The Playground Weekender was one of the hot tickets on my festival calendar, with a smokingly eclectic musical lineup coupled with the chance to experience for the very first time in Sydney the whole European festival vibe – the event was set over three days in the beautiful surrounds of the Del Rio Resort. I will say one thing to start with, though: I do not do canvas. Tents do not suit my strut. So despite being provided with a camping ticket, I instead based myself at one of the stately homes in the Wiseman’s Ferry hinterland. This means I can’t tell you about the camping experience, but I did come away with in-depth knowledge of catching of ferries across to the Del Rio Resort. And they were no great drama once we got into the rhythm of when we could expect to find them.

Friday: when my ferry smiles at me I go Del Rio

On Friday night we were not quite in that rhythm yet, so we were a bit nonplussed by the length of the line when we got down to the wharf. But it turned out the ferry was bigger than the line and we were on our way across the water to Del Rio. We’d missed Mad Professor and Sydney reggae exponents The Resurrectors, but we were in time for Fat Freddy’s Drop who had been joined on stage by Resurrectors member Ras Roni). Fat Freddy’s Drop were an early contender for set of the festival: the sound was dialled in nicely to capture both Joe Dukie’s gorgeous vocals and the muscle of FFD’s horns, and there was very little sound bleed from the Cocktail Tent which was the only other stage open on this Friday night.

As Fat Freddy’s wound up, we wandered back to the wharf. We didn’t have much idea about the dimensions of the site as yet, although we had discovered there were lots of hay bales to sit on in the Cocktail Tent. As the organisers have correctly surmised, nothing says ‘cocktail’ in quite the same way as ‘hay bale’ does.

Saturday; no introdogtions necessary

We rose on Saturday and wandered into town for breakfast. Most everyone in town was wearing festival wristbands, and we wondered what happens in Wiseman’s Ferry when there isn’t a big music festival going on. Then down to the ferry wharf, where we were told that there were 60 police and drug dogs across the water, and that if we were carrying anything then we should dump them (no pun intended, we assume.) Some of those assembled wandered off into the bushes while others set fire to things that they had probably been planning to set fire to at a later time.

However, it turned out that this well-meaning advice was actually bollocks. There were vinyl cut signs at the venue advising that “Drug dogs are coming” – perhaps they had already arrived, but I didn’t see them during the Festival. And although I noticed that The Cops were scheduled to play on the main stage at 2pm, I didn’t see any actual cops until several hours later. One can understand the concerns the organisers might have had about being shut down, but a little less crying wolf and a little more accurate information wouldn’t have been a bad thing.

The ferry arrives and arriving on site in daylight, we realised just what a stunning venue it is. A massive escarpment towers over the Del Rio Resort, and copping a face full of the stunning backdrop as you walk towards the main stage was truly a sight to behold. We scope out the venue – food, check; awesomely good Guatemalan coffee, check; swimming pool where the Flashprance dancers have momentarily displaced Senior Spitch from the decks to perform what can only be described as burlesque aerobics; check.

But there is music to be had, so we wandered back to the Cocktail Tent to check out Rephrase, via the Big Top where the Versionaries were doing their thing, with their vocalist Vina warming up the crowd. And then via the main stage, where Pivot were making an awful lot of noise for just two people. The Cocktail Tent has, in no particular order, hay bales, lounges, cocktails, table tennis tables, foosball tables and Rephrase. Rephrase has an early contender for album of the year with Little Victories and the live show (with Rephrase, Noel Boogie and Jimi Polar) does the material full justice. I slurped on a Bloody Mary that was really rather good, played ‘spot the samples’ as Rephrase’s funk flowed through my ears and watched people who were balancing their beers on the table tennis table while trying to work whether hitting a winner was worth the risk of upending their beer in the process. Then as Rephrase finishes, “Don’t worry, be happy”, is played. We didn’t, and we were.

A quick glance at the set times and we were off again to catch Funktrust at the Big Top. But as it transpired they were having ferry issues, and so the Versionaries play on, this time fronted by Ras Roni (those of you keeping score will know by now this was the third act fronted by the man). We sat in the shade under a tree, drank beers and placed bets as to how many more acts Ras Roni would front that weekend. And while we were drinking beers, we kept a close eye on our empties, because in a very clever example of enviro-thinking, each can was worth 50 cents when you went back to buy your next round. This meant a lot less rubbish around the place, and it also meant that those with thirst greater than their means could scavenge a drink if they were so inclined. Ras Roni and the Versionaries continued to lay down some lovely reggae, and a small bird later told me we were privileged enough to hear some work in progress tracks for Ras Roni’s new project.

Funktrust swung into things and sized up the afternoon vibe brilliantly: Jamie Cullum’s Get Your Way got a spin, and it was laid back enough for those under the trees lacking energy to start getting their groove on. Funktrust were followed by MC The Tongue & DJ Diaz. The Tongue is the latest signing by Elefant Traks, a label not known for signing dud MCs. Nor have they started with the Tongue, and a bit of turntablism from Diaz was appreciated by the crowd as well.

