Golden Plains 9: Review

I arrived in Top Camp at 1am on Saturday night after attending a wedding.

No I don’t want to talk about it, stop bringing it up.

Before that, I was listening to Courtney Barnett’s set on Triple R and it was clear she was in same spirits as most of the crowd, loving life, three sheets to the wind and doing the thing she most likes to do, rock the f—k out with her band to a deeply appreciative crowd. Starting with Depreston, Barnett, Bones Sloane, Alex Hamilton, Dan Luscombe and Dave Mudie co-piloted the ship for the next 40 minutes, crashing about on a wave of cheering and dolphins and other inflatable animals they turfed at the crowd during Dan Luscombe’s “favourite” song Aqua Profunda.

“This next song is called All My Friends Are Too Drunk To Guitar Tech For Me.”

Pedestrian At Best kicked out whatever was left of the jams. She said she felt like she’d “pulled a shifty” being on at Even More Magic Hour on Saturday night. Bollocks, Barnett. You’ve earned it. “Put me on a pedestal and I’ll only disappoint you” she reckons on the backlash baiting Pedestrian At Best. Again, bollocks, CB. She forgot the words in last song History Eraser and just howled along instead, it made me so excited I looked down at my Betty Bora’s speedometer and it had hit 121kms. Slow down Egghead. A very Golden Plains moment before I was even at Golden Plains.

Ahhhh, lookee here, this explains so much.

I only caught the last of Cut Chemist and DJ Shadow’s 6 decks set. Owner of a Lonely Heart and some swishing James Brown funk did the job, as did some West/East Coast hip hop. White people just love dancing to black music. This isn’t a broadside, it’s a fact, Jack. My brother texted me just before I nestled my car. “Shadow is killing it. X” Shadow thanked Cut Chemist and then “Afrika Bambaataa, he was the reason we got into DJing.” Mercifully, DJ Shadow didn’t get loquacious on the microphone which has been slowing down his sets – and the thing most important to dancing: momentum – for the last few years. Back in form.

Black Vanilla are a shadowy act too, Guerre, Marcus Whale (Collarbones) and DJ Plead have been turning feet in Sydney for the last couple of years with their R&B, juke and future bass live shows, rarely making it down to Victoria. Guerre and Whale are incredible dancers, they moved all sexy-like, full choreography, no inhibitions. They went for it. “I cramped up in practics but it was all worth it,” Whale said later. These were full-body power-moves. DJ Plead did a bang-up job of sequencing the set, it slammed, it jammed, it clammed (my hands up from clapping/sweating so much). Dressed all in white like Faith No More at Soundwave, this wasn’t a set, it was a proper “show.” Unreleased tracks Jack’d Up and Cloaks led into a full rave-up and Whale sang “Golden Plains we wannna thaaankyou” like Bobby Brown in his prime. “We like to polarise crowds,” he said. This wasn’t the case, everyone was down with Black Vanilla. Tremendously tremendous new jack swing.

Frankston dudes Sleep D took to the stage, some d—heads threw a couple of empty bottles at them, they didn’t flinch, Frankston my dear they didn’t give a damn. They filtered economic disco and heaped slabs of heavy synths onto wide-load basslines.

Luke Pocock got us deep in the juju with Ozo’s Anambra opening up the set in utter darkness. He built on this and served up disco bass-rollers, then hit us with a few smangers (tracks that smash and bang) and turned left into funky territory, pointing towards the sky and wiggling his pert butt (as seen nude on Facebook) as he chose the next record. I danced so much the cube stud fell out of my tragis. That’s a review in itself. He played Debbie Jacobs’ High On Your Love and you can trainspot for yourself when the Soundcloud set link surfaces.

A 6.15am debrief at Helper Hut 10 reiterated what everyone had been saying since I hit the ground running: First Aid Kit took the Saturday Daytime honours. “I’ve never seen so many boots in the air” said one. The expression “All the feels” is nearly played out but we’ll let it slide right in here, the Swedish sisters get a free pass. Neneh Cherry and RocketNumberNine had folks yapping too.

Just because I wasn’t there on SaturDAY doesn’t mean you should miss out though.

I returned to my car after not being able to locate my brother and had no choice but to arrange it for sleeping. Here I go again on my own. I reclined the seat back to 150 degrees, placed a towel in the small of my back, buffed my head pillow and thought “Y’know what, this is well comfortable, I feel like a supreme being of leisure.” Then I woke up (read: things wore off) three hours later and I was…lying in a car on a 150 degree angle.

