RHUM

Ah, the Big Day Out. Every year ahead of the first line-up announcement I make proclamations about how the Big Day Out has lost its edge and that I don't think I'll bother this year. Yet every year since I was a purple haired goth/grunge hybrid teenager I find myself drawn back to the Wayville showgrounds in the heat of the Adelaide summer to brave the masses of bogans and babes and come away smiling. 

It's no surprise that many of my friends in the – ahem – late 20s age group failed to make it past those initial line-up announcements and chose to spend their hard earned cash on the newer, shinier (and, it must be said, rock-ier) Soundwave or mellower, nouveau-flower power deals like Falls instead. Although the pull of Jane's Addiction is strong for a somewhat ageing grunge crone like myself, the Big Day Out is bigger than ever and still has that magic that drew us there when we were teenagers.

Sure, the tickets formerly sold to my suddenly too mature mates are now exclusively distributed via pub raffles in economically depressed country areas, and many punters never seem to leave the safe, fluoro compound that is the boiler room. Sure, the word 'magic' is defined in the small print on the sign at the entrance to include unisex group toilets and systematic harassment by the police. But when it comes down to it, it takes all types and the kids in the oft overlooked and somewhat sleepy town of Adelaide still love a good bit of rock and roll and let's face it, we don't really get a lot of it here in a town where the closest thing to public entertainment is speculation about whether or not our political leaders have been porking cocktail waitresses. Allegedly.

First act for the day for us were The Decemberists, a folksy band hailing from Portland, Oregon who seemed a little out of place in a somewhat traditional BDO line-up (I am instructed that other applicable labels include indie/folk rock, dream pop, and historically-themed bards/poets). My male associates, who both love the band, were rapt with the performance and tell me they played an interesting set list but were a tad self-indulgent in blowing half the show on a three part retelling of a Japanese folk tale in song form. I, being new to all things Decemberists (other than what I hear played over our stereo on a lazy Sunday afternoon) liked their sound but felt maybe it was a little too lo-fi for such an energetic day. The Decemberists are certainly one of those bands you'd be happy to kick back and drink a glass of red wine to, but I couldn't help but think that their fine musicianship would be better suited to some of our more beloved South Australian music venues such as the Gov or the Grace Emily on a balmy Saturday evening where the beer is cheap and everyone wants to be there.

Next up were The Horrors. In amongst hordes of screaming girls I was a little surprised to see a bunch of nerdy looking beanpoles take the stage (clearly I don't watch enough Video Hits!). The women went absolutely bananas while the security guards exchanged unimpressed glances and dutifully stowed said screaming women's handbags. The lead singer is a striking mix of wannabe James Dean biker dude and chess loving, encyclopedia referencing nerd. I didn't really dig the sound though − maybe I'm just not with it, or maybe, as the evening would show, I just had more exciting spectacles to witness. Such are the perils of the early time-slot at the BDO...

Next was Dizzee Rascal. I must disclose that hearing his music on the radio induces some kind of rage attack deep within me and causes me to swear off any kind of radio for at least two weeks. I don't know whether it's the systematic overuse of the word 'bonkers', the fact that he's 'rapping' over artificial-sounding 'dance' beats or that both of these elements combined mean that Dizzee gets more airplay than indie musicians who actually write beautiful songs and play their own instruments. Criticism aside, Mr Rascal and his entourage certainly know how to work a crowd. And yes, the ladies love him. These guys did not stop moving and the predominantly fluoro clad crowd, rubbing their eyes in the sunlight having momentarily left the safety of the boiler room, responded in kind.

Onward to the Corporate Essentials stage for some Devendra Banhart. He was late to the stage and either encountered a mass of technical problems or had the wankiest pre-show setup ever, but he and his band The Grogs put on a great show. There is something about that quiver in his voice that is so appealing ... fuck auto-tune this guy has a quiver! The Grogs playing their subtle, silky LA tunes were an unexpected surprise. As with The Decemberists, the set would have been much better played in a smaller venue, and the turn-out was an indictment of BDOers forced to choose between the sweet quiver of Devendra and the out of tune ramblings of a crazy woman by the name of Lily Allen. I'd like to say that I bothered to check out her set to see what all the fuss was about, but I didn't. I couldn’t. Sorry Mum.

