Live Review: Splendour In The Grass 2016 Day One

From inside our vehicle in the barely crawling drop-off queue, we spy a contender for trashbag of the festival: stumbles off shuttle, runs towards ditch, gets clotheslined, regains balance and keeps moving, runs through ditch, gets repeat clotheslined on the opposite peak then about faces and retraces steps. We're still not even through the entrance when we spy two 'ladies' - impatient with the Portaloo queue - pissing standing up, merely adjusting their playsuit crotch regions off to the side. Gross. 

The sun’s out, the ground’s solid and spirits are soaring; it’s about as picture-perfect a start to this year’s Splendour In The Grass as one could ask for – certainly one of the dryer first days in recent memory – as punters start to filter through the gates at North Byron Parklands for another year of epic camping-festival adventures.

“My name’s Alex Lahey, and I can’t fucking believe this is happening!” With those words – and no sign of nerves, which is impressive given the incredible number of people here for the time of day – this year’s triple j Unearthed winner jumps right into the punchy hooks of Air Mail, ensnaring her still-swelling audience at the outset. There’s depth to be unearthed among these understated indie tracks, though the base joy and energy – not to mention palpable appreciation – that beam from the stage are the true selling points here as Lahey coolly weaves her way through a near-faultless set simply stuffed with varied and infectious tunes including the laconic L L L L Leave Me Alone, the surprisingly urgent Every Day’s A Weekend and closing highlight and You Don’t Think You Like People Like Me.

Sampa The Great opens the Mix Up stage, a petite yet commanding figure, flanked by an effervescent all-smiles crew. Boasting soulful yet modern jazz-infused hip-hop, Sampa The Great draws easy comparisons to Kendrick Lamar, who she supported on his last Australian tour. It's almost too easy for the Zambian-born Sydney artist to get the midday crowd bouncing, thanks to playful tunes like F E M A L E and Class Trip.

Nashville’s The Wild Feathers kick things off on the GW McLennan stage under cover of the soaring and unseasonable midday temperature. The four-piece hasn’t pulled the biggest of crowds this early on but it’s certainly no rain on their parade. Singers Taylor Burns and Ricky Young overcome some bassy mixes at the start in Goodbye Song, then let rip in the rousing Help Me Out and the organ-filled Hard Times. These guys are top performers and it’s awesome to see even the little tykes dancing in approval.

"Punters are rewarded with a bang on, note-perfect set."

If anyone was already struggling in the post-midday heat, the furious, frenetic and fierce High Tension would do absolutely nothing to help you chill out. Indeed, frontwoman Karina Utomo is exhausting just to watch as she ricochets from rank to guttural on a dime, squeezing in the odd melodic diversion before diving back into more visceral territory. The set makes occasional detours into introspection but is dominated by aural devastation from 2015 LP Bully. The real tragedy is that, although the entire band are in fine festival form for the entire performance, their actual captive audience doesn’t even fill the D. Even those in the absolute throes don’t seem to be totally letting loose. It’s probably a combination of the early hour and relative heat, which is a bit of a pity for an act that gives so much of themselves every time they hit the stage.

Melbourne electronic quintet Total Giovanni are draped in white silk robes, turbans and gold chains. Only when they start playing can you understand why. I Will Break is a smooth, crowd-pleasing boogie, getting the daytime audience in an all-out dance frenzy. It's a mightily impressive turnout, which will surely earn their forthcoming album some new eager fans.

Perth indie-rock young guns Methyl Ethel draw a hefty crowd that spills beyond the edges of the GW McLennan tent. Punters are rewarded with a bang on, note-perfect set, swaying along to Rogues then bopping to Twilight Driving – amid almighty tree branches with goon sacks attached being shaken around – to arms-in-the-air kinda shenanigans for Idee Fixe. Trying to see how “quiet the crowd can be” only inspires it to do the opposite and who can blame them? It’s a faultless, mesmerising set that was also the perfect backdrop for a lad asking for his lady’s hand in marriage – thank god she said yes.

Every single member of The Fat White Family would be the Whitest Boy On The Beach in Byron Bay. Their music is undoubtedly like nothing else on this festival bill. We approach the stage knowing this. Then we see frontman Lias Saoudi simulating jacking off, facing away from the crowd, fly undone but pants still up (semi-decent by their standards). They sound brilliant. Exciting. Then Saoudi gets completely naked (except for socks and Converse). The first thing we notice is that no manscaping has ever tidied up his not-so private patch. Saoudi rips a bottle top off with his teeth then holds his dick alongside a stubble in one hand to simulate jacking himself off, this time ejaculating beer froth. This is a lot to process for those who have just arrived. His bandmates look a bit weary of playing second fiddle to Saoudi's antics. "How much time have we got?" Saoudi enquires, directing his question stage right. Two songs, he's told. This band of reprobates make exciting music that sadly becomes a 'let's watch Saoudi's swinging dick' show. "This is our last song, thank god," Saoudi says. Their guitarist rolls around sprawled on the stage, beer gets sprayed everywhere and then Saoudi throws his mic into the crowd. After putting his shirt back on, drummer Severin Black is last to saunter off, moodily. 

