live@inpress.com.au Iggy Pop pic by Kane Hibberd
– come ON!” he bellows. A couple of dozen Marshall amps form an impressive backdrop and O’Keefe necks half a bottle of red wine and then later scales the scaffolding to perform a guitar solo from the top of the structure, which exemplifies the Warrnambool quartet’s No Guts. No Glory. backdrop/album title. The considerable throng in front of the Green Stage comes into view before any sounds can be deciphered, but it’s instantly recognisable as an Andrew WK set – all hands are in the air, pumping fists perfectly in unison. Free of the mysterious legal problems that kept him from touring the last few years, WK (in all white, of course) plays largely from his 2001 debut, I Get Wet, and still shouts about parties and the ‘posi’ life, positioning the band’s set (and dated nu-symphonic metal) as a capsule of once fresh ideas. Does it matter? Nup, not with his endearing energy. His firecracker of a performing sidekick wife, Cherie Lily, helps a lot, too. CSS are a five-piece but frontwoman Lovefoxxx has enough personality and pizzazz for 50. Looking like New York Dolls on holiday, the Brazilian pop-dancepunkers bop enthusiastically but not overly wildly MIA pic by Kan Hibberd
MELBOURNE SHOWGROUNDS
From the opening feedback squalls and rock-solid drum intro for Outtathaway! it’s clear that early arrivals wish to pour their energy into supporting The Vines. Frontman Craig Nicholls sports a Highly Evolved t-shirt and when they perform Winning Days – “The winning days are gone” – it’s sad to see the once headliners warming up the Orange Stage today. The band are as tight as they ever were and Nicholls is just as loose, smashing his guitar to bits at the end of a rapturously received Get Free while the rest of the band dodge flying debris. A valiant effort that sets the standard of brilliance for the day ahead. It’s gonna be a scorcher, but that doesn’t stop a stack of young ’uns from getting in the late morning sun for a hot set from New Zealand’s The Naked & Famous. It’s a fun, poppy way to start the day, the under-18s leading the charge when it comes to sing-alongs with lead singles Punching In A Dream and closer Young Blood. Looking around, it seems a girl on one’s shoulders is the sunscreen of 2011. If ‘50s-style rockabilly is your thing, The Jim Jones Revue, on the Green Stage, proves a tonic to ease you right into the rock’n’roll fever due to set in across the rest of the day. It’s frontman Jones leading the charge of these five very-fucking-dapper gentlemen, and even though a smaller crowd are here to enjoy it, “Australia’s own” Elliot Mortimer on piano tears shreds, and we have ourselves an early highlight. The Greenhornes are peddling some deep-fried southern rock’n’roll in the Hot Produce tent while frontman Craig Fox looks as if he’s emerged onstage through a bucket bong haze – he’s totally in the zone, his gaze fi xed on something invisible. To his credit, his playing is impeccable. Closer I’ll Go Crazy (from their excellently titled latest album Four Stars) enthrals and ridiculously tight tempo changes are nailed without the need for musicians to so much as glance in each other’s direction. Catching the tail end of Airbourne’s set on the Blue Stage, we arrive in time to hear frontman Joel O’Keeffe encouraging punters to get up on a neighbour’s shoulders. “Let’s get a few of these cunts up in the air
through tracks like Let’s Make Love And Listen To Death From Above as Lovefoxxx crowd-surfs euphorically, somehow maintaining perfect control of the microphone despite her adoring queer and straight fans’ best efforts to wrest it from her. When she flashes her bra to cool off, the response is appropriately hot. After catching the last 20 minutes of Lupe Fiasco’s blistering set on the Orange Stage, local hip-hoppers Bliss N Eso seem to have their work cut out for them. But with the trio riding high on the back of their latest album, Running On Air, doubts can be cast aside. Their heaving audience of thousands know the words to every track and despite a distinct bogan vibe, both in the group and the crowd, Bliss n Eso prove their ability to play to a crowd. Melbourne pub regulars The UV Race have recently returned from a US tour but their show still feels very local, almost to the point of being cliquey: frontman Marcus Rechsteiner explains midway through their set that his repeated “She’s a bad egg” vocals have been directed at his sister. They’re not the tightest musicians in the world but their anarchic post-punk drone-romps are endearing and memorable, and sound extra special for the lucky few who catch a glimpse of Rechsteiner getting his bum adorned by a roving face painter. Packing out the Boiler Room, there’s a moment in Die Antwoord’s set when it becomes apparent the Cape Town trio have nailed their self-aware trash shtick scarily well: this crowd isn’t chanting “Ozzie Ozzie Ozzie, oi, oi, oi!” back at them ironically. Whether they’re embracing it or mocking it, or both or neither, the result is undoubtedly one of the tent’s best sets of the day. Like Larry Clark characters, they’re creepily transfi xing, cutting together Afrikaans hip hop, pulsating trance and even some Chicago house, at the same time bringing flat-tops, pelvisthrusting and Town & Country fashion back. The tent is screaming and they’re delivering on the hype.
