RHUM

A dirt-floored car park in the RNA Showground is the largest of three stages at Brisbane’s Laneway Festival 2010. By nine-pm, the crowd is seven hours old and shuffling around, waiting for the headline ace. Girls with white singlets and high-waisted denim shorts stand in packs. Red and white lights hit the gentle stream of smoke that drifts across the stage in a long, steady stream. A single green beach ball, a globe with a diameter of only a foot or so, spends more times on the top of this crowd than in the air. Such is the apathy of the group that it eventually just falls to the floor and doesn’t get up again. This is the Laneway vibe: less summer celebration, more an indie-rock rage against the summer heat. Boys will continue to wear their skinny jeans to this event despite the sticky kiss of the air: they just pair them with long black singlets, the arms cut so low that the material gets caught in the buckles of their belts. Brisbane Laneway 2010: The Other Festival

Laneway, in its fourth Brisbane inception this year, is a festival that has traditionally shied away from “big names” in favour of “good acts”. The policy has resulted in some great and somewhat unexpected line-ups over the years. This year was no different: with the exception of the withdrawal of Echo and the Bunnymen, which left the second-to-last slot a little light-on, the Laneway programme gave as good as it got under grey, sometimes drizzling Brisbane skies. The festival was headlined by Florence and the Machine (half the girls in the place seemed to be there “Just to see Florence, really, ‘cause she’s not doing a sideshow up here”), Sarah Blasko, The xx, Mumford and Sons, Eddy Current Supression Ring, Daniel Johnston, and The Middle East. Hockey, Whitley, Dappled Cities and Philadelphia Grand Jury filled the day out, giving shape and fullness to the line-up, and going some way towards justifying the price of the ticket.

After a trio of strong local acts (Comic Sans reminded older elements of the crowd (myself included) just how cool young people can be), Whitley got things going with a friendly set. They opened and closed with big crowd pleasers, Killer and Head, First, Down, and people walked away content. I had read a number of articles in mainstream newspapers spruiking The Middle East as The Next Big Thing. They performed accordingly at Laneway, coming across as a little aloof, and certainly very accomplished. Their harmonies hung in the air like the heavy humidity of the day, a trait which could be attributed to their Townsville roots. I’m not entirely convinced they are TNBT, at least not in terms of sales. To become that in this country you seem to have to put out a song bogans can sing along to, and listening to The Middle East, you feel there is too much thought and pride behind their melodies for that. But the band certainly appear to be on the cusp of writing and playing some more great music.

Mumford and Sons crashed into the afternoon with their stomping boots and steel guitars. Their recent success in the Hottest 100 meant there was plenty of singing along, and the popularity of the band was perhaps wasted alongside the likes of Philadelphia Grand Jury, who put in a high octane, sweaty set in Building 10, and Daniel Johnston. Johnston is a popular enigma, and drew quite a crowd. Much like the crowd for The xx later in the evening, many people had heard of the Texas singer-songwriter before, but didn’t really know what to expect. Johnston was brought into the public eye somewhat with the 2006 documentary The Devil and Daniel Johnston, which chronicles his career and his battle with bipolar disorder. He is known for his popularity amongst the music community, and for his tormented, beautiful melodies and lyrics. At Laneway, Johnston began his set solo with just a headless electric guitar, and slowly added more musicians as he went along. People often talk about music “coming from the soul”—the difference with Johnston is that you can actually feel this all of the time. His performance of Livin Life was perhaps the highlight of the festival.

Sarah Blasko was her usual standout self—when she sings, Blasko is in full control, of both her voice and the crowd. The band around her, dressed in black and white suit t-shirts, were tight as always. At the same time, on the Alexandria Street stage, The xx were giving a lesson in pared-back electronic pop. The crowd, which was big for a band many people had heard about but few had actually heard, delighted in the thick bass and plucky guitar lines of this London group. The twin vocalists, Romy Madley Croft and Oliver Sim, sing about the same things a lot of young people are singing about (sex, mainly), but do so in a conspiratorial whisper. They make you feel like you’re in on a little secret, their little secret. It’s a successful technique for sure.

And so we return to nine-pm and that shuffling crowd, waiting for Florence. When the lights eventually dimmed and she came on to the screams of a thousand girls who so-want-to-see-her, so-want-to-be-her, the Welsh songstress (with the real name, coincidentally, of Florence Welch) didn’t disappoint. Kiss with a Fist sent the crowd into raptures, as Florence lashed her red hair round and around and stamped the stage with the energy of an 80s gym instructor. Welch’s voice really is phenomenal—just when you think it can’t possibly soar any more, it ramps up another notch, takes you over the edge and beyond. It reminded me a little of the humble beginnings of Laneway, and the way the festival had grown to greater heights each year, reaching out to become the national touring event it is today. One only hopes that, like Florence, organisers can keep this summer alternative to The Big Day Out together, and soaring.