Live Review: Party In The Paddock

How’d you like to spend a weekend in a dusty field surrounded by barbed wire, your eyes often clogged with dust, sheep shit lodging itself between your toes and the sun relentless against your skin?

Sounds horrible. But add your mates, a liberal BYO policy, luscious food and market stalls, and a stage boasting some serious local and international musical talent and suddenly things sound a whole bunch better. This was the equation for Party In The Paddock (PITP), a festival held in Tasmania’s North East.

Now in its third year, PITP sits alongside a burgeoning cultural scene in Tasmania which includes mainstays Falls Festival, 10 Days On The Island and MONA FOMA, as well as newer additions in Dark MOFO, A Festival Called PANAMA and Festable.
    
Driving along a winding country road, the PITP entrance creeps up on you. It is an uneven, dusty path leading through a small gap in the barbed wire. A volunteer, beer in one hand and a snag in the other greets us: “Follow the legends in front of you,” he says. Moving towards the camping area, music filters out from the main stage and we momentarily pause while a lad drives his motorised esky past. One already gets the sense PITP is going to offer up something deliciously different – something deliciously Tasmanian, perhaps.

Day One

The Saxons, Sheriff, Drunk Mums and The Smith Street Band’s touring buddies Great Cynics and PUP set the tone early on the Friday evening. They reportedly play solid sets to a steadily growing crowd fresh through the gates. The first set I get a glimpse at is local lad Zac Slater.  I watch while sinking into a well-worn couch under a marquee, as he delivers a hip hop tinged acoustic set with plenty of energy. His energy seems infectious. Next to me at the alcohol token booth, a patron asks if he can “buy tokens for shots”. The answer is no, but the middle-aged lady kindly offers up a shot of tequila from the bottle tucked behind her beanbag. Beautiful.

It is this unassuming nature that defines PITP. There is enough control and organisation that things run smoothly, without taking away from everything you might expect from a (literal) party in a paddock.

Proud Tasmanians Luca Brasi hit the stage next, the crowd continuing to grow with many carrying a goon bag or box of beers as if it were as acceptable as a handbag. They band plays a brand of punk rock that is technically solid while remaining totally authentic in its raw passion and energy. A large portion of the crowd fervently joins in with the vocal lines, things hitting fever pitch with recent favourite Borders and Statelines. It is refreshing to notice that there is a distinct lack of phones being held up from the crowd. Instead, bodies and minds remain totally immersed in responding and enjoying the multi-sensuous present.

The vibe heightens as The Smith Street Band takes the stage. It doesn’t take long before lead singer Wil Wagner throws away his beanie, and the band belt out favourites like Surrender, Ducks Fly Together, Young Drunk and I Don't Wanna Die Anymore. It is a barrage of rock riffs structured around authentic and potent lyrics delivered in a distinctly Australian drawl. The only thing separating the band from the sweat drenched punters below is a series of hay bales, an obstacle which soon becomes part of an extended stage and a launching pad for an unfailing stream of hearty crowd surfers.

After missing their scheduled earlier slot, Sydney-siders Dappled Cities are tasked with moving the party forward from here. You sense the intensity of the previous two performances reached a certain climax not easily matched, and from here Dappled Cities take things in a different yet equally satisfying direction. This is another tight musical performance, revelling less in chaos but a groove of intelligent musical layers. Songs like Many Roads, Born At The Right Time and Run With The Wind prove to be the perfect aural accompaniment to the amazing display of stars revealing themselves above the heads of an audience grooving in a paddock well away from any big city lights.

Jinja Safari continue along this new sonic path, bringing together an array of sounds both exotic and familiar. In songs like Hiccups, Peter Pan and Mermaids they mix diverse instruments and dual percussion to channel rhythms and melodies that climb through forest atmospheres, Arabian twangs, galactic synths and African beats. It is a perfect way to slowly drift off in to the night and back to our tents. However, walking through the dark dodging multiple tent string lines, many silhouetted figures are heading in the opposite direction, bringing in tomorrow (or today?) with beats from Akouo and the various Our House DJs.