Then Kid Kenobi hit the stage, starting with an instrumental version of Paul Simon’s Take me to the Mardi Gras. That got us on our feet and we danced our way back to the Cocktail Tent, where I make my first ‘Festival Find™’. A ‘Festival Find™’ is a brilliant act that you stumble upon that you would never have found in the ordinary course of things, and this onhe was called called Describe Eliza. A Melbourne band with strong funk leanings, they are fronted by a female singer whose voice is the sort that comes to mind when people talk about “genuine soul voices”. I bought a copy of their EP and I wasn’t not the only one.

[love] Tattoo was on next in the Cocktail Tent and took things into deep and tribal territory. John Wall wandered in, obviously keen to check out what tunes his main competitor in the ‘Sydney’s least hirsute DJ’ contest was playing. A bloke dancing at the front of the tent, throwing his water bottle up in the air (as you do), got it stuck in the fabric strung between the tent poles. After about fifteen minutes of launching other people’s water bottles at it, he dislodged it. Applause all round, and then Inner City’s Good Life was dropped, in case anyone had forgotten what kind of life they were currently in the middle of.

But there were things at this music festival besides music and one of them was cabaret, so we were moving again, this time to the cabaret tent for the ‘So you think you are a clever ****’ trivia. Being so clever as to get there early, we catch the Two Fat Bastards who are two guys in fat suits who play mandolin and ukulele. Badly, although badly in an amusing way. They started with You are my sunshine, but they didn’t know how to finish it so they just stopped. A good choice.

Trivia starts and it turned out that we weren’t such clever ****s after all, although we did win some free beer and we do get to see the Flashprance dancers again (and at this point we were taking bets as to whether the Flashprance dancers would appear more often that Ras Roni.) We saw people in fancy dress starting to stream from the camping area up to the main stage area and we decided to join them. There were boy scouts, clowns, the Phantom, people painted blue, and Pucci print people. Underneath my Panama hat, I decided to stay in character as Mr Brian Burke (which meant that if you’ve read this far, you are morally and politically compromised).

We went back to the Cocktail Tent, where the Future Classic goodness was continuing in the form of Deepchild, who with regular partner in crime Campbell McGuiness on drum pads was cornering the market in all things dubby, bleepy and good. But the feet of a reviewer are never still, and with Elbow coming on to the main stage it was time to go back out there.

Festival Find™ number 2. I don’t feed my inner rock pig very often, but when I do I like to find the tastiest morsels possible, and that would be Elbow. Tremendous energy, some excellent guitar work, and that sort of attitude that says “We’ve just bottled a Mancunian rock god and we’ll sell you some after the show.” A girl dressed as a pirate was going beserk in front of me, putting her plastic sword in the air, and swinging it to the rhythm like she just didn’t care.

“Hey”, I say, “Nice sword!”
“Thanks!”, she says, “How good are these guys?”
“Elbow get pirate seal of approval”, I write in my notebook.

Elbow finish blazingly and we swing back to the Cocktail Tent to check out Jamie Lloyd and Jimi Polar (the latter doing his second shift of the day). Jamie Lloyd was singing and although the vertical hold control for his head appeared to be on the blink, it was strangely hypnotic and mighty, mighty fine.

But the inner rock pig was growling again and only a dose of !!! could calm it down. So it’s back out to the main stage again. One of their vocalists took the stage in a pair of shorts that would give ITM’s own kzzy cause for concern, but they quickly showed why they had a reputation for inspired craziness in their live shows. I bumped into pirate girl again, this time next to a girl who was enthusiastically waving a double-headed plastic battle-axe in the air. !!! were hitting their punk funk straps (and also hitting other random things on the stage). The black king from the giant chess set had made its way to the front of the stage and was enthusiastically being waved in the air (the black queen was doing the same thing when we popped back into the Cocktail Tent to see the Little Beasties – make of that what you will.) When !!! finished we walked back along the river to the wharf to get the last ferry at midnight. The mood on the ferry was buzzing: we’d had a superb day of music topped off with energy of !!!, and were happy to be alive.

Sunday: everybody loves the sunshine

Sunday morning, and as we swung off the ferry, Ozi Batla of Astronomy Class was “check check”-ing and “one-two”-ing his way through an on-the-fly sound check. He then launched into Rolling Thunder (the only thunder we were likely to see that day, given the perfect blue skies) and the band worked their way through their recent album Exit Strategy with the assistance of The Tongue (no sign of Ras Roni as yet today), who joined them at about half time. Ozi Batla is one of my favourite MCs and if you’d been watching this set, you’d know exactly why.

As Astronomy Class finished, we went in search more of the superb Guatemalan coffee before heading back to the main stage to check out New Zealand dub reggae superstars The Black Seeds. The sun is still high in the sky but the main stage was casting enough shadow to create a shaded dance floor big enough to hold about 30 people. That dance floor was packed: we decided to recline under some trees instead. There was a bit much bass in the mix as the Black Seeds first fired up; it was quickly fixed, and I mention it only because it was the first time in the entire weekend that the sound was anything other than prime. The Black Seeds worked through Fire and Turn it Around and this caused us to turn it around and head back to Big Top where Bugz in the Attic were due to be starting.
As we arrive though, the music sounded more like Black Grass than the Bugz, and after some complex astronomical calculations we surmised this was because Black Grass was still playing and the Bugz were yet to start. This was all good though, because Black Grass were playing some seriously on-point hip hop with solid dollops of funk. And the Bugz were on soon enough: the same astronomical calculations told us that the beats had become more broken, skittish; some drum’n’bass worked its way into the proceedings.