A dude in the crowd has one of those red oversized pointer fingers from the Coles "down, down" ad campaign (it was only a matter of time). We wander past a punter posing for a selfie with Dr Karl Kruszelnicki, whose dinosaur-print shirt is absolutely everything. A few 'Amish' reveal the Amish village is back! And a Fat Yak bar incorporates a bucking-bronco-style yak, which we make a mental note to visit later. 

American chanteuse Kacy Hill is a refreshing blend of powerful pipes, intelligent pop and endearing stage presence. Her set is punctuated with shrieks of childish excitement for her first ever festival appearance. "This is the most exciting thing in my life," she says - and when you're signed to Kanye West's Good Music, that's a big call. After a soaring Arm's Length and a cheeky stumble on cover of Donna Lewis' I Love You Always Forever ("lyrics schmrics, right"), the elfish 21-year-old effortlessly wins over this afternoon's modest Mix Up stage audience.

There’s a lot of love for Newtown’s Brit-pop obsessives DMA’S in the Amphitheatre, as hundreds more trickle over the hill as the preceding Welcome to Country ceremony closes. While there’s technically nothing to fault with the three-piece’s set – Timeless is at its jangly best, Delete is forlorn and Lay Down has the usually seated hill dwellers up and moving – it’s just a bit lacklustre. Maybe that British trait of not giving away too much has infused from their sound into their band persona; writing good tunes is one thing, creating a connection with them and a live audience seems to be another.

The Kills' vocalist Alison Mosshart and guitarist Jamie Hince are the textbook definition of rockstars. They take the Amphitheatre stage 15 minutes late, all leather and swagger, but after five years off our shores, it's worth the wait. New tunes like Hard Habit To Break prove they still have their same winning riffs and knockout vocals - despite Hince's hand surgeries and permanently-damaged finger. The sun sets as they start the shrieking, Psycho-esque Siberian Nights, and it's easily one of the day's wildest moments.

Venerated veteran muso Robert Forster takes to the GW McLennan stage resplendent in a grey suit and a couple of things to get off his chest: “Welcome to Splendour,” he says. “It’s much better than last year, weather-wise, and we won’t be getting our clothes off.” Heartbreaking, yet relieving. He and his capable band open with the pulsing bass-kick and driven clean-rock strains of Learn To Burn, from recent album Songs To Play, though it’s not all the new-school on offer here; he delves into material from his years with seminal Aussie band The Go-Betweens (evergreen favourite Surfing Magazines) as well as taking time to pay tribute to late, great friend and Go-Betweens bandmate Grant McLennan, who passed away 10 years ago – Forster marvels at the fact – and for whom this tent is named.  He and the band play a pair of McLennan-penned tracks in Cattle & Cane and Oceans Apart – to vocal appreciation – before rounding out with Go-Betweens favourite Too Much Of One Thing.

Approach Jack Garratt in Mix Up tent. It's overflowing. Can't get near it. We're then distracted by a group of dudes loving life thanks to the chemicals they've ingested. The one-man band-ness of Garratt, while impressive at first, becomes too much. It's enough that this brilliant artist has penned next-level songs such as Breathe Life. He can afford to employ a couple of extra musicians and take a load off for a bit. Brandishing a drumstick in one hand, playing keys with the other and all the while singing is just kinda like a massive 'nah-nah-nah-nah-nah' to the world. Overachiever. 

When Hayden James arrives, it becomes clear the type of music the Splendour massive wanna hear these days. So packed is this tent that outskirts wheelie bins are prime real estate. Punters with varying levels of coordination clamber up for a glimpse of James, who plays music to soundtrack your random festi pash. You can deny it later (providing no one has footage). Say My Name might just be the perfect track to flirt with that wannabe someone that you've been eyeing off all day to. The clipped lyrics, hand-clap percussion and warped vocal effects are invitations to dance complete with curtesy, chocolates and a complimentary Uber home the following day. 

The 1975 delivers today's dose of indie pop, with the easy appeal of a teenage boy band but the edge of chain-smoking rockers. Enigmatic frontman Matt Healy slinks and gyrates his way through the band's ‘80s synth-inspired guitar music like Girls and Chocolate. "It feels very nice to be a place where people are so similar minded, because the world is going up in flames," Healy muses to the crowd's thunderous agreement.

Over in GW McLennan tent, Peter Bjorn & John play loads of songs while everyone thinks, 'When are they gonna play Young Folks'? A nearby lady even verbalises this fact. The singer's vocal sounds more like Dan Whitford from Cut Copy with each passing day (especially during What You Talking About?). There's a fairy-lit branch being bandied about in the crowd that kinda looks like a stick figure dancing. Breakin' Point temporarily distracts us from wanting to hear Young Folks. Peter Bjorn & John have a song that is so similar to Footloose that singing over the top of it is way too fun. 

"The venue quickly turns into one big pulsing singalong."