Moving on now to some home grown produce, local Adelaide metal kings Se Bon Kira were carving up the local stage and doing a fine job of it. Adelaide has a thriving metal scene as was evident from the crowd bearing witness to the groove metal carnage. Loud and proud, these guys did a fine job and put some of the bigger acts on the main stages to shame ... but not The Mars Volta. I was sorry to cut my groove metal experience short, but this band was too awesome to miss. For the first time all day, I had that goosebumps moment of witnessing a truly kick-arse band in full flight. They are everything you want in a prog rock performance: massive hair, contortionist body movements, white microphones and a whole lot of noise. These guys had it going on and did not disappoint the sadly dwindling audience around the main stage (presumably Kid Rock or Hot Dog or Ladytalk or some such lured the Harry Potter generation away again at this point).

Following the outstanding Mars Volta set was one last trip to the home produce stage to see another fantastic Adelaide band, Poetikool Justice. These guys were harnessing Metallica and Michael Franti at the same time. Energetic, loud and a whole lotta fun, the future is bright for this band of boys from Adelaide's western suburbs – check them out if you get the chance; you won't regret it.

And so, the sun set and it was time for the main act of the day. For the first time all day the D lights turned from green to red, and down the front the beer-addled crowd was chanting 'Mooz Mooz Mooz'. A wall of photographers took their place while security guards started pulling over zealous teenage girls from the terror that is the first few rows at any and every Muse gig. A frenzy of cables, lights and cameramen flooded a small gangway constructed just below the main stage and the energy around the place rose with excitement and anticipation. There were questions in my mind – are they too big? Too commercial? Do they still care? But Muse hit the stage in their majesty and they did not disappoint.

Matt Bellamy in all of his beaded turquoise polyester glory carved up the stage and demonstrated exactly how this rock and roll thing works. Nothing beats these guys live: they are the kings of the live show. It doesn't matter if they are playing to a hundred people in a small hall (which I guess last happened in about 1996) or to thirty thousand at a festival, they're as focused and electrifying as the alarmingly bright lasers which blasted out during each Bellamy guitar frenzy. The stage show was visually stunning and the set list was a mix of old and new. A highlight was when Nic Cestar from Jet took the lead vocals and ripped through an epic cover of AC/DC's 'Back in Black', proving once and for all that Jet would be great if they only had different band members and someone else wrote their songs. Putting to rest fears about the pop end of the recent Muse catalogue, the whole thing rose to a glorious climax with the crowd roaring out the retro-future-space-western-prog monster 'Knights of Cydonia'. No one's gonna take me alive ...

Before we go, a special word about the boys and girls in blue. Just like last year, they were there in force to make sure that horrifying scenes akin to A Clockwork Orange didn’ t develop amidst the powder keg of more than 3 young folk assembled in the one place at once. This year the menace 2 society was greater than ever before, with well known anti-authoritarian rabble rousers Lily Allen and Groove Armada set to inspire a local re-enactment of the LA race riots. So, once again, the hounds of doom were guarding the gates and plastic-gloved goons were interrogating and probing anyone with a whiff of the devil's tobacco about their person. Our city's finest finished the night with the calming presence of a low flying police chopper shining its spotlight on the rampaging young hooligans as they ... walked quietly home. The horror. And so the world is safe again.

As we wander away from the buzzing chopper and the thud of Groove Armada towards the shining beacon of a late night falafel roll on Rundle St, what have we learnt? How much of our slightly jaded expectation of the BDO falls into the category of 'everything was better when I was seventeen'? To be sure, some things seem measurably worse – rather than banning drugs, next year's event would be dramatically improved by banning blue wife-beaters, girls with fake tans and Australian flag hats, for example. And the line up had a certain GFC flavour – for a festival that has featured Rage Against the Machine, Nirvana and Metallica in the past, the list of big international headliners was on the lean side in 2010. But for all that, there are still moments like the first insane drum fill of the Mars Volta set or Matt Bellamy making his guitar not only talk but recite the alphabet (ok, it didn't happen but I’m pretty sure it could have) when you remember that this shit just does not happen in Adelaide without a big festival to bring it to town. The BDO was that festival when I was seventeen, and it still is today.

Photos coming soon.