Festival wanderlust kicked in again and we wandered back to the main stage, passing by Incognito who were doing a wonderful reading of “Everybody loves the sunshine”, before heading back to the Cocktail Tent to see Mark Pritchard. By this point we had worked out that when wanderlust kicks in, beer drinking needs to be considered, as licensing requirements prevented alcohol being taken from one part of the Festival site to the other. Again, no great drama once you are used to it; and not by any means the most annoying consequences of what passes for licensing laws in New South Wales.

Mark Pritchard is a little bit more bleepy and techy than I was expecting for a Mr Scruff warm up set, but we took up position on the grass at the back of the tent behind the giant chess set (that you’ll remember from yesterday) and the giant Jenga set (that’s been there all the time but whose pieces are less conducive to dance moves). The white queen appeared to have gone missing but a game of chess continues with some poor hapless chap directed to stand on the chess board in its place. He was still there as Mr Scruff came on and began to tap his foot appreciatively, and he wasn’t the only one: Mr Scruff started in dancefloor jazz territory and was perfect for this Sunday afternoon. Supple and sinuous saxophone lines were punctuated only by the rattle of wood as another giant Jenga tower bit the dust.

A brief excursion was made to Operator Please on the main stage but there seemed little reason to be anywhere other than within earshot of the Scruffy One, who still didn’t have much of a dance floor to work with but had instead an absolutely packed back lawn. From which we could hear the Mess Hall end, so we wandered across for Who Made Who, or at least, Who Made Who’s sound check, light check and smoke machine check. The great Danes finally made it on stage dressed as the Incredible Hulk, Robin Hood and Pocohontas (as you do when you are Danish) and roared into Out the Door as their opener, keeping it roaring through the best bits of their canon including a rather stripped back version of Satisfaction. There were duelling guitars, a Hulking drummer standing on his drum kit and hammering out a rhythm on the main stage superstructure, and a chap in a skeleton suit running around the stage for some extra colour and movement. Dancing just in front of me, I saw: RAS RONI! But he did not get up on stage with them, which is a pity as I would have won my bet.

As Who Made Who finished, the crowd surged en masse down to the Big Top for Laurent Garnier; I went a little further to grab some food and chowed down as Tom Middleton was finishing his set. It sounded as though he had brought his party set along: I heard Sunshine of your Love and the crowd sang along to You Could Be Loved. As there are few better party DJs than Tom Middleton, to have the party set wasn’t a bad thing at all.

And then I was moving again, back against the tide to see Mr Scruff. It became clear once I was there that nearly everyone at the Festival at this stage had gone to see Laurent Garnier: The Dears were playing on the main stage to a crowd of well, not many, if any. And Mr Scruff was doing wonderful work (straight up funk from Leftie’s Soul Connection, into an Irish reel, into some drum’n’bass) in the Cocktail Tent to a similar sized crowd. But it’s the tunes that concerned me, and I sucked the last of the marrow out of the Festival with Mr Scruff before slithering back to the ferry to begin the trip home.

So if you’ve read all the way through this review hoping to find out what Laurent Garnier was like, can’t help you too much. Sorry about that (_¬Editor’s note: he was excellent_).

Summary: summery, some (mo’?) money

So here’s where we draw all of the above together: this is where the quotes for next year’s Festival will come from (other than “Elbow got the pirate seal of approval” – that has to be a pull quote waiting to happen). You’ll notice I’ve said “next year’s festival”. I really, really, really hope there is one because the Playground Weekender was everything a festival should be. There was a complete absence of aggro. The production quality was consistently top notch. As you will have gathered from my gushing about many of the artists above, the Playground team know a bit about booking acts. Even though I would have been happy with just Mr Scruff and Fat Freddy’s Drop, the line-up really was jaw-droppingly good.

So where were all the folks? Well, this wasn’t a festival for the ‘short attention span’ generation (and anyone who is still reading this interminable review is certainly not of that generation). That means plenty of folk in the target demographic who work full-time, and starting so early on the Friday and going so late on the Sunday didn’t leave much warm-up/cool-down time.

But otherwise it’s difficult to know what could have been improved. The turnout didn’t by any means kill the vibe: to the contrary, the ease with which you could find people made the art of the random festival wander all the more an art worth learning. And the promoters must be congratulated on not screwing down every available cost (although closing the merch tent early was a bummer – if you’ve still got some T-shirts to sell, could you PM me?).

I can honestly say that this was one of the best weekends of music I’ve had for a very long time. It was a privilege to be present, with notebook in hand, at the best new festival to make a debut this summer, and I hope to be back at Wiseman’s Ferry in years to come.

From Mr Brian Burke, over and out.