Big Day Out 2008 @ Flemington Racecourse, Melbourne (28/01/08)
Raised on an abundance of local bands and DJs playing almost nightly to the enthusiastic and teeming masses, it is unsurprising that Melbourne music festival audiences are notoriously difficult to please. The Livid Festival tried its luck in Melbourne, but was forced into retreat. Homebake ventured down in 1998, but quickly fled back to the safety of Sydney. Even last year’s V Festival refused to commit fully, dipping its toes in Melbourne’s frosty water with two diluted nights of Sydney’s single behemoth, before deciding that Melbourne too was viable in 2008. But one festival has been an institution since its initial 1993 appearance in Melbourne town – the Big Day Out. More than anything, the Big Day Out’s continuing success has come from organisers Vivian Lees’ and *Ken West’*s realisation that eclecticism is not necessarily counter-productive to a large-scale event’s success, but in fact, crucial.
2008’s tour shows no lack of awareness in this regard. Though one might be forgiven for raising a concerned eyebrow any time an event proposes to have 20,000 Rage Against The Machine fans rubbing up against 20,000 Bjork devotees in anticipation of their respective performances, the Big Day Out thrives on such seeming contradictions. And so do the crowd. Is there any other reason that at any given time the hordes are moving as much toward the main stages as they are toward the Boiler Room? This, of course, is a trend that extends beyond just the Big Day Out. Over the last decade the lines between dance music, rock, and pop have been breaking down. Recent bands like Klaxons and The Zutons are doing their best to question the existence of any such line at all.
In recognising this trend, the Big Day Out does itself no small favour in its consistent support of artists from across Australia’s burgeoning spectrum. That a music fan can witness Pnau, Midnight Juggernauts, Augie March and Josh Pyke, all within a few short hours of one another, is a credit to both the organisers and the scene itself. And as always, these Australian stalwarts proved as reliable as ever. For any of us who are used to weekends spent at Melbourne’s myriad bars, pubs and clubs, most of the local names will be more than familiar. You do not go to the Big Day Out to see them, but their dependability sure sweetens the deal.
I began my day with one of Revolver’s more prominent DJs, Spacey Space (The last ten minutes of epic instrumentalists Mountains in the Sky, preceding Spacey Space, actually underscored my lunchtime entry: if you ever get the chance to see them intimately, I can’t recommend it enough). Luckily the Boiler Room already had a crowd, so Space’s own odd variance on the ubiquitous – some would say dull – electro house genre was not unappreciated. Nor were the bars: unlike the last two years of cramped Princes Park mandated conditions, the bars’ close stage proximity was a God-send for the dehydrated and alcoholics alike. T-Rek’s Boiler Room mash-ups perfectly complemented the cold beer and warming sunshine.
Unfortunately, movement between stages was not so simple as the acquisition of beverages. From T-Rek I attempted to venture to Lily Allen-esque British songstress Kate Nash’s Essential Stage location. Having been “unlucky” enough to enter the Racecourse from the tram stop, I had not received the usual timetable-and-map guide that, inexplicably, only seemed to be available at the car park entrance (of course, being me, I left my own photocopied maps at home). Flemington Racecourse, the new (permanent? – hope not) venue after a two-year pit stop at Princes Park, is just not made for this kind of event: no streamlined passageways from stage to stage, little of Princes Park’s relaxing greenery to revitalise beneath, and clouds of dust swirling around the day through. Where Princes Park was a luscious Eden, Flemington Racecourse is a desert of Mesopotamia.
Forgive the hyperbole, but I doubt anyone wants to spend half-an-hour – and later, more – searching for poorly signposted stages, simultaneously accosted by enough dust to make Earthcore seem pleasant. The signage problem was itself a direct consequence of the Racecourse’s size; the few signs that were visible pointed so vaguely into the distance, and were so often intercepted by lengthy segments of fencing as to be effectively redundant.
Of course, it is rare that such concerns ruin the acts themselves. Dizzee Rascal’s set was one I anticipated with both eagerness and trepidation: reports of his 2004 shows complained of its brevity and, well, lack of music. Dizzee likes to talk as much as he likes to rap, it seems. Things couldn’t have been more different on Monday. This was grime with energy, with wit, and with serious linguistic talent. Though most of his set was taken from last year’s Mercury Prize nominated Maths + English recording, Fix Up, Look Sharp got the most enthusiastic crowd response. The crowd nearly burst out of its skin as strains of 2004’s hit Dream proved the perfect segue into Maths + English’s second single Sirens, and the sing-along was contagious.
With the sun showing no sign of receding, Texan melodists Spoon seemed the obvious mid-afternoon antidote. Obviously I hadn’t been paying enough attention though, because though I went expecting indie twee, the antidote turned out to be more of a wake-up call. Surprising, yes, disappointing, no. Spoon are a rock band and a tight one at that, and they demonstrated as much by squeezing out a nice little set of tracks lifted mostly from 2007’s celebrated Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga.
