What characters we were. The local chapters of the Turbojugend with their fantastic embroidered denim jackets. The bindi-sporting girls with seapunk-turquoise hair and acute bangs. The kooks in their animal costumes. The babes with their resplendent floral headgear. The wide-eyed teens taking off on their maiden Meredithian journey. The hardened rock dogs clutching a perpetual tinny. All very beautiful people in their own way, you see.
When things kick off in such a loose manner, you know you’re in for something a little special. Pond lead singer Nick Allbrook was a rock ‘n’ roll terror in an oversized dress shirt, burning through material from Beard, Wives, Denim. A fine display of classic rock acumen, harking back to Sabbath and early Funkadelic, pulled off with showmanship beyond their years.
Speaking of young’uns, local kids Snakadaktal performed their chill, radio-friendly rock with ease. A tad inoffensive, but a pleasant way to countdown to the evening.
I think Earthless’s 50 minute set was two songs long. Maybe three. What I do know is that this is the first time in history that the outdoors has been hotboxed. Shit-hot stoner rock goodness, that.
Mick Harvey, Shags Chamberlain, and a freakin’ huge hat joined Brous onstage. It all came together quite nicely, with enough musical substance on hand to match the overload of style.
“I’m living on the moon.” So sang Grimes on her goddamn triumphantly cheesy closing number, Blood Diamonds collaboration Phone Sex. Elevated at centre stage, hunched over her instrumental setup with constantly raised elbows, Claire Boucher contorted her way through a stellar runthrough of highlights from her breakthrough LP Visions. Oblivion had a dumb as hell dubstep outro. It was sick. Grimes was in control while seemingly teetering on the edge of chaos, staring intently over the dancing swarm with her blackened panda eyes while bouncing back and forth from sampler to synth.
Ticking the legacy act box this year were the reformed Sunnyboys. Alone With You was alright, but the rest of the set felt like a lull in Friday’s near flawless run of acts.
Grimes had us living on the moon, Spiritualized had us floating in space. You couldn’t have picked a greater setting, with a mix of stunning lights and the absence of light pollution creating a perfect celestial experience. Come Together was the theme for the weekend, it turned out.
Lonerism and Solitude define most of Tame Impala’s material. Kevin Parker crafted the latest album on his lonesome, pretty much, in a Parisian apartment. Tonight 12000 people came together to expunge all inner loneliness, standing arm in arm screaming their hearts out to Feels Like We Only Go Backwards. On a weekend that was pretty much nonstop highlights, Tame Impala shone that little bit brighter. Two albums and one EP deep, the Perth collective can manage to pull off a setlist that reads like a greatest hits package. Right now, they can do no wrong, and they did plenty right at Meredith.
There weren’t many elements coming together to form Omar Souleyman’s early AM appearance. A relentless beat, Souleyman’s sporadic wail, and some rather composed onstage hand-clapping. But my god, it was brilliant. Souleyman and his beatmaker didn’t hold back for a second during the whole set, and the crowd loved every moment.
A musical world away from the Syrian master, Four Tet managed to still uphold the momentum with a solid and very danceable set. It was enough to make you curse the 4am curfew, for sure.
The wind was a harsh mistress come Saturday. She left my tent a twisted wreck of snapped fibreglass and torn fabric. Oh well.
City Of Ballarat Municipal Brass Band are a bunch of sweethearts, performing their longstanding Saturday morning duties at Meredith. Twerps are also sweethearts, performing their long-overdue Meredith debut. Tracks from their corker of a debut went down a treat as the sun began pounding us into submission. New songs He’s In Stock and Work It Out, plus a Simon & Garfunkel-esque number led by guitarist Julia, were a breezy delight. All too soon, they signed off with a cover of Psychic TV’s The LaLa Song.
The drummer for the Twerps’ hearty beard was immediately put to shame by heartfelt crooner Chet Faker, who led a fairly sedate set replete with full backing band. His vocal styling became a tad overbearing to digest at times, plus the blend of electronic and organic instrumentation was a little jarring.
Shirtless, pacing the stage like a fucking caged beast, Royal Headache frontman Shogun was a volatile weapon. Around 30 seconds into the relatively downtempo Distant And Vague he pulled the plug. “Nah, too boring. It’s too hot for that shit.” Pretty funny. When they did play songs all the way through, it was incredible. Really In Love, Psychotic Episode, Girls, all firecrackers. A few golden boots went up during Honey Joy. A few more would have went up if they did their cover of Womack & Womack’s Teardrops, though.
All hail Big Jay McNeely. Making his way with sax in hand through the crowd, he made by far the best stage entrance all weekend. Probably pulled off the best set all weekend too. When he hit the stage, he took a seat front a centre, like royalty on a throne. Land Of 1000 Dances blew everything and everyone away.
Huddled weirdly close together, Hot Snakes provided service with a smile. They performed the first half of their set with Jason Kourkounis on drums, who was later subbed with Mario Rubalcaba. Rubalcaba, who performed with Earthless the night prior, was one of many performing duties this weekend – the Pond/Tame Impala lads, and Rick from Twerps/Boomgates being the others. Hot Snakes were blisteringly good, screaming their guts up with top notch punk fury.
