is still great, and after Never Again Shogun gets his shirt off and immediately feels more at home in the oppressive heat, saying, “I can see why so many bands are doing the cruisy thing these days, it's just more economical”. They then kick into a new song You Get Me High which has the frontman running around the stage like a maniac, even offering a pretty passable judo kick at one point. Royal Headache have the uncanny knack of unveiling new songs which sound instantly familiar, and this augers well for their impending new album, but it's well-known still tracks like Girls and Psychotic Episode which send the growing crowd into raptures. They begin Distant And Vague but Shogun stops the band after a minute or so, apologising and saying that he's “just not really feeling it” before atoning with a frenetic version of Pity and then ending a great set with Surprise and a killer rendition of Honey Joy – they too get lots of boots in the air for their efforts.
We find the annual cocktail party in the Bush Camp, which is a hoot. Have you ever had a dream where you're on the loose at a festival and you run into one of your bosses from work? Was that boss dressed in a massive gold Buddha costume and banging a gong in the bush while his cohorts give out free drinks to all and sundry? Must just be me.
The theme of the party this year is an oriental motif, and despite the amazing music we hear over the two days I still somehow have the mildly racist I Like Chinese by Monty Python in my head as we leave the site the following day, thanks cocktail party.
The heat is oppressive now, the midday sun smashing down as we reconvene in the amphitheatre for the return of the semi-aptly-named Hot Snakes, needing to gather at the very front of the stage to get some shade. The four-piece take the same approach as Earthless yesterday and just smash out an unrelenting suite of music (they do share the same drummer, Mario Rubalcaba, although Hot Snakes have brought both the drummers from their career along for this reformation so he's spared half this set). They look to be enjoying playing these killer rock tracks once more as they pummel a set covering all three albums, John “Speedo” Reis in particular looking like he's having a blast being back in Australia after an extended break from our shores. Such a great rock'n'roll band, it's great to have them back (please Speedo, let Rocket From The Crypt be next!!).
A few hours later and a gigantic crowd has amassed to see Brisbane institution Regurgitator go through their paces, and there's some respite in the weather meaning both band and crowd can attack this set with renewed vigour. Quan and Ben look like they're having a blast as they bound around the stage, and the crowd pelt the words to songs like I Sucked A Lot Of Cock To Get Where I Am and Blubber Boy back at them with unrestrained glee. It's great to see them covering the whole gamut of their career after they've been in retro mode of late, and more recent tracks like Bong In My Eye get a great response even though it's still the early faves such as Polyester Girl which send the crowd apeshit. Too much fun.
It's always weird when one of your favourite bands has a line-up change – especially when it involves trading charismatic frontmen – but the reports so far from the Turbonegro club shows have been nothing but positive, nonetheless it's still weird when the Scandinavian reprobates take the stage and Hank has been replaced by a big, heavily tattooed bikie looking guy with an English accent. Luckily any fears are quickly dashed as be proves to be a superb replacement and the band sound amazing, Euroboy and Happy-Tom looking ecstatic to be back in action after a couple of years away. New singer Tony Sylvester has a leather vest on, exposing a massive beer gut which from a slight distance seems to have a tattoo of a tiger's face on it, and this proves to be completely mesmerising for the duration of their awesome set. Obviously some newer material from new album Sexual Harrassment makes an appearance – You Give Me Worms and Dude Without A Face in particular fitting in well – but it's the old classics like All My Friends Are Dead, Wasted Again, Get It On and Back To Dungaree High which really get the crowd fired up, especially the dudes up the front dressed in denim and sailor hats. Just when you think things can't get any better they return for a semi-encore of Age Of Pamparius and I Got Erection and the place loses its shit. Obviously it's sad not to have Hank present, but Tony is pretty charismatic and more than up to filling those big boots, so we'll just have to get used to it. The bitch is back!
As with last night Primal Scream seems a tad limp after being blasted by an hour of devastating deathpunk, so we scatter into the night once more to hang out with friends old and new. We can hear the Syrian techno of Omar Souleyman from the campsite (the next day he seems to have struck a chord with a lot of people as his name is dropped with alarming regularity, and later we hear about the tragedy of his hometown being bombed just before his set – what a legend for still coming up with the goods), and we see the annual light show from among the trees, but for us at least today's fireworks have already come and gone. Sleep hits like a hammer when it eventually comes, there is rest for the wicked after all...
SUNDAY
There's a smattering of bands on today but for many people Meredith is already over, the tent city having dissipated quite dramatically by the time we emerge wearily from the back of our van. Some food and drink is in order before we immerse ourselves in one last musical delight, that of burgeoning Melbourne five-piece Boomgates. Frontman Brendan Huntley – he formerly of Eddy Current fame – is a ball of nervous energy, seeming to be a conduit for some higher power as he fidgets nervously between (and during) songs and stalks the stage like a man possessed, but his chemistry with co-singer Steph Hughes is brilliant, and a massive crowd seem entranced by a slew of great tracks such as Natural Progression, Flood Plains and Cows Come Home. The band are tight and seem to have an enviable rapport, and their laidback aesthetic is perfect for both a sunny Sunday morning and as closure to a brilliant festival of interesting and diverse music. Brendan is absolutely captivating as he seems to channel acts from Meredith's past for the singalong Layman's Terms, and by the time they complete an excellent set with the super-catchy Whispering Or Singing he's in the crowd, at one with the punters.
We can't stay for the Gift because we have to get our stupid campervan back (their allure is always gone once you've finished using them to rest in) but it's hard to imagine a few dozen naked people running around a track making this amazing weekend any better. Thanks Aunty, you've done it again!!