Die Antwoord pic by Kane Hibberd
Deftones haven’t visited these shores since 2007 but they are still doing the same thing they were doing in the early ‘90s. The five-piece play quintessential stadium metal: meaty layers of guitars and reverbed drums underpin flat, epic but only vaguely pained vocals. They don’t move around the stage much despite the vigour and volume of their sound. Ten years ago this would have been mind-blowing, now it’s kind of meh. Expectations are high and the crowd is swelling. But before Crystal Castles take the afternoon Boiler Room stage, we’re told that singer Alice Glass is performing against doctor’s orders due to a broken ankle. After a slow start, the bass-heavy live drums mesh with the hyper-glitchy synths and the magic begins. But the sound is muddy and the vocals are weak and buried: it sounds like hearing the album muffled through your neighbours’ walls. Long breaks between songs kill the momentum and disappointment creeps in. A usually phenomenal act gives an only fair performance. Brooklyn power-pop duo Matt & Kim have an eager handful of people pogo-ing and singing their syrupy hooks back to them on the Lilyworld stage. For the rest of us (cynics?), it’s all a little too much to handle: the overdone mid-song gushing and grinning, as well as their incessantly naïve playing, recalls Play School more than the positive bubble-punk they’re clearly aiming for.
BIG DAY OUT A surprisingly hassle-free entry into Melbourne Showgrounds, considering we arrive before the gates open, is a blessing and a trend that continues throughout the day with drink/food and toilet queues never holding up our desire to dance to the beats. There are water mist stations everywhere to lessen incidents of heatstroke and some ultra polite and extremely young Big Day Out virgins ask us for directions to the entrance into the D barrier. As soon as this opens, enthusiasts sprint at the stage, appearing to us as flashes, in order to secure the best possible vantage point.
Long in the sunshine, Plan B and co close their set with testosterone aplenty as both ‘B and Faith SFX slam into members of the backing band, ultimately causing a keyboard to fall off its stand, remaining skew-wiff on its side while the keyboardist looked on helplessly.
Back in the tree-lined enclave of the Essential Stage, a long-haired crowd present to their masters of love, Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros. With ten members on stage, and with frontman Alex Ebert in and out of the crowd, there’s a slight Polyphonic Spree-esque, cult-ish thing going on. Musically though, their sound is akin to the full-bodied, supple sound of Arcade Fire. Dropping songs like 40 Day Dream and the epic sing-along Home, it proves a highlight of the day. Exactly how old is Iggy Pop? He’s 63 years young and struts onstage as if illustrating what Lupe Fiasco explained of his chosen profession earlier in the day, “It’s not a chore it’s a lifestyle.” Topless (of course) and with silken blonde locks, he eyes the D barrier fences with disdain, provoking, “Tear down the fuckin’ fence!” He invites half the crowd up onstage, paying particular attention to a pretty young thing with a shock of pink hair. When a brunette lass tries to follow, Pop consoles, “Eeeeeeasy, baby! Everything’s cool,” before a bouncer pushes her head back down into the photographer’s pit. As the breeze hijacks much guitar nuance, sax stabs are often the only noticeable sound. Pop thrusts against the scaffolding and grabs hold of a stray cable, which he fashions into a noose. Johanna is a highlight and I Wanna Be Your Dog sees Pop with paws up and tongue out. He often waves into the distance (or gives us the bird) while showing off a set of perfect gnashers and the front rows get much love as the legend prowls through the pit while stage hands wrestle with his neverending mic cable. When Primal Scream first toured Screamadelica, Bobby Gillespie could barely stand he was so drugfucked. At sunset today, he’s vital and grinning from ear to ear. The audience is small but enthused and the sound is mellow but captivating. The ‘90s never sounded so good as when indie rock and acid house were melded into perfect pop. It’s gentle and mesmerising: a beautifully comfortable Edward Sharpe pic by Kane Hibberd
