V Festival @ Royal Showgrounds, Melbourne, (05-04-2008)
Virgin’s entry last year into Melbourne’s infamously difficult and already crowded musical festival calendar was a cautious one. Where the Sydney and the Gold Coast incarnations of the V Festival were full affairs, one day mammoths that encompassed a huge variety of bands over a number of stages, Melbourne’s was more muted – fewer bands on a single stage at the Sidney Myer Music Bowl, split over two separate days. Though the caution was warranted, with Melbourne’s notoriously fickle audiences sticking most often with the tried and true rather than comparative upstarts, the punters themselves vouched for the shows’ successes. Certainly my own experience at the second of the two gigs was overwhelmingly positive.
This year Melbourne got the whole hog: V Festival 2008 would include its usual farrago of eclectic acts, from reformed grunge rockers The Smashing Pumpkins – or what’s left of them – and The Jesus and Mary Chain, to French synth duo Air and ex Moloko frontwoman Roisin Murphy, and not Melbourne nor Perth would be spared. Moved to the renovated Royal Melbourne Showgrounds, this year’s event had a far truer ‘festival’ feel than the previous year’s subdued feel.
Luckily the weather agreed, and from early afternoon sunshine greeted the enthusiastic punters. Though this year’s event was on a larger scale to the previous, you get the feeling that the V organisers might yet be defining themselves against that mammoth of the Melbourne festival circuit, the Big Day Out. BDO punters were vociferous in their criticism of this year’s event; overcrowding, poor organisation, bad lay out: these were just a few of the censures aimed at it. In contrast, the V Festival took a slighter tack: three main stages (cutely titled ‘This’, ‘That’, and ‘Other’) alongside a smaller ‘Virgin Mobile’ tent for locals and lesser-knowns, allowed for less acts and a more spacious day. The Big Day Out organisers would do well to pay attention, because the approach was a success.
But on to the music: first mention goes to the recently solo Roisin Murphy. Though her unaccompanied material lacks a certain groove that her Moloko collaborations had in spades, Murphy’s performance was nothing short of vivacious. At times looking more like a performance art project than a musician – costumes that looked like they’d been rejected from *Bjork*’s Academy Awards wardrobe, with a diverse range of performers alongside her – Murphy’s style at times threatened to outweigh her set’s substance. But where the Moloko influence was sorely missed, Murphy at least proved she knew her strengths, and that’s her penetratingly beautiful voice. Her larynx is spectacular.
The Jesus and Mary Chain, who reformed last year after an eight-year hiatus from touring, attracted a varied crowd. Some looked on with obvious anticipation; others, perhaps, had been dragged along by eager friends. But the set won over plenty by its end: the band’s infamous stage-trashing is now long gone, but although stagemanship was static, the songs were tight. Amputation, a track perhaps from their forthcoming album, was a wonderful continuation of their post-punk and “wall of sound” inspired classic work. And some of that – Happy When It Rains in particular – proved to have lost none of its sheen. A throbbing Just Like Honey (the observant will recognise it from the final scene of Lost in Translation) topped their set off nicely, proving that for these old guys, the music’s just like riding a bike – they’ve never forgotten how .
Back on ‘That Stage’, it was hard not to be impressed by downtempo maestros Air. Resplendent in white & white garb, the duo engaged in a little banter before thrilling with some exquisite versions of classics like Talisman and La Femme d’Argent. “How are you, do you speak French?” they asked, following up the hushed response with “une, deux, trois”. The banter was hardly mind-blowing, but the effort was appreciated. A wide smile goes a long way. For me, the lengths of the instrumentation was a surprise. Seeing an ostensibly electronic act for the first time, one often wonders just how the live translation will work. Luckily, Air’s was smooth: the bass guitar was penetratingly baritone and the keys lively, whilst Remember contained some seriously rockstar-esque electric guitar madness. “You are sexy,” Jean-Benoît Dunckel whispered with a wink; he may as well have been talking to his band.
The dulcet tones of Air could hardly have contrasted more with the strobe lights, alcohol themed balloons, general madness and trash that define Brazilian electro-punk-funk-rock-pop-stars (or something) Cansei de Ser Sexy – or CSS for short. If the seemingly Boiler Room-inspired ‘Other Stage’ (the Showgrounds’ shed) suffered from a certain aural muddiness, the crowd barely noticed. The muddiness made it difficult to discern one song from the next, yet somehow it didn’t matter. Like waking up after a massive night on the town, the feeling was a little amnesiac: I know I had a bunch of fun, I’m just not really sure how. Talking to the audience post-show, the feeling seemed to be a common one.
