Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Good timing and a sense of theatre makes for a solid hitout at Golden Plains

If there was any doubt about the contrary nature of Victorian weather, it was at turns washed away and burned alive between Saturday and Monday at Golden Plains. Despite the at times torrential whale of precipitation that permeated the majority of the weekend, I managed to earn a reasonable shade of sunburn. No matter. We had a big group and big ambitions, most of which were dashed once the first couple of dabs flittered across the collective brow of the festival going masses. We set up camp, erected the traditional flag of Guam and reassessed. Adjustments were made to initial expectations and a jolly good time was had by all except Bec 2 who was unconscious for most of Sunday night yet suffered no hangover whatsoever. Crivens!

Dinosaur Jr were enormous. The J. Mascis plastered across the jumbo screen behind the band seemed a more fitting size given the scale of the sound he produced. My musical knowledge is limited to Rivers of Babylon on a Casio, but, as I understand it, a stack of amps the combined size of a bull elephant will have that sort of effect. Feel The Pain was rather fucking fantastic, fast too. Pavement I had only a vague recollection of which was a personal hindrance. Patrons who appeared to be of a similar age to me were nodding sagely at each other as the opening chords of the next song rang out; despite being present for the whole set, I couldn't help but feel I was missing something significant.

Midnight Juggernauts churned out by far the best set I'd seen in three sightings and probably pipped Dinosaur Jr for best in show. Vincent Vendetta set sail across an ocean of hands during Into The Galaxy and as if on cue a sailor's hat was produced from the crowd. Vendetta, having donned his recently acquired Popeye style gobcap, aspied no hospitable outcrop on his journey south so came about, the wind at his back and the stage in sight. Some rough weather was cause for unbalance (someone threw what appeared to be a bucket of water in his face) but he docked safely and finished the set. I was hoping the rest of the band would break into the nautical interlude from Six Months In A Leaky Boat while Vendetta did his Jesse Martin impersonation but it wasn't to be. Shortly before their set began, the heavens opened and rain, er, rained down at a fair old pace for 15 minutes or so. We wisely retreated to the marquee at hilltop but bolted down for the start of the set which coincided with the rain stopping.

Cruel Sea or more specifically Tex Perkins were assured, Big Pink finished on an unsurprising but anthemic note with Dominoes, and Super Wild Horses were clunky but spirited and fun. Then, there was Monotonix. Monotonix were utterly ridiculous. It was posited to me that if you vomited into a bowl, fed it to Wolfmother and recorded the sound of them defecating, you'd approach something like Monotonix. Music was hardly the point though; when you can play drums held aloft by a crowd of people in the pouring rain, I'd doubt many punters would be bothered about the quality of songwriting.

In non musical news, I missed the all female nude mudwrestling final, but was witness to the traditional ranga rally at the base of the pink tree. My brother tried to infiltrate the ranga ranks but was decapped by a swarthy scarlet enforcer who alerted him to the perils of pursuing this ill-advised deception. That wasn't what he actually said, obviously. People went missing, were found, lost again and I managed to regain feeling in my feet once the Juggernauts were done. I'll go again next year I think.

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