V Festival

As I spent the entirety of last summer abroad, with much regret I missed all the madness of the festival season. But as there is one more festival that just so happens to fall in autumn, today I am back in the festival spirit; ticket in hand, party dress on and hipflask of whiskey for the long tram ride to the Melbourne Showgrounds. It’s time for V Fest…

Today was very much about the female gender forging a name for themselves, with Howling Bells, The Dø, The Kills and Jenny Lewis showing us that they are capable of rocking just as hard as their male counterparts. The festival line-up was also something of an ironic flashback to decades past, with appearances from the likes of Vanilla Ice and The Human League.

Ex-pats Howling Bells, who relocated to the UK a few years earlier, have found themselves back on home shores as one of the opening acts for the day. Their allocated time means a vast majority of punters missed out on what was a convincing set. There is an almost beautiful nostalgia that runs deeply throughout their songs, as is evermore apparent in second song for the set, Setting Sun. With the truism “we’ll rise and fall just like the setting sun”, Stein commands attention with her powerful enthralling vocals. Throughout Low Happening, we watch as she sways seductively onstage to the thumping drums, taunting us with the words “I watch you, like you watch me” in that bewitching voice of hers. The Bells follow this up with the loud finger-grinding guitars of Digital Hearts off the recent Radio Wars record. I find myself mesmerized, wanting to stay for the remainder of the set, but it’s time to head to Tame Impala.

The Perth trio bring to Melbourne their take on 60s psychedelic stoner rock; think meandering guitar licks loaded with distortion, plenty of rhythmic drum breakdowns and clashy cymbal-work. When I walked in midway through their set, I find a second guitarist joining them onstage (perhaps a new member?), sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing about with the distortion on his guitar to create some sort of intensely hypnotic soundscape. The deep, heavy bass lines and instrumental interludes that characterise their sound hold maturity beyond their years; while they may look like they only just graduated from high school, by no means underestimate their musical capabilities. Beguiling live, it is understandable why they have already played support slots for the likes of Yeasayer and MGMT. Finishing up with one of their better known tracks Half Full Glass of Wine, the boys make interesting use of time changes, kicking off with quick paced drums that merge into a slower sway. This one has everyone clapping along right until the killer guitar solo at the end. If this is any indication of the standard of music to follow for the remainder of the festival, it’s going to be a good day.

It seems I spoke too soon. Venturing across the grounds looking for a grassy knoll to perch on for a cigarette, I stumble upon Duffy. Think Britney Spears meets Dolly Parton. It’s like sonical suicide. What the hell was Richard Branson thinking? I make my way to the farthest point of the venue so as not to be subjected to this sad display of ‘musical talent’. I really need a cigarette now…

Cigarette aside, I make my way back to the other stage as Finnish/French duo The Dø, accompanied by a touring drummer, are next up. As the eccentric female upfront, Olivia Merilahti pounces out in her chaotic rainbow dress and colourful facial markings, maracas in hand. Thank god, no sign of Duffy here. The other half of the duo, Dan calls to the audience to clap along to their bobby disco beats, dancing about the stage in his smurf-blue pants. I notice a random guy to the side of stage wearing a cape. I wonder what that is all about…

Their sound is a lot of work for just two people to take on, but they make it look easy. At times, Olivia will flit between guitar and tambourine and keys, then back to guitar again, while Dan will jump from keys to moog to bass. This is where random cape guy comes in – he is the one who runs onstage to collect the miscellaneous instruments thrown about during the set. Meanwhile, their drummer has a spaceship of assorted percussion surrounding him that resembles a baby mobile. The quirky pair bounce-off one another nicely; in one song Dan calls and Olivia answers accordingly in a kind of funky duet. Her voice has a unique quality to it, a high-pitched almost shriek-like sound that is surprisingly catchy and gets stuck in your head (if you’ve ever heard their track On My Shoulders you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about). Halfway through this song they all stop abruptly, Olivia facing the crowd with hand raised in a salute to the crowd. Then just as quickly as they had stop, they jump right back into it again with their murky guitar sounds and up-tempo drums. Just to mix it up a bit, the little lady gives us big attitude as she breaks into a rap for one number, jumping about the edge of the stage in her high-tops. A couple of new tracks appeared on the set list before it was time for the aforementioned track that has earned them overnight international recognition. They wrap all their musical mayhem up with what seemed to be a Queens of the Stone Age tribute guitar riff. I don’t really get it, but I don’t think we were ever really intended to. The Dø (whose name originates from the first and last notes in the standard scale) leave no musical stone unturned. They have a distinctly original sound that I find hard to compare to anything else, encompassing just about everything from neo-folk to trip hop. I think I’ve found my new favourite band.

