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Splendour in the GrassBelongil Fields, Byron BaySat 22 & Sun 23 July 2006by The Invisible Groupie
From the Metro Gnome - I read this submission from the Invisible Groupie and am exhausted from her stories, jealous of her endurance, and committed to attend Splendour in the Grass next year. No pictures in this one, but a hell of a lot of ground covered... Enjoy. Maybe I can talk Hotsource into commandeering a VIP bus to make it an even more unreal event! Who's in?!?!
Legend has it that gumboots were sold out within a 100km radius of Byron Bay on Friday 21st July, 2006. That’s because 17,500 punters suddenly realised they’d be attending Splendour in the Mud. Glorious, glorious, mud.
There is a lot to be said for weekend-long festivals. You’ve got the first day to establish yourself, learn the layout and routes, where to (and not to) eat, and find the best freakish sideshows. By the second day you’ve become a well-oiled machine. You know how much the security guards will let you get away with. You know where to find little viewing nooks and how to get in and out of the moshpit effectively. You even know exactly where the donut stand is and the best time of day to get there in order to ensure a fresh chocolate-y batch.
There are bands too, of course. So many that the mind boggles at the thought of trying to cram in everyone you want to see. Of course it is impossible to see everyone on the bill, but fortunately Splendour did a wonderful job of staggering act times and not clashing similar performers wherever possible. My weekend went something like this:
Angus & Julia Stone were the first (non-DJ) act of the festival, and damned if they weren’t almost the best. This brother-sister duo fascinate me no-end and with their band they captivated this audience immediately. Their acoustically-based balladry is beautifully endearing, their stage presence filled with a timid warmth.
Onwards through the melee of trinket-filled market stalls and past Youth Group, Sydney’s indie rockers riding high on the back of a new record and the slow ebb of that OC song. Their sound and overall vibe was great but not enough to distract me from the lure of trashy retail.
I have been largely unschooled on the Death Cab For Cutie front, and they proved to be a surprise highlight. Look no further than here for proof that swelling sensitive rock is taking over. Their set was full of superbly delivered songs that everyone knew the words to, even at the very back of the overcrowded tent. They won me over, hands down.
I missed Mos Def (who I can’t quite get past as being Ford Prefect in the Hitchhikers Guide movie) but two of my cohorts said he was brilliant, and almost more performance art than hip-hop.
To Tex Perkins & Charlie Owen, who played their slow dirty tracks to rocking boys and (strangely – no offence Tex) drooling girls. The song structures themselves are simple but Tex’s growling charm gives them a certain complexity. Brilliant.
Excuse my ignorance, but TV on the Radio sure as hell don’t sound like they’re fronted by guys named Tunde and Kyp. I was amazed to find this fuzzy New York rock wasn’t coming from weedy white boys after all, and danced accordingly. I enjoyed them for a while but couldn’t quite get into the spirit, and soon drifted towards the next tent.
My intention was to check out The Avalanches but was having trouble getting to the MixUp Tent. I soon realised this was because the crowd they had assembled were spilling out and pouring into the entire surrounding section of the festival. Alarmed, I hastily retreated, but figure that was a pretty strong indication of how good they must have been.
My experience with trying to see Lior was almost identical. The quieter G.W.McLennan Tent, named in honour of the Go-Between we lost earlier in the year, was packed to capacity and a choir of voices were singing along to This Old Love as I approached. I had no choice but to remain and enjoy his set from outside the tent.
I have always felt rather indifferent about Something For Kate, but their show was blistering. They had one of the best sounds I heard on the day and the crowd loved every second of it. I found myself surprised at how many hits they’d had as I kept recognising songs, and was thoroughly impressed.
Grinspoon followed in the same tent with much the same suit. Their set was vibrant and full of all their energetic rock hits.
Augie March had the misfortune of the dreaded ‘technical problem’. Glenn Richards was clearly distraught at the battle his band had to face in order to play their set, which was chopped, changed and shortened. This changed the vibe that I’m sure would have normally surrounded this act, but they played a brave and moving set of songs nevertheless, mostly from their latest release.
