I arrive into Melbourne’s Tullamarine airport in just after 10am on a Friday morning. I adjust my watch to the civilised time zone, retrieve up my excess luggage (a large camping gazebo capable of keeping the sun off a small herd of cattle), and then pick up the 8-seater Kia Carnival I had booked to transport a ramshackle variety of music/beer/camping expats to the little town of Meredith in rural Victoria. Pretty much the exact ritual I’ve engaged in five out the past six years.
With a population just a tad over 1,000, the town of Meredith swells up at least twice a year (March and November) when it plays host to arguably the best music festivals in Australia – the Meredith Music Festival and its slightly younger brother, Golden Plains. I’m here for the latter.
The events are usually deified by those who have attended and for good reason. We’re trusted to bring our own food and drink – yes, alcoholic beverages – to the festival, meaning you don’t have to ransom your loved ones off to be able to afford the rancid drop you get at your other mainstream festivals (though if you want to buy alcohol and food, their are still plenty of options. There are brilliant amenities such as hot showers and composting toilets that are never crowded. It’s not supported commercially by a third party so you’re not bombarded with advertising or products.
Then there is of course festival organiser Aunty Meredith’s deft hand at picking music acts that not only are esoteric and varied but usually brilliant. Avoiding the big name brands bands also seems to limit the dickhead appeal. Instead you get a lot of beards and band t-shirts and about 10,000 people who probably once considered working in a record store.
Everyone plays on the same stage. Everyone sees the same bands whether they’re great or completely shithouse. There is no rushing between stages to catch the first ten minutes of this or the last ten minutes of that. You can sit or stand and relax with a tinnie and enjoy the festival with no stress. It’s a shared musical experience.
Humble Meredith puts on the best run music festival I’ve been too and yes, I can’t help but feel slightly smug when I hear people exclaiming their appreciation of other less beings – the Big Day Outs, the Harvests, and the ATPs. These people just haven’t been to Golden Plains. They’ve only been to abstractions of the perfect music festival.
Golden Plains is the real deal.
Day One
After piling eleven people along with camping gear into a convey of cars, a quick coffee and egg and bacon roll, my usual Golden Plains cadre manages to leave Melbourne at about nine AM. Most of our little group have travelled from interstate to attend the festival, meaning getting camping essentials together can be a bit hard to coordinate on such a short turnaround so leaving at 9am is quite a feat given that historically we’re usually leaving at 11am often still hungover from the night before… Still, we only manage to get into the campsite at midday after an extended wait in the car at the festival entrance. They’ve got to let us on to the site in groups to prevent total chaos. Smart thinking.
It’s a bit gloomy this morning but as we hit the town of Meredith the usual sparkling March weather makes its customary appearance and any nightmares of setting up tents in the rain evaporate. We make it into the campground at midday and venture over to the always reliable Lower Pines camping area. It’s a bit further away from the action but with a lot more space for spreading out our tents and large amount of supplies. Space is being eaten up fast by other punters so we throw down our gear and begin hastily erecting the camping gazebo I’d transported from Brisbane. A few tents, inflatable mattresses and welcoming beers later, we’re ready for the forklifter punk of opening act SixFtHick.
SixFtHick were actually meant to play last year’s festival but didn’t actually end up performing due to, I presume, personal commitments [I think Ben was having an operation - Ed]. That’s OK, Aunty Meredith forgives all, and instead of abusing the band and/or their partners on Twitter, she’s kind enough to invite them back for 2014’s iteration and they reward her generosity by playing the most impressive opening festival slot I’ve seen in years.
As per usual, brother Geoff and Ben are the focal point of the performance, their snarling harmonies and sex infested punk combine well with their frequent self-inflicted body slam. Grimy rock oozes from their pores and a wild and chaotic buzz runs through the crowd. Ben manages to cut his forehead on the drum kit and performs most of the set with blood pouring from a cut above his eye. Highlights include a rousing rendition of ‘White Light, Wet Heat’ as well as the closing song where Ben performs a call and response number with brother Geoff from the sanctuary of a nearby gumtree. Trust vintage ‘hick to inspire the beer-swilling mood that quickly descends over the Meredith Amphitheatre.
I retire to my refuge on the hill to have more drinks with friends and casually take in the relaxed vibe created by Andras Fox whose plays a pleasant set of minimalist/RnB inspired electronic complemented by the smooth vocals of Oscar Key Sung. The mood changes rapidly again as Fox is followed by the fervent dance of UK producer Gold Panda, who fervently throws himself about his mixing equipment with surprisingly enthusiasm considering the mid-afternoon heat. A crowd begins to gather and seems more than content to dance despite the mid afternoon timeslot.
Peer pressure reigns and I abandon the music temporarily to demonstrate my feeble skills at totem tennis and volleyball at the nearby dedicated ‘sports arena’ unfortunately missing out on Adalita. I also listen absently to King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard while socialising over a few Pink Flamingos, Aunty’s drink of choice. They thrash out their solid brand of psychedelic rock but it’s not enough to move me from hillside vantage point towards the stage. Those in my troupe who venture down front of stage later assure me that I missed a festival highlight.
The temperature begins to drop rapidly and I wander back to camp for warm clothes and a few more casual beers with friends before returning in time for Yo La Tengo who play a well balanced set filled with new and old songs from their impressively long career. While we get the older classics like ‘Sugarcube’ and ‘Stockholm Syndrome’, it’s the newer songs off 2013’s Fade that prove to be the most alluring, with the beautiful ‘Before We Run’ proving the pick of the bunch. The band finish with the mind-bending jam of ‘Pass The Hatchet, I Think I’m Goodkind’.
To be honest, I’m pretty boozed by the time The Drones start. I think they play an extremely solid set, with rousing versions of ‘Baby^2′ and ‘Shark Fin Blues’ dragging many sceptical punters towards the stage. They follow with the moody and frankly terrifying ‘Laika’, a song I think is probably now their best. With online forums debating the current fate of the band, rumours are aflamed when they appear Noga-less who is apparently in Europe. Ex-drummer Christian Strybosch fills in admirably though. They close with ‘Downbound Train’ and a cover of John Lennon’s ‘Well, Well, Well’.
I’m running near empty already due to a combination of exhaustion and all day alcohol consumption, and I catch the majority of soul singer Charles Bradley from the safety of the Meredith Eye. While arguably less upbeat than his legendary 2012 appearance, Bradley still demonstrates his outstanding showmanship, giving the younger audience perhaps a taste of what James Brown or Marvin Gaye might have been like back in the 1960s or ’70s.
I somewhat reluctantly stumble back to camp. To be continued.
Photos by Alex “Moss” Conomos.