Now behold - Elbow. Not the joint between your forearm and your shoulder, but rather the Pommy bastards (or so they refer to themselves) with a couple of violinists in tow. Guy Carvey charmed the crowd, rattling off jokes in that Manchester accent of his. “What did the cow say to the farmer?” he quips, “Why do you never kiss me when you’re feeling my tits?” Jokes aside, it’s time to get down to business. Elbow’s ethereal tones that caress your ears are perfect for this time of day, as I laze about the grass in the afternoon sunshine with my friends. They have a consolidated sound that can only come from a group who have been playing together for some nineteen years now. Layers of strings bleed into one another over the black and whites and carefully crafted bass lines. Old favourites such as Grounds for Divorce, Then and Leaders of the Free World were delivered flawlessly. Elbow have a delicately polished sound that I feel is better suited to a more intimate setting; they lack an element of passion that is needed to hold the crowd’s attention for a full set at a festival such as this. Time for me to move on…

As I make my way to the Virgin Stage for what I was sure to be the set of the day, I soon realise that every other festival-goer has the same idea. Local lads The Temper Trap have fast been making a name for themselves in the music industry of late, having just played a rigorous schedule at SXSW and are about to make the big move overseas to settle in Europe. Great news for those boys, but not so good for little old me. Heard a bit of Science of Fear from the back before deciding to venture off while I wait for this afternoon’s surprise act…Vanilla Ice!

Yes, I’m chuffed. It’s more hilarious than anything else. As the bass hook to Under Pressure rang out, everyone knew what time it was. Robert van Winkle himself, bringing that one hit wonder to the stage. This takes me back to a decade prior when I would listen to Ice Ice Baby in my bedroom with my friends after school and we would try to memorise all the lyrics. I thought we were the only ones. Apparently not; I am somewhat relieved to find I’m not the only person present who could recite from start to finish every single lyric to this song, right down to “Will it ever stop? Yo, I don’t know”. I really don’t know. The white boy then played that funky music as he launched into his own rendition of that memorable Wild Cherry hit.

Despite leaving that stage in fine spirits, the usual festival irritants subsequently followed. A quick bathroom dash turned into a forty-five minute ordeal, my friends and I left looking longingly at the rather beckoning bush to our right. If only we were boys…

Next, the tricky set time clash left me dashing between stages to divide my time betweenRazorlight, Madness and The Kills. My fifteen minutes allocated for Razorlight were cut short due to the previously mentioned kilometer-long queue. I just caught In the Morning before racing across to that stage for Madness.

And madness it was. Those boys sure have stamina! It’s been twenty-three years since they’ve visited our shores, and though they may have lost some hair in that time, they sure as hell haven’t lost their groove. The forefathers of ska were by far the showiest act of the day, wowing the crowd with both some things old, some things new. The stage was overcrowded with a jamboree of guitars, sax, keys, horns, bass and drums. Appropriately named, Madness made for a captivating show as they rattled off most of their hits to the comparatively younger crowd. They showed the young things that you’re never too old…

With just two onstage, The Kills make ample use of synthesized drums to supply the beats for their cheap trash rock’n’roll. At times both are armed with guitars, while at others Alison Mosshart [pictured] leaves partner-in-crime Jamie to do the instrumental work as she gently howls over the top. Leopard-printed Mosshart gets up on the speakers in her amazing gold boots, with everyone clapping along to start off Alphabet Pony. Alison seems to lose her confidence momentarily though, as she nervously lights up a smoke before proceeding to spit at her feet. She then stalks the stage anxiously whilst Jamie holds the fort with his six string, before propping herself up on the speaker to play Kissy Kissy. The Kills boast a typically minimalistic raw sound that one can only expect from a two-piece, but with a conviction that gives them a dead-cool credibility.

Ahhh, The Kaiser Chiefs. One of those bands that I know I know, but I’m not so sure what songs they play. Sure enough though, when you hear them there is that dawning realization; far too much radio play means you sadly know each and every word. Regardless, everyone here is in good form, singing along merrily to Modern Way. Of all the new tracks, it was Addicted to Drugs that saw the crowd launch into a frenzy of handclaps that probably owed more to its recent extenuous airplay than anything else. Majority of their set list was composed of old favourites such as I Predict a Riot and Ruby. All in all, a good festival band that really knows how to wind up the crowd. Not surprisingly though, there is a mass exodus midway through in anticipation for Snow Patrol and The Human League. I decide to make my way to the latter first.