As an aside I’m sorry to report a d—head sighting occurred around 7am. A slurring guy who looked very much like he’d attend King St nightclubs sidled up to my car, tried to open my door (it was locked of course), proclaimed he was “Doing random wristband checks bro (burp)”, then put his fingers in the crack of the window and tried to rip the door open. “You’re being a d—head, off you go,” I said sternly, feeling like George Costanza when he’s trying to come up with the perfect comeback line (I didn’t resort to “Well I slept with your wife!”).

This confrontation went on for a loooong 30 seconds, 31 more seconds than it should have. I finally showed him my wristband to diffuse any proper confrontation and in the same moment a hand appeared from the right and dragged him off.

ADDENDUM: The next evening the Ambulance was at his camp site. Grave faces all round. His scummy mates were looking at their trainers as the yellow and red lights flashed silently. The Paramedic told me dismissively “A guy just needed a good sleep.” Too right. The wrong drugs are bad, mmm’kay.

To the guys that were his mates, remember to leave d—heads at home on ice and link up with better people. Hey, a Link link. We’re back on track.

SUNDAY

It seemed unfair to program unmissable music at 10am, only four hours after Pocock had disseminated his last kickdrum and high-hat but Aldous Harding stepped up to the breakfast bowl and enchanted the slanted crowd. Did I hear her sing Non Regrette Rien? Yes. It doubled as a kind way of telling every individual to move on from regretting any rash actions from the night before. After all, thinking gets in the way of thought.

As a learned, lanky friend of mine has pointed out in the past, there’s too much emphasis placed on being down at the stage to watch bands. Banoffee’s reedy, needy voice was like a siren. “Thanks for all getting up,” she said. We nodded our lime-heavy vodka tonics her way. On Got It and Reign Down her voice had the manly, cooked-after-a-long-night lament of James Blake when he is all tenderised and open. Dressed in a silky, ghetto, red and purple jacket emblazoned with a fried egg, Martha Brown was a sound breakfast accompaniment. Last song Let’s Go To The Beach got everyone dancing too, spies told me.

The Bennies. Wild wiiiild lads. There’s a clarity about a mid afternoon set when you’re close enough to see and really feel what’s going on, the sun hidden behind the stage mollusc. It’s a time when, well, you are more there, more together. Later on, when everything is flying about and the magic fizzes and cracks in the air and you’re having all of the fun (and a bit more) it makes it harder to take notes and talk to 14 people you haven’t seen it liiiike soooo long (hugs) and drink a Frangelico cocktail someone has handed you and navigate pass giant men who want to give you a noogie and manhandle you because “you’re the Revolver Trivia guy! Mate how’d you score your missus?” NB: Good boxers punch above their weight. ALSO: Good reviewers should be more fastidious in their note taking. I digress.

The Bennies were on fire, for real, they lit up a mini-baseball bat, puffed and passed it around and then handed it on to the front row. Later in their “Psychedelic Reggae Ska Doom Metal Punk Rock From Hell” set Anty asked the crowd “Anybody got some spare joints, we’re a bit dry up here?” Guitarist Jules thanked his wife in the crowd “seeing as this is International Women’s Day” and it was note-perfect, balancing out the hedonism and Andrew WK party-times with the real life stuff. A cherubic, blonde curly haired guy next to me leaned in and said “I bet The Bennies will play (He’ll Never Be An) Old Man River.” He knew. Anty stopped bouncing on the spot in his ball-hugging tie-dyed brown grey meggings (man leggings), jabbed at his Korg and the band started TISM’s chant “I’m On The Drug, I’m on the Drug, I’m on the Drug That Killed River Phoenix.” A bunch of their friends in Smith Street Band balaclava-beanies ambushed the stage and shoes in the crowd were ripped off feet and arrowed into the air. Aunty would like Anty, even if she’d be concerned how long they can smoke those Camden Carrots.

Soil and “Pimp” Sessions did a beer bong, thrashed out their Japanese death jazz and won over the crowd in the first 32 bars. Japanese groups are a must at every Golden Plains, this continued on from Osaka Monaurail’s appearance. Sideways they were, we followed suit.