Ever-explosive UK dance-pop heroes Years & Years seem like the sorts of people who embody the notion of grabbing life by the horns and then fucking it (consensually) into submission. Frontman Olly Alexander is a consummate showman, a malleable, sensual and unpredictable beast loosed upon the stage, reined in only by the rhythmic constraints of the pulsing, polished and effusively received gems being poured forth as if from a tap. Snaking, evocative opener Take Shelter provides an early highlight in a set rife with standouts, including the infectious Worship and even a mash-up of Katy Perry’s Dark Horse mixed with Hotline Bling. By the time wildly popular single King hits, it’s a total eruption of unmitigated, unpretentious joy. More of this, please.

It’s hard to keep Brisbane’s Violent Soho away from a stage for too long. They’re more than welcome in the Amphitheatre as the full moon climbs over the hill behind them. As soon as Like Soda rings out things just get a bit silly. Singer Luke Boerdam is album-perfect as always for So Sentimental, Eightfold, Fur Eyes, Viceroy and Jesus Stole My Girlfriend, that also have guitarist James Tidswell and bassist Luke Henery’s mops flying through the air. In a nod to their grunge godfathers, they play a belting version of Nirvana’s Breed before closing with fist-pumping anthem Covered In Chrome.

What can you say about Leon Bridges that hasn’t been said already? The deliciously smooth Texan crooner is an utterly magnetic force from the instant he shuffles on stage to wrap us all up in the gorgeous warmth of Smooth Sailin’. He drops early rock’n’roll vibes – from when rock still cared about the roll – with Outta Line and slows right down for the 6/8 sway of standout piece Better Man. There is so much charisma getting about on stage even the men are swooning, while Bridges’ backing band remain as exemplary a unit of performers and musicians as ever. Coming Home and massively popular cut Brown Skin Girl follow, while Hold On provides a late-set highlight for those still sticking it out. Every song brings with it an anecdote, every closing note a burst of appreciation from the congregation. Whether recent convert or newly baptised, there’s no two ways about it: The Church Of Leon is a growing beast, and a beautiful sight to behold.

Illy fills the Mix Up stage with his signature laid-back flow and quick-witted rhymes. Splendour perhaps doesn't seem like the most natural environment for Australian hip-hop, aesethically at least, but the Melbourne rapper has managed to pull one of the most impressive crowds of the day. His fans know every word of his radio favourite earworms from Heard It All to Cigarettes, and the venue quickly turns into one big pulsing singalong.

Arguably one of the most anticipated acts on the line-up is also one of the headscratchers of Day One. Melbourne electro sample gods The Avalanches had long-hungry appetites whetted at the mere hint of their coming. It’s a shame then that their new stuff, while undeniably great (Frankie Sinatra, Subways) tops songs played from their seminal first album. Closer Since I Left You goes down as it should, but midway through Frontier Psychiatrist has tongues wagging in the crowd and not in a good way; splicing it with Gnarls Barkley’s Crazy, then The Who’s My Generation, without a defining conclusion to it has us wondering whether we should respect their bold decision or hurl obscenities at them. 

Stalwart, slick-as-oil outfit Band Of Horses deserve all the praise in the world right now. With a solid 80% of attendees probably over the hill at The Avalanches right now, the Southern US indie/alt-country seem to appreciate the fact they have an audience at all, much less the seriously healthy-size one that fills the GW McLennan tent for their set. Kicking off with the upbeat Casual Party, the band prove dab hands at getting the crowd up and moving and in their palms all at once, though they do suffer from a muddy mix somewhat. The demure opening strains of Solemn Oath wash over us before the song audibly widens and picks up to make way for its rock-hewn, driven chorus – somewhat of a recurring aural theme. Beloved single Laredo does the trick, though, as does fellow highlight and set closer The Great Salt Lake. You’d never have known they were playing directly against one of the weekend’s biggest headliners and, as much as they appreciate their audience, we appreciate the extra effort.

Over in the Mix Up tent, Hermitude have left the chill of their Blue Mountains home behind them for the glowing, heaving sweatfest before them. There is a whole other energy being fuelled by glitchy beats and rousing shout-outs from El Gusto and Dubs at the decks. Zombies, Ukiyo, All Of You and a brand spanking new track released earlier today called Gimme have the crowd “frothing like motherf***ers” according to El Gusto. As beach balls, more tree branches (why is this a thing?) and bottles bounce off bopping noggins, it’s safe to say from the red-faced but stoked faces emerging that Hermitude punters found their happy place.

The Strokes go on 21 minutes late. But they're perfect. The only criticism is that they're perhaps too perfect. You know how INXS used to nail catchy, simple instrumental parts combining to become a perfect creation? It's all back lighting in striking colours and perfect hairdos (which isn't meant to downplay their brilliance); the band's guitar work is superb, whatever you think of their haircuts. Reptillia brings the communal stank faces to those gyrating on the hillside. Those guitar lines jump out at you like a funny story in your peripheral hearing when you're stuck in a dull convo. Hard To Explain? Not really, The Strokes are, quite simply, brilliant. Those chord progressions elevate The Strokes above all the other definite article bands. New York City Cops gets us moving and wishing we had the guts to wear colourful hair extensions like Julian Casablancas. They close with Last Nite and we SO wish we could see them every single night. The Strokes are why every teenage boy wants to join a band and a perfect wrap to an epic day one at Splendour In The Grass.