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Written by Steve Smart |
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Part 1 I'm on a little break here at the Laneway Festival, sitting in a shaded spot in the very low-key lovely VIP area, sippin' cider out of a glass bottle. We're allowed to have glass in here, not just those 3/4 sized cans. Life, it's tough. Sarah Blasko just finished her set. She's a great sunny day arvo performer; cute and and energetic, catchy songs with strong melodies. Still somehow I always want to like her music more than I actually do. You know how I like my ragged edges, and Sarah isn't really about that. Let's just say she is growing on me. Note to Sarah Blasko's band: the matching t-shirt tuxes aren't cute, quirky or ironic. You sound great, but you look like a fuckwit Uni prank. Ok, jumping back a bit, it took me a million years to get across town on our increasingly ghastly public transport system. Sure we got a new train company and ditched the transport minister, but we have years of mismanagement to get back to the point where Collingwood to Footscray on a Saturday doesn't take over an hour. Still I made it in time for Whitley, which made me very happy. I'm becoming quite the fan these days. Singing along? You bet! The songs from Go Forth, Find Mammoth sounded particularly fantastic. Daniel Johnston is perhaps the least likely rockstar ever; shambling, lisping, overweight, often distracted . . . but look at that crowd, they love him. The man is a poet, a storyteller, a folk singer, a rock 'n' roll belter and a real live fragile human being. It makes me feel a little better about humanity to see someone receive such adulation for their talent, their passion and their life experience, rather than how pretty they are or how well marketed. Sure he's messy, but many of us are. Special mention goes to Johnston's band - very tight, still loose enough. I wandered over to see Eddie Current Suppression Ring on the carpark stage, full of curiousity. ECSR are fast rock, not really punk, full of energy, a great band to throw yourself around to with wild gustoic abandon. I dug the music, but I was in the mood for something a bit more chilled. Which brings me back to Blasko and my bottle of cider. Part 2 After siesta, I headed back to the carpark stage to catch The Very Best. Cocky name, better be fuckin' good. Thankfully they are, and a bag of chips. If you don't find the urgent need to shake your arse while listening to these guys, then I think you'll find that pirates have treacherously removed that arse while you were distracted by the mile long Laneway Fest food cues. Full-on joyous energy, mixing African rhythms and vocals with western beats and two very lithe dancers. Malawi's in the house! Time for a lie down on the grass over at the river stage. UK band Wild Beasts don't really have a sound that matches their name, more one that washes over you. Repetitive basslines, soaring harmonies, electronic backing. I didn't hate it at all. They also seem like genuinely nice guys. My final hour was all about The Dirty Three. The band that famously re-inspired Nick Cave and single (triple?) handedly taught alt-rock fans everywhere that instrumental music can kick arse. Warren Ellis, the Hendrix of the violin, Australian rock icon, the fuckin' man who shot Liberty Valance! The band is on fire right now and Ellis seems totally comfortable, cracking jokes, teasing the crowd, dancing like a dervish and playing like the devil. I'd say very few, if any, of the massive attendant crowd would have left disappointed. I so would have loved to stay and see Florence and The Machine, but I had an engagement party to get to. In Ballarat. Ah well. |
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