In many ways, Total Giovanni were this year’s Client Liaison. A band of serious-about-being-funny funkateers harking back to Talking Heads where Client Liaison looked to Toadfish, Skasey and Farnsey. Spike Punch lead his white toga and Julius Caesar wreath-wearing band through a boogie wonderland of Stayin’ Alive-esque disco. Human Animal and Can’t Control My Love got the whole ‘Sup flowing as one, it looked like grass blowing in the breeze or thousands of seals bobbing about on a beach (as you’ll see below). Loved the bulge and the B-Boy dancing and the waved fan as fans waved. Once these guys write a whole record of tunes as good as those two then they’ll really be something uncontrollable. Thrustworthy.

Parquet Courts gave us intellectual NY garage rock. Master of My Craft, Always Back In Town, Borrowed Time and everything they played had a flat-haired Korean guy next to me named Steven giving me endless fistbumps. Sardonic lead singer Andrew Savage is that guy you meet at a party and he can’t get away from you soon enough because he’s super interesting and you start being clingy and wanting to hear more about how the world really works. Bit like Gareth Liddiard.

“Good evening friends,” began Something for Kate’s Paul Dempsey. Electricity caused it to run through the air, Billie Jean picked up the pace and we dashed off for more Pink Flamingos.

Village People flouted the “No Indian headdress” rule. Only THEY could get away with it…and maybe the Chief in Wayne’s World 2. The sight of 10,000 people doing YMCA was everything we all wanted it to be and the morning after Macho Man, In The Navy and Go West were still working their way around my cerebral cortex and basilar membrane (I looked that up). Altogether now “Nacho nacho man, I want to be a Nacho man.”

Edd Fisher started with Astarius’ Ancient Times, a meditative chant from “a Hawaiian mystic” according to Fisher. He also played Vil-N-X What You Gonna Do (Vil-N-X mix) and RT Sound Factor 7th Heaven (Tribute to the energy of Frankie Knuckles). A well-judged set to keep people from returning to their villages.

Theo Parrish let his lower lip hang down and switched between techno and lego blocks house from yesteryear. We hit the Ecoplex Cinema and FOR ONCE IT DIDN’T SUCK. Weirdo ‘80s videos, totally discombobulating. We returned as Parrish finished with a Colrane-y jazz moment, it was cool to watch the 45 year old Detroit cat bliss out.

About 30 people crowded around one guy playing the tambourine as they tried to keep the party going. It was tent-time with my Sheriff BroBro.

INTERSTITIAL SONGS THAT YOU DON’T REMEMBER BUT WILL REMEMBER NOW

Can’t Do Without You – Caribou. Twice.

Lazy - X-Press 2 feat. David Byrne

Superstylin’ - Groove Armada

On The Regular – Shamir

Instant Karma (We All Shine On) – John Lennon and Yoko Ono. (Ed’s note: That goes out to the guy who tried to break into my car. Peace.)

TOO MUCH INFORMATION BUT I’LL TELL YOU ANYWAY

My cousin Bess told us she saw a gross, naked d—head and his even grosser mate bounding around Inspiration Point and the naked guy bent over in front of everybody and, um, if you are familiar with the term shelving then, yes, I’ll leave it there. Not on.

Like d–kheads, please stack your shelves at home.

NICE STORY TO BALANCE THAT ONE OUT

Two couples who I’m buddies with BOTH got engaged at Golden Plains on International Women’s Day and BOTH ladies were the ones who proposed to their male partners.

OVERHEARD

“One more sun ONE MORE SUN” after the sunset. Timing.

“I was dancing to Village People and I remembered Bernie’s comment about poodles, she hates poodles.”

“While the mouse is away the cat will kiss a lot of girls.”

“Stillness is the move.”

“Nectarines. Underrated.”

“I’m mostly about the bass. I’d say 90%.”

“Lavuuuurrrn!”

“Alan! Alan! Alan! … Steve?”

“I feel like my body is car and it’s being driven by a bad driver. “

“I want to feel how soft Courtney Barnett’s tongue is.”

“Are you kidding, it wouldn’t be soft!”

“I’m past my best. I’m already 25.”

“Give love. Get love.”

“Have fun in Eltham.”

“My friend changed his name to Gremlin.”

“These aren’t real bongos (girl playing a bongo-heavy track out of her car stereo), no bongos were harmed in the making of this music.”

Thanks to Aunty Meredith, Nephew Woody, Niece Ang, the photographers Ty Johnson and Tim O’Connor and everybody who made Golden Plains 9 another winner for postcode 3333. Now go off and treat yourself to some banoffee cake.

big love,

Mikey

x

twitter.com/joeylightbulb

www.news.com.au/entertainment/music