It’s time to take a step back in time with The Human League. The two young lasses that were plucked out of an audience some twenty-eight years ago are back up onstage with Philip Oakley, apparently donning the same super, inappropriately short sequined mini-dresses as they were back then. To my delight, there were not one but two keytars (with one player looking like a pirate of sorts with his headbanded lengthy hair and porn-star moustache) accompanying the fellows behind the keys/moog and the synthesized drumkit. Oakley announces to the crowd that they’ll be playing hits off their classic 1981 album Dare. Judging from a quick glance about the audience, this would have been released before most were even born. I don’t hear anyone complaining though. Old-timer Don’t You Want Me? was not too outdated to be lapped up by the youth, as well as Together in Electric Dreams (which was in fact a collaboration of Oakley’s). But my pick of the set was hands down ‘Do or Die’; the boppy electro number had my friend and I bouncing all over the place. Notably, the lads were dressed from head-to-toe in black, whilst the entirety of their equipment was white – everything, from his earpiece, the microphones and stands to the drumkit and keytars…everything! As an eighties child, their novelty retro futurism takes me far, far back to a time that hasn’t been long since forgotten…

I hesitantly leave the League behind in a vain attempt to catch the latter half of Snow Patrol’s set. Well and truly packed out, I eventually find myself a little nook on the hill for my friends and I to perch ourselves on. With a stadium-like light show as their backdrop, they don’t seem to be doing this half-heartedly. Forever the charismatic showman, Gary Lightbody invites us all to clap along to Shut Your Eyes before adding, “if you’ve got a bad hangover, then just get a whole bunch of people to clap at you. That’ll sort you right out.” He apparently does like a good chinwag, chatting away at every opportunity during song interludes. When the two simple guitar notes introducing Chasing Cars rang out over the speakers, one could barely hear Lightbody’s earnest vocals over the audience’s own rendition. That is one thing these Scottish/Irish chaps excel at – the good old communal sing-alongs. And then, of course, the lighters came out. They introduce a new song into the set, Crack the Shutters which they deliver well, though admittedly it does sound just like every other lovesick Snow Patrol track. With it’s wall of guitars, Open Your Eyes stands strong above the rest, though they choose to wind the set up with You’re All I Have.

I am undecided how I feel about this evening’s headline; as the last remaining band, every man and his dog have headed in that general direction. But as obligation holds, I go with the crowd in search of The Killers. I arrive to find a feather-adorned Brandon Flowers amongst the smoke and small arrangement of various plant-life onstage. To my surprise, the crowd is rather well-behaved for the given time of night. The Vegas boys launch into their earlier hit Somebody Told Me and I’m absorbed in a drunken karaoke of sorts, reiterating the commercial viability of their debut album Hot Fuss. I find myself impelled to sing along as the crowd drown out Flowers’ own vocals. Despite his efforts to be genuine in a mid-song soliloquy about lost love in For Reasons Unknown, it all came out sounding a bit soppy and clichéd. On a more funked-up note, Joy Ride features a swinging saxophone solo that adds a nice touch. So too does the beautiful black mosaic piano that Brandon assaults for Bling (Confession of a King). I am pondering how they managed to take that along for the festival tour when a random girl to my right informs me that her friend had a threesome with Russell Brand last week. Nice. Gotta love festivals.

Smile Like You Mean It and Human find their way into the set list, before the piano-driven Sam’s Town, which also employs the handiwork of a touring violinist. It just occurs to me that I am right back standing where I was a year prior watching the Smashing Pumpkins. Much the same, everyone is huddled together, staring wide-eyed up at the stage and singing their hearts out like their lives depend on it. Read My Mind lightens the mood up a tad when one game punter ran onstage much to the dismay of the security left chasing after him. Brandon seems unphased by the whole thing. Their ever-popular song of jealous love, Mr Brightside, is well received by the crowd with its frenzied display of pyrotechnics. Theatrics aside though, I can’t help but feel The Killers are a tad anti-climatic after the eighties extravaganza that was The Human League.

They have a predictability to their songs; slow starts that launch into an over-dramatic build up, finishing with their typical break down to end, as is evident in Shadowplay and A Dustland Fairytale. But the boys do not sell themselves short in terms of instrumental quality, with their inclusion of a violinist and piano within the set that mean would make do without. Kudos to The Killers for that. As they left the stage, I am informed that there is a party with free booze in town, so it’s settled. I make a dash attempt to hop on the train before the other few thousand people join me in my decision. As I was walking through the gates I hear the boys return to the stage to play Bones with cheers from the loyal crowd.

All in all a great day. But I have one question for Richard Branson…can we have some more toilets next year?? Please! And, provided there’s no sign of Duffy, all will be forgiven…

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