If you’ve clocked Plan B’s stance, you’ll realise that he believes he should be everyone’s Plan A – all selfassured geezer braggadocio à la Mike Skinner of The Streets. His band sports matching dapper attire: longsleeved shirts, slacks, waistcoats and ties. She Said inspires clap-alongs. The addition of a gobsmackingly talented beatboxer more than sustains our interest and sees Faith SFX stealing the limelight when faux bass rumbles through the stage during a cover of Bill Withers’ Ain’t No Sunshine. Advising us not to Stay Too
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ride from Don’t Fight It, Feel It’s “gonna get high ‘til the day I die” to I’m Coming Down’s “I’ve been so high I never wanted to come down.” Their decision to make relatively laid-back, percussiontinkering grooves over the club remixes they’ve had wider success with means Ratatat don’t even draw a full crowd to their Hot Produce evening set. Everyone else’s loss. The skinny pair, looking like shabby video game obsessives who’ve just risen from the couch, move effortlessly between their grab-bag of instruments, producing much of their blissful electro-scapery live. Their 2006 single Wildcat gets an airing, but it just shows how far they’ve come, especially when they break into last year’s cerebrally orgasmic LP4 track Drugs, peaking their set with its intricate-yet-accessible arrangement. Some dual bass drumming tops it all off. LCD Soundsystem are back, which in itself might explain why the Boiler Room isn’t a heaving mess. Wasn’t James Murphy talking about ending the group even before their last tour? Ironically, they sound bolder and freer than ever, and Murphy’s vocal range and prowess is at a peak. With sax, synth-pad and live drums, and keys player Nancy Whang’s honeyed BVs, their festival set-up is now like some kind of Hercules & Love Affair turned big band. Indeed, much of what’s emerging in New York City has invaded their sound, down to the kosmische-meets-soul house revamp of Daft Punk Is Playing At My House. Daft Punk probably wouldn’t approve, but we certainly do. Headlining the Green Stage like kings of men, Grinderman prove the main stages aren’t the only arenas for heavy, loud-as-balls rock’n’roll. Age shall not weary the rock god within, and those brave enough to watch are assaulted with a barrage of brilliant riffs, loose antics and the leviathan that is Nick Cave. Posturing and grinding like a deviant, Cave leads the band through tracks like Heathen Child, No Pussy Blues and Palaces Of Montezuma, before their selftitled anthem sends us away licking our wounds. The scene at the Essential Stage sees impatient punters tossing water bottles, and whatever they can lay their hands on, into the air while those on the outskirts marvel at the spectacle and film the action on their mobile phones. Pnau have been off in Old Blighty with Elton John prepping album number four and we hear three newies tonight, The Truth included. There’s emotive lyrical content that’s well suited to Nick Littlemore’s liturgical moves and one of these songs sounds a little Eurovision. Wild Strawberries, Baby and Embrace are rapturously received as the crowd shakes off sunstroke and ignores weary legs. Choofing off to secure a decent posi for MIA, we witness what appears to be a mass exodus toward the exit gates post-Rammstein. Early flashes of brilliance courtesy of Born Free and Boyz get our feet moving but a lone figure on the stage flanked by two dancers isn’t exactly the spectacle we are used to witnessing to ignite the Boiler Room for the final hour. Just as the petite Sri Lankan singer seems on the verge of something great, there’s a break in momentum as a track is cued or a few sound effects are played. Far from the memories we have of MIA’s colourful, frenzied, controversial Parklife appearances of 2007 and Groove Armada’s victorious closing Boiler Room brilliance last year. Bryget Chrisfield, Adam Curley, Roger Nelson and Dylan Stewart
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