Day Two

In a well-worn familiarity of summer festivals: as soon as one drifts to sleep, the sun has risen and is turning your tent into an insurmountable sauna. Day two commences as people filter out of tents, teeth furry and throats sore, and the quiet chatter of stories of the previous night builds. Soon the first generators have awoken to help make sweet, sweet coffee for the masses. Next, trumpets blast from the main stage speakers, then the Thomas The Tank Engine theme, then Crazy Frog. It's a rude awakening, but there is plenty to be up for.

Locals The White Rose Project open proceedings. The frontman slips between delicate notes, hip hop inspired vocals and keyboard, backed by drums, bass and guitar that build a funky, raw, rock groove. This four-piece proved to be an early highlight to the festival. It’s always a tough gig getting a pulse out of a crowd with heavy heads and the sun beating down, but this was an engaging and tight performance, which would not be out of place at a more prominent time slot.

From here the music moves early into rock territory. Matching the growing intensity of the sun, Lepers & Crooks, The Dead Love and Save The Clock Tower deliver strong performances. There is a bunch of energy and passion on stage, enough to draw some punters out of the shade for a closer look or perhaps a date with other jacked up males in a circle pit.

As the day rolls into the afternoon we get delicious summer-drenched indie-rock from interstaters The Familiars and Tasmanian festival regulars The Middle Names. Songs about surfing, partying and ex-girlfriends provide a laid-back listening experience, seemingly effortless, but the product of musical and performative prowess. As Ben Wells of The Middle Names invites people on to stage to skull a beer before their last song, it is clear an evening of shenanigans is coming to the fore once more.

When the sun starts to drop, people gradually emerge from the shade, either watching attentively or enjoying each band as a background soundscape to conversations. Returning local legends Younger Dryas don capes, cowboys hats, flannelettes and tie-dyed ponchos to deliver a reggae/country/rock vibe. Little Bastard play a catchy brand of swinging country and rock, while Willow Beats provide a smooth electro flow of sounds, moving effortlessly between songs.

The highlight of the night is The Delta Riggs. Delivering on their renowned live performance, they have a rambunctious energy evident in their latest sound that includes a varied mix of rock, synths and hip hop sounds. This musical presence is balanced perfectly with onstage banter, which includes calling out a guy holding a selfie-stick. Harsh but perhaps true – sorry, buddy. If the small kid crowd-surfing on a dolphin was anything to go by, the crowd certainly picked up what The Delta Riggs were laying down in songs like The Record's Flawed, Supersonic Casualties and No Friends.

Next, Dune Rats create a no holds barred shift to full party mode. They crunch through a set of stoner pop which includes hits Red Light, Green Light and Dalai Lama, Big Banana, Marijuana, as well as a cover of Violent Femmes’ Blister In The Sun.

Under another amazing starry sky Allday produces a chilled out set full of songs like You Always Know The DJ, Right Now and Girl In The Sun. Towards the close of his set he apologises about an illness making his voice “rough as fuck”. However, judging by the amount of guys walking around with crook postures thanks to a strong female occupation of their backs for the majority of the set, Allday still nailed it.

Nearing the close, the crowd drifts into the early hours with headliners The Beautiful Girls. Mat McHugh’s voice is as familiar and soothing as always, but it now occupies a space alongside a sound that has evolved deeper into a more soulful, reggae styling. They play reworked favourites Music and Blackbird, amongst songs from their latest release Dancehall Days and snippets of Grandmaster Flash, Fat Freddy’s Drop and Bob Marley. It is a superb close on the festivities for many punters who wander contently back to their campsites at the end of the set. For others however, they continue partying like the rains are ‘ere, dancing in the paddock to the wacked-out awesomeness that is Tommy Franklin and tunes of KLP.

Picking up the pieces once again on the drive home from the festival, it’s difficult to define PITP sonically, with the festival having flaunted multiple shades of rock, indie, punk, reggae, hip hop, hardcore, funk, synths, psychedelia, pop and beats. It’s probably even harder to define the crowd. There were young’uns, families, hipsters, bogans and punks, a man in a bear costume and of course the lad riding around on a motorised esky. What is easy to say however, is the people of the paddock did party and did enjoy. Perhaps the next question is: where will this festival go next? Will it continue to grow in size, scale back or keep this year’s blueprint? Whatever it is, it seems the organisers know the formula to a party and I’m sure in whatever form it takes, it’ll thrive and people will smile at the thought of returning to this barbed wire paddock of dust, hay, sheep shit and plenty more.