Next I checked out Duran Duran because, if anything, I had to. Seminal in the origins of a variety of late-1970s and early-80s genres – new romanticism, new wave, and synth-pop amongst them – I could hardly miss an act that had been so definitive. Lead singer *Simon Le Bo*n did well not to take himself seriously, and for the most part this collection of fortysomethings performed with an almost tongue-in-cheek awareness of their present day stature. The long and the short of Duran Duran is that they were, and remain, a pop act. Girls on Film, the set’s highlight, was a high energy and fun piece, and the band’s banter was appreciated by the swaths of tragic masses swirling in front of the stage. But after hearing a few tracks, I moved to the band we’d all come to see.
The Smashing Pumpkins have always been about Billy Corgan. Even the band’s near-inevitable self-destruction came, against all odds, less from the caustic effects of fame and drug use that certainly plagued the band, and more from Corgan’s own distaste for the process and fellow members. Now reformed and with another album behind them, the band (made up these days of original members Corgan and drummer Jimmy Chamberlin, alongside newcomer guitarists Jeff Schroeder and Ginger Reyes, and keyboardist Lisa Harriton) has regained an energy that seemed lost in its last days. Though the previous incarnation’s final two albums, Adore and Machina, certainly had their highlights, the vigour and complexity of Siamese Dream and Melon Collie seemed lost.
Luckily, the energy has also returned to their live performances. Strangely enough – though pleasingly – so has another aspect: a sense of humour. After reports that Corgan had made his typically severe complaints on previous V Festival legs (no one in my line of sight on stage, thanks; couldn’t we stop those pesky Presets boys from making any noise while we’re playing, please?), I was preparing myself for a set of miserable Billy; a vintage performance, if you will.
But the man was happy. Adorned in his trademark shiny silver skirt and long sleeve muscle shirt (adorned with a glittery “999”), Corgan, after warming up with a perfectly epic rendition of Tonight, Tonight and some reptilian scowling and prowling across the stage, actually began to smile. He even instigated some hand clapping. Cash Car Star from the Machina sessions was another early highlight, and a “stop, what’s that sound, everybody look what’s going down” tag on the end proved he was in the mood for at least a little levity. Of course, Corgan’s idea of fun seems a little off from us common folk, and his cheerful banter included the comment that he “met my future ex-wife at a Jesus and Mary Chain concert; it was 1987 and I was 20”. Cute.
1979, a crowd favourite even at the worst of times, proved a true highlight: just Corgan and an acoustic guitar and that voice. Though criticisms of his voice – “too nasal” is the obvious one – seem occasionally implicit, like a kind of Dylan-esque pseudo critique (“sure, it’s good, but if only it were _better_”), for me miss the point. Corgan’s howl at its peak is as strong and piercing as any in rock music, and this performance proved that time has not wearied it. Despite some continued good-nature (“I come from a land down under”, he half-sang at one point. “What’s that song? Men at Work? Jimmy wants to play _Who Can It Be Now_”), Corgan proved that he’s still got plenty of pretence about him. The encore performance of Zero was spectacular, but how many encores can one do before they become a parody of themselves? Luckily, no one except the audience seemed to notice this tension between the solemn and the absurd, and perhaps, ultimately, that’s the real charm of Billy Corgan and his Smashing Pumpkins.
At 9.39pm, the day was over; and what a day it had been.
albiea says...
i'm still glad i went to check out hte presets after taking photos of billy. as much as i like the pumpkins... something wasn't there to keep me there. The presets had the crowd energy and ambience i was looking for after a day of festival partying!
write my name says...
Albeia - I'm with you - the presets had the crowd going nuts - while everyone was looking at the Pumpkins like they were standing in front of a piece of absurd art - unsure whether to laugh, cry, celebrate or commiserate. I'm also unsure how the review was written without mentioning Roisins white top. Although perhaps snidely it was ...."Murphy’s performance was nothing short of vivacious. At times looking more like a performance art project than a musician.... Murphy’s style at times threatened to outweigh her set’s substance....Her larynx is spectacular."
onetwothreefour says...
I certainly don't consider myself high-brow, but I figured actually stating "OMG awesome nipples" could've been a bit OTT ;) On the Presets - I'd recommend them any day of the week, but I've seen them live about eight times already, and never seen the Pumpkins. Sure, Corgan's full of himself, but he does have stage presence.