I was somewhat awed at the fact that Sonic Youth were in attendance, but then remembered that I don’t understand punk music. I stood and tried to absorb their aural assault for a bit but I’m afraid to say I didn’t appreciate it as much as I probably should have. The same could be said for DJ Shadow. Everyone around me in that particular crowd was very… shall we say, enhanced… and I found the whole thing kind of boring. My dance correspondents later informed me that he was fantastic, so, that’s the verdict from a pair who actually know what they’re talking about when it comes to DJs.
Due to Saturday being a big night and all, and quietly mourning the cancellation of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, my group and I were somewhat tardy on the second day. I managed to race in with enough time to catch the end of The Zutons who were putting on a very colourful and lively show. It looked fun and I was sorry to have missed the whole set.
A baited throng chattered impatiently waiting for the mystery act, billed only as ???? to appear. My friends and I had placed bets the night before but none among us had even contemplated the return of The Vines. While I’ve never been a huge fan, I had an absolute ball in the moshpit here. Craig Nicholls is back, hopefully not with a vengeance, but certainly with a band that haven’t forgotten how to rock in a hurry. A cover of Sorry Miss Jackson followed by the obligatory destruction of instruments only punctuated their comeback. Not sure how they were received all round, but from the pit, they were (surprisingly) fantastic.
I had to sacrifice seeing Josh Pyke in order to prime a position for the next act, but my sources tell me he was a highlight.
Snow Patrol were the shining beacon of my festival. Their songs are delicately crafted, even in a live setting, and at the same time have a powerful drive. This is a band who sing emotive and sometimes melancholy songs, yet frontman Gary couldn’t keep the grin from his face, dedicating almost every number to another act on the line up.
Feeling like possibly the only person who has no care for, or comprehension of, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs phenomenon, I caught most of Clare Bowdich’s set instead. While I didn’t find it spectacular, she is still, in my opinion, cream of the Aussie female singer/songwriter crop right now.
By the time Jose Gonzalez was on, I was pretty damned tired and glad for a seat. I intended to move on halfway through his set, but found him intriguing and effortlessly engaging and decided to stay. Boy did that pay off. His shy demeanour coupled with his classical rhythms was one thing; the addition of a timid percussion section and the positively magical version of Massive Attack’s Teardrop was entirely another. What he lacked in vigour he more than made up for in passion. Spellbinding.
Decoder Ring put on a killer live show: graceful yet robust, precise yet with a laid-back ease. This is the kind of dance music I can really dig.
Gerling is a different kettle of proverbial fish. Throwing themselves around the stage, it is hard not to feel energised. This is the type of band that you have to become one with, or get left behind. You just can’t watch their shambolic dance rock from the sidelines. It’s just no fun that way.
Wolfmother, on the back of a Hordern show that apparently rocked very, very hard, were full of jangly devil-horn riffs and an unspecific bombast. Which is not meant as a criticism, although some would read them that way. By this time punters (myself included) were climbing over everything – including the playing tent. There is a reason Wolfmother are stupidly huge, and that is because they are stupidly good.
As is tradition at Splendour, the skies started to bucket down on the second last main act. The tent was overflowing in anticipation for the Scissor Sisters. I climbed into the ‘V’ made by 2 tent cords and hung on for dear life. Best. View. Ever. It’s hard to believe this is a band with only one album. There is enough raw unbridled energy within that red one-piece suit worn by the glorious frontman Jake Shears to start an impromptu Mardi Gras. So we do so. What a party.
Bringing the event to a close, we were graced with the presence of Brian Wilson and a huge backing band. Those among us still partying embraced rather than battled the rain with good vibrations, helped Rhonda, then went on to surf USA and on Safari, and…. ba-ba-ba, ba-Barbara Ann (sorry couldn’t think of a clever way to incorporate that one). Even though advertising has tainted most of these songs the surreal nature of seeing a real life Beach Boy was just too good to be true.
I don’t care what they say. Splendour in the Grass has shaped up to become the greatest event on the Australian festival calendar. See you next year.
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