Live Review: Queenscliff Music Festival

Queenscliff is a town where people wish you a “good evening” as they pass you on the footpath. Distant April Sun In Cuba singalongs encourage punters to race through the entrance procedure and join in the celebration. It's awesome that there are no outdoor stages; all are housed in marquees, because of COURSE it will rain at various points across the weekend. Drink tokens? Check. “You just can't get what we've got in a can,” sings/snarls Mason Rack Band's frontman, which seems fitting at 9.30pm inside Pelican Bar. At this point the crowd are keeping themselves nice, dancing minimally and watching attentively. Some of the live tweets that flash up on the giant screens scattered throughout the festival grounds are hilar: eg “This may be an old person's festival but the toilets are still cokey/feral.”

Just when Blue King Brown get under way in the main Lighthouse tent – with Water followed by some Yothu Yindi, Djäpana (Sunset Dreaming) – it's time to relocate to Hippos Stage and watch The Screaming Jets blast off. “The dream continues and we're living the dream,” says frontman Dave Gleeson, who goes on to explain that the band are staring down a history of almost quarter of a century! It seems The Jets were a bit before this scribe's time so it's back to check out more from that tiny chick with massive blonde dreads. Natalie Pa'apa'a holds up a contentious flag, an action she explains could result in 15 years jail time in West Papua. Rize Up is an appropriate closer, but her social activism is deemed “too much” by a gorgeous mature lady working in a Queenscliff art gallery who cracks a chat the following day.

Is that The Vasco Era's Ted O'Neil on bass in the adjacent Rip tent? Yep, it's Stompy & The Heat and the instrumentation in Black Lightning is enlightening and on point. Strangely, former Dan Sultan collaborator Scott Wilson and frontman Bow Campbell's banter suggests they ain't no band 'mates', but this certainly doesn't show in their playing. A youngster's heckle, which actually seems to be a compliment, can't be deciphered despite his recurring efforts and then Wilson silences the lad by saying, “I used to come down this way in the '90s and root wombats.” His comment gets some laughs, but it's a shame to see this group of dancing teenagers vacate the tent.

En route past Hippos, The Screaming Jets are performing their ultimate closer, Better – an early festival highlight for many. Forget those spiralling spuds on a stick; the future is with waffle on a stick, which is happily consumed while watching The Brow Horn Orchestra. The outfit's unusual combo of instruments – brass plus nerd-rap – gets the party underway, but it's a bit of a hike back to the campsite on Queenscliff Cricket Oval so that sleeping bag beckons.

Saturday

The Frowning Clouds get Pelican Bar started, but what's with one if their alternating frontmen Zak Olsen's makeup/Texta drawings all over his face? He resembles a slasher flick Pierrot. Did someone do this while he was sleeping last night? Their other vocalist, Nick Van Bakel, sings sweetly but they need to man up and stop banging on about the early hour (11am scheduling) – there's always the Red Bull brekky option. The rollicking little number containing the following lyrics, “We're all humans being human,” is a stand-out. They all still look 12, which makes The Frowning Clouds' skills all the more impressive.

Why do Hesse Street busking chicks always choose to sing The Police's Roxanne, year after year? A pair of sisters, Siskin River, draw a fair crowd to Vue Grand and guitar demon(ness) Tallura possesses rockstar attitude to spare. The backstory is that these siblings have been driving around and living out of their rusty station wagon 'The Siskmobile' for a couple of years now and they bring an interesting dynamic. (Pity they butcher Midnight Oil's Beds Are Burning during the Tribute Show later on.)

There's a band called Barefoot Biscuit? Correct. And they're set up on Hesse Street playing for most of the day. Boarding Carriage C of the 3pm QMF Family Express, two members of The Kite Machine are all set up. Frontman Levi Anderson has an appealing energy and an impressive Jeff Buckley yowl. He hits himself on the head with his guitar when there's an unexpected bout of steam train turbulence, which is what makes the QMF Family Express so fun. When the train pulls into a platform that looks like a locomotive museum, there's an option to change carriages. On Carriage B, Fraser A Gorman channels Woody Guthrie while singing a Silver Jews song. Gorman's easy banter in solo mode endears him to the commuters and many undoubtedly part with a “tenner” in exchange for one of his CDs once the train reaches its destination.

Some handwritten notes are posted near the festival entrance to advise about scheduling changes: “ReveMatix” (actually, Revomatrix) have been moved from Hippos Stage to Vue Grand, The Trouble With Templeton are “unable to attend due to sickness” so will be replaced by Holy Holy, and flight delays have led to Jasmin Rae cancelling and “Preachers” (actually, The Preatures) moving to a later timeslot.

King Of The North open the Midnight Oil Tribute Show with an explosive King Of The Mountain and absolutely nail it, the Queenscliff massive shouting along: “Well you can say you're Peter/Say you're Paul...” Our MC's delivery of Cold Cold Change leaves us a similar temperature to the one mentioned twice in the song's title. After confessing they haven't practised, Chance Waters smiles his way through a tepid Power And The Passion, which is saved only by an awesome percussion break and Peter Garrett dance-off. A punter yells out a suggestion for next year's Tribute Show: “TISM!” Now that we'd love to see.

The rambunctious, rockin' sounds powering from The Pavilion draw us in. They only play a 15-minute set, as part of FReeZa's Foot In The Door program, but Haviour rule, the youthful three-piece performing with all the passion that was lacking by most during the Oils Tribute Show.

Queenscliff Music Festival's one of the few festivals where you can faze in your kids and the punters are less likely to give you the hairy eyeball by way of thanks. However, letting your five-year-old sit on the ground playing Mario games on Nintendo DS against the photographer's barrier during Spiderbait's set isn't exactly safety first. When a blown-up condom navigates the air above us, this PG alert sounds louder. Indeed, Spiderbait are Fucken Awesome and Kram is so gracious, clearly a fan of this festival's vibe. The addition of Tim Harvey (Hot Little Hands/Clare Bowditch's backing band) on keys and extra percussion adds depth and extra danceability where it matters. Bassist Janet English is a class act, whether she's swearing in song or not. They own it, it's a shame their version of Black Betty is the band's most recognisable track.

Coaxed back to The Pavilion “dry area” (boo!), by D At Sea's promising Unconscious EP, it seems an unusual room in which to showcase Doyle Perez. There are high school students seated on the floor, probably left over from the Foot In The Door comps, and then punters hurriedly scoot in from outside when inclement weather conditions set in. The kiddies are rapt when Perez announces the Bastille cover, Pompeii, complete with lyrics that prove a mouthful: “How am I ever gonna be an optimist about this?” This set's not exactly memorable, but we'd prefer to see D At Sea at The Toff In Town.

Battling freakish winds and sleet en route to the camping ground, one improvement to this otherwise excellent festival springs to mind: a shuttle bus on loop between festival entrance and Queenscliff Cricket Oval perhaps? Festivalgoers should also be prepared to see old farts pashing at this particular event. But otherwise, Queenscliff Music Festival doesn't only take place within the festival grounds – the whole historic 19th Century seaside town comes alive to become a festival. And one the locals should be dead proud of.