Meredith’s shaky relationship with hip hop continued with a beguiling set from Rahzel & DJ JS-1. I guess the placing in the timetable was problematic, with the inherently stop-start flow of Rahzel’s beatboxing feeling like a Sisyphean quest to kick Saturday evening into overdrive. He was pissed at the soundperson, and wasn’t afraid of vocalising the fact. Still, it seemed to go over well with the majority of those down the front, which is more than can be said for Juiceboxxx’s Meredith appearance last year,
There was a strong contingent of The Toot Toot Toots’ friends at the barrier for their early evening set. Their unabashed joy was infectious, eventually winning over the amphitheatre. The Toots’ western rock was complemented with a bit of razzle dazzle provided by a trio of backup dancers. Not as great as the dancing on display in their Gomorrah video, but still pretty good.
Earlier in the year, Saskwatch floored Golden Plains with an arvo showcase of their pristine soul stylings. Making an elusive return to the Supernatural Amphitheatre in the same year, the band took hold of their primetime slot and managed to crush it yet again. Lead singer Nkechi Anele is a superstar, and it won’t be long until the whole world catches on.
The past few years have seen Regurgitator do some superfluous shit. It’s all pretty interesting – the costume changes, the gimmicky record and release strategies, the full-album live sets – but tonight they achieved something far more pure. In straight power-trio formation (no spandex onesies, no heavy metal wigs), they performed what could well be the set of their careers. Hearing thousands sing along to I Will Lick Your Arsehole never gets old. They’re a punk band at heart, and one of the finest this country has produced.
And then, the Turbojugend descended. There were surprisingly many of Turbonegro’s global fanbase in attendance at this far-off country location. They were in for something special. Opening with All My Friends Are Dead, the Norwegian legends didn’t let up for their whole set. New lead singer The Duke Of Nothing made his presence felt with an imposing with a snarling tiger tattoo across his considerable gut.
Bobby Gillespie spent most of his set dangling his long limbs over the front of stage. The gangly Briton was everything a frontman should be, but Primal Scream failed to truly fire. Again, we came together and it was good, but the set length was a tad overlong.
I think this is the first time I’ve actually managed to catch the Meredith Sky Show. It was a euphoric burst of mindblowing lasers. A little morsel for all your bodily sensations.
DJ Flagrant was weak, with most of the weekend’s interstitial soundtrack DJs spinning superior music. A perfunctory spin of basic hip hop selections failed to fire.
Veteran dance duo Itch-E & Scratch-E were ridiculous. Ridiculous in a good way, and also ridiculous in a bad way. I was very confused at the time, but it was overall pretty enjoyable. I think.
DJ Yamantaka Eye was last in the country performing a set at The Forum’s mezzanine at the 2012 Sugar Mountain Festival. You could have probably fit around 70 folks on the dancefloor, tops. Tonight there were considerably more people gathered as the Boredoms’ progenitor dished up a delectable serving of house beats.
There’s a recent legacy of the Saturday night closing set, and local duo Otologic proved themselves worthy of the timeslot, keeping the party pumping until sunrise.
I tried to take part of Master Song Tai Chi but my body was crying and being very uncooperative.
Easing into Sunday with some soothing soul, Hiatus Kaiyote provided a fresh take on the genre. It put a smile on the face, and sometimes that is all you need on a rough morning.
Young fella Fraser A Gorman was pretty much made to play Meredith. The dapper gent, joined by his backing band Big Harvest, charmed his way through a performance of erudite ol’ time blues. The cover of The Band’s The Weight made a little too much sense, but the originals were a delight. Stu from King Gizz might have had the easiest job on the weekend, playing the drum – a singular snare. All power to him, I suppose.
Melbourne outfit Boomgates closed their set with Whispering Or Singing. If I had my wish, the song would have gone on forever, with everyone at Meredith boogying along gently to Brendan Huntley and Steph Hughes’s stunning vocal interplay for all eternity. Sheer perfection.
Ambrose Kenny Smith, frontman for The Murlocs, snarls like an animal and hits his harmonica like it’s the last bong on Earth. A mighty display from one of the many shit-hot garage fuckers emanating from Victoria’s coastal region.
Preceding his duties as Meredith Gift commentator, JB Smoove took to the stage for a wildish improv set. Introduced with a showreel of Leon Black, his Curb Your Enthusiasm character, Smoove managed to hook up two punters onstage (who then had a surprise pash), then bring on a new sidekick with a kid named Pierce (or Piss, as Smoove soon dubbed him). Later on, the Meredith Gift make a massive evolutionary change, going from a brief sprint to a Amphitheatre-encompassing loop. Still, there were lots of boobs and doodles flailing everywhere.
Bittersweet Kicks provided an explosive send-off. Maybe a little bit too explosive for my precious mind.
There’s that feeling, that sensation, walking down the hill towards the stage, the feeling where you anticipate that slap on the back, that arm on the shoulder, that hug from a mate, or is it that feeling of spotting someone in the distance and doing it to them. It’s a lovely feeling, whatever it is, and it only happens at Meredith.
BY LACHLAN KANONIUK
LOVED: The most consistently brilliant run of acts ol’ Aunty has ever presented.
HATED: Coming home/down.
DRANK: Bloody Marys from Eric’s Terrace. I mean, they weren’t great, but they hit the spot. Oh and those coconuts were delicious. And more than a couple of slabs of Phoenix cans.