But the melancholy kings and queens of Montreal Arcade Fire, who named their first album Funeral after the deaths of several band members’ relatives during its recording, may well have been, strange as it seems, the jovial highlight of the day. Like the seven-member band itself (they tour with 12), their songs are colossal. Using everything from, as far as I could tell, a large stick to pound the stage during Funeral’s Wake Up, to a variety of horns and even a demonstration of the percussive strengths of a bike helmet. For most, Neon Bible’s No Cars Go appeared to be the highlight. But such moments were frequent: Tunnels and Power Out translated best, for me. And in defiance of many previous years of sound lost to the wind at gusty Big Days Out, neither of these multi-instrumental extravagances were washed-out in the slightest. Ultimately Intervention, Neon Bible’s first single, may have best highlighted what makes Arcade Fire one of the most exciting bands in the world. And for the political junkies out there, they also extended their congratulations to one of the American Democratic front-runner Barack Obama. It was a more welcome subtle counterpoint to Rage Against The Machine’s Zack de la Rocha’s political rants later on…
Battles, esoteric darlings of America’s “math rock” scene (if one could call it a scene at all) were much anticipated. They did not disappoint. Atlas, the near eight minute epic of noise and bizarrely catchy lyrics (“singer is a crook” ...perhaps?) was the inevitable apex of a pounding compendium of jagged percussion and geometric guitar. Next were Silverchair. Missing the start, I was, at least, encouraged to hear Frogstomp’s Israel’s Son growing in volume (and growing, and growing) as I returned to the main stage. Ultimately though, Silverchair’s set was replete with contradictions. Where the Daniel Johns of a decade ago was always an idiosyncratic performer – his Neon Ballroom mirror suit symbolised his desire to be the apotheosis of rock stars, but his softly-spoken off-stage persona showed his ultimate discomfort with the role – today his performance has become a parody. The excitement seemed forced and his exhortations to the crowd fell mostly on deaf ears. The songs, of course, received cheers a plenty; Johns’ pleas for the crowd to “make some noise” far less. Young Modern is too modern, it may well seem. Though single Straight Lines received a rousing reception, old favourites such as Israel’s Son, Ana’s Song and Freak were those which most easily worked the crowd into rapture. If Johns had just let the showmanship of his music come to the fore, there would be no complaint to be made.
From there it was big guns the rest of the way. Bjork, who had earlier in the week gone close to giving around 30,000 Melburnians a collective heart attack when she cancelled her Sydney Big Day Out performance due to swollen vocal cords, provided the day’s fullest musical journey. Perhaps due to worries about those vocal cords, the music started softly – as softly as a dozen horn players can – and ambient. Their were ‘hits’ brought out (an exquisitely meandering Hyperballad and a pounding, flamboyant Who Is It were two), but for the most part Bjork combined Volta’s gentler moments with a tranquil journey through – to the delight of the large selection of fanatics in attendance – much of her decade-old material. And as always, Bjork’s stageshow was as ostentatiously visual as it was musical.
Getting back to the Boiler Room was, for the first time, surprisingly easy (by the time I returned to the main stage for Rage, it was clear where the other 40,000 people had gone). LCD Soundsystem, fronted by revered DFA producer James Murphy and recipient of a plethora of awards for last year’s Sound of Silver, were by this stage halfway through a pulsating demonstration of electronic music at its zenith. There were no dully repetitive 4-4 house beats here, just ear-piercing synths, remarkably incisive wit (for electronica, at least – shouting “we are North American Scum” is an equal parts invigorating and thoughtful experience), and plenty more dance/rock crossover. But the highlight was the latest album’s title track. Like The Chemical Brothers, who not only mastered the Block Rockin’ Beats-styled ‘big beat’ style of electronic music but also transcended it by mixing it with more euphoric, trance-like elements in songs like Surface to Air, LCD Soundsystem’s Sound of Silver proves that James Murphy may be the man at the very forefront of the next decade of dance music.
Rage Against The Machine were not, of course, forgotten. Having missed half of the performance to stay with LCD, getting anywhere close to the stage was no longer an option. In fact, even the second of the main stages was overflowing. From this vantage point I was lucky enough not to witness any of the reported acts of aggression – in fact, aside from the standard echoes of “fuck you I won’t do what you tell me,” yelled with gusto by crowd and singer alike, the audience around me were in good, peaceful spirits. The mosh though, was another thing altogether. Even from my distant vantage point the swells of crowd were clear, bouncing to songs like Bullet in the Head and Guerilla Radio, sounding as fresh today as they did a decade ago (is this the single thing we have George W Bush to thank for?). I hope those who were in front of the stage, though, could hear more of what de la Rocha was saying. I picked up one anti-Howard rant that was met by roars of approval for nothing else but the fact that Zack, at least, knew which country he was in, but the rest came across as no more than mumbles punctuated the occasional understood word (“war!” “Bush!” and so on).
The finish – a predictably vigorous Killing in the Name – proved that everyone, even the most ardent of Bjork fans, IDM-heads and techno chin-scratchers, still knew all of the words. 40,000 people of any affectation all blissing out to one song is good enough – 40,000 as diverse as the Big Day Out audience is a true sight to behold. In the end, they did exactly as they were told.
