#27: My Big Day Out

So it's Australia day.

I'm currently sitting back and listening to the Triple J Hottest 100. The chart is up to number 21 now, and hearing the original version of the salmon dance rather than the Ministry version is very refreshing. A few of my songs have already found their way into the countdown, including Hold Music by Architecture in Helsinki and Pogo by Digitalism, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed for Vitriol by Bluejuice to crack the top 10.

Yesterday was the Sydney Big Day Out, a highly anticipated event on my calender. I made sure I dressed in my best indy gear (straight from the Op-Shop of course) and got there early as to catch Dappled Cities. Unlike last time I saw them, I was sober and not doing inappropriate things, able to enjoy the outstanding musicianship of this fabulous band. It was a picturesque setting, lazing on the lawn with hundreds of other punters, with the sounds of Holy Chord ringing true in the background. They're not much for entertainers, but they sure can play a good chord.

With the sounds of the repulsive British India on my tail, I raced to the Blue stage where a crowd was gathering for Operator Please. I somehow got my backpack through security and made it to within 5 rows from the barrier, only to see all these small children gathering on side stage. They all resembled members of them band. See this is a downfall of being an only child: I have no famous siblings to follow around. No one to get me backstage passes to their concerts. The set was very flat, all members appearing rather bored. Perhaps the novelty of being rockstars is wearing off due to their level of maturity. However, they did play a cover of Whip It, which was hilarious.

I traveled across to the V Energy Local Produce Stage to catch a few songs from the Soft Tigers, at first mistaking them for cut off your hands. They were pretty average: I was planning on buying their album a few months back, but decided against it because they appeared to have Expatriate Syndrome (also known as unoriginality). All they had going for them really was an interesting dress sense.

The Hot House played host to Grafton Primary, an electro trio I only recently discovered. The lead singer was possibly the skinniest man in the history of the known world, the "keytarist" looked a tad like Julian from the Presets, and the drummer didn't seem to be doing much. However, their sound overrided their lack of presence and I couldn't stop myself from dancing for the entire set. Watch out for these guys because I reckon they're on the way up.

Belles Will Ring didn't impress me too much when they supported the Red Riders half way through last year, but from the set they produced yesterday, I think it must have just been my overpowering anticipation for my favourite band that didn't give this group a chance. Less a keyboardist and a harmonica in C (they had to ask the crowd for one, and suprisingly, someone had what they were looking for), the boys showed their versatility through a marvellous array of songs. They definitely sounded better than what they do on their album.

After dancing around to Polyester Girl by Regurgitator on the Blue Stage, I made my way across to meet Elise for some spoonage... Before I go any further, yank your head out of the gutter; all I meant was that we were watching UK sensation Spoon together, gosh. The string of songs that proceeded were certainly sensational, bringing to light my desperate to purchase their most recent album, Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga. They did, however, play a couple of songs from their album Gimme Fiction, one that has been on high rotation on my iPod for two years now. And when I thought it couldn't get any better, they finished with The Way We Get By. The entire crowd swayed to this liberating classic and reminded me of why I am such a follower of UK pop.

Still laughing about the lead singer of Spoon calling a security guard a "dipshit" for spraying the audience when it wasn't even hot, Elise and I marched to the local stage to see Bridezilla in all of their colourful, vintage-turned-trashy glory. The lead singer, supporting a bleach blonde do, had much better diction this time than Homebake. The chemistry between the violinist and the saxophonist was mystifying, even at one point seeing them sit on top of each other in some kind of erotic embrace. The huge fans on each side of the stage provided dramatic sequences of struggle and anguish, complimenting the copious amounts of eyeliner that occupied the stage. I like them. A lot.

PNAU impressed me at Homebake, however this time I made sure I got into the action, heading deep inside the boiler room. I soon became rather jealous of the winners of the Triple J competition where the prize was to dress up as a character and jump around on stage. There was a wild strawberry, a seemingly dead bird, a sun, a diamond, a love heart, a lightning bolt... possibly something else as well. The stage was imbued with colour and movement, encouraging people of all dance abilities to break out in a rhythm. There was a dirty looking man beside me who kept smiling a toothless smile at me, shuffling his feet side to side while moving his arms in a fashion that resembled our primate relatives. As much as I was freaked out by his constant staring, I noticed that the music was letting everyone enjoy themselves. I might be going out on a limb here and may change my mind soon, but I think PNAU come a close second in my list of favourite acts (I'm taking points off because their lead singer, who resembles Wolverine, needs to learn that shirts are an acceptable dress code).

Eating dinner while being politically serenaded by Billy Bragg was an interesting experience. He definitely knows how to talk. He reminded me so much of Brady. Maz and I sat on the outskirts of the crowd for Battles, a band that I had heard much praise for. However, I was persuaded by their set at all. Their noise experimentation didn't stir any emotion in me and I found myself bored within five minutes. I know there are a lot of people out there who are in awe of the talent Battles possesses, but I just didn't dig it.

After making a hasty retreat from the Green Stage and picking up a Lemonade for some bootleg vodka mixer, we found ourselves in the main arena for Arcade Fire. I haven't listened to Funeral in such a long time, and I haven't heard anything off Neon Bible, so I found their sound really refreshing. The mini orchestra they create was fascinating. I don't know how they can coordinate so many instruments into a sound that dripped solidarity. The harmonies, the rhythms, the pulsing beats. Everything was brilliant. The show stepped up in excitement when we realised Luke Steele was standing right behind us. Being the huge Sleepy Jackson fans we are, Maz and I took candid photos of the man, only to discover that Murray from the Wiggles was standing right next to him. I must say, I was rather star struck. Murray looked so different not dressed in red.

Many people would probably call me crazy for not wanting to see Rage Against the Machine, however I've just never been much of a fan of their aggressive punk rock rap mixture. Instead I went to the Converse Essential stage to get a good position for Sarah Blasko. And I didn't just get a good spot, I had a fantastic view of the stage: on the barrier smack bang in the middle. Feeling as if my legs were about to fall off from standing up for almost twelve hours straight and having to endure the shrieking from Brand New, I knew the pain was all worth it when she stepped on to the stage. I have never been so mesmerised in my life. I could not take my eyes off her. She's so shy, yet so encapsulating. She dragged me into every song that came from her lips, and she earned her place at the top of my best acts list. I'm so glad I got to see her after missing her at Homebake. She definitely has a way with words that makes me feel so complicated.

Carl Cox reminds me of Ainsley. You know, that over zealous cook from England who is unable to how a pose that doesn't brandish his shimmering white teeth. For a man of his size, I expected a deep, masculine voice to resonate, however found myself laughing at a rather high cockney accent. Listening to his set while looking for my comrades made me feel like I was on drugs. Lost, confused, blinded by the lasers scanning the crowd. I still don't know if that is a good or bad thing.

It was a pretty good day, topped off by fabulous weather. It didn't live up to my impression of Homebake, but I have a feeling that Bjork may have helped the day surpass that expectation. But she was absent. I chuckled when I saw this guy wearing an "RIP Bjork" singlet.

Also, don't try to say "break" and "rest" at the same time. Consequences ensue.



Lovemeg