Another astonishingly prescient lineup announcement in October leads to another blazing hot day spent in Footscray bugging out to a raft of killer sets as Laneway cements itself as one of the country’s best festivals. While not faultless (more shade, a closer stage and a lower douchebag count would be nice), festival organisers yet again find ways to make what was already excellent, even better and only part of that is down to the music selections.
This year kicks off with a cheesy set of electro
from kitsch-tastic duo Client Liason
who have ditched the props and drawn the focus to
their songs and their peerless production sheen. While not the scene-stealing
show of last year's Golden Plains, electro-pop in the early slot suits the
assembling crowd (and a noisy core fanbase) just fine.
Looking like a RHCP covers band and sounding like a ticked off Real
Estate, the muscular indie pop of Bel
Air is manna to the shade-huddled crowd. What they lack in vocal chops they
make up for in imaginative song construction and smart way with riffs that
promises great things down the track.
Lucky for those worrying about calories from many varied and competitively
priced beer and food options available, the Dean Turner Stage is not far shy of
a kilometer from the entrance. One round-trip to see Mt Warning's opening set of grittily euphoric blues and you’ve
earned yourself another cider. The trio plays as though they done a few dozen
round trips already today and seem to draw their energy from a deep inner well.
Singer Mikey Bee’s American twang, Springsteen punches and chiseled
handsomeness is only the first weapon in the band’s possession and their set makes
for a nice gearshift from the rest of the bill.
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| Autre Ne Veut, whatever it means, he really means it. (Photo: Carbie Warbie) |
With shipping containers, cranes and passing trains behind them, the
River Stage is a perfect setting for the country chug of Cass McCombs. Playing mostly new material, McCombs’ warm, languid
tones and delicate hooks make his set a sheer joy, especially when he ups the
volume and the noodling guitars take on a menacing edge, resulting in raucous
cheering and new fans.
Kirin J Callinan - again gently battling his mic stand - this time in make up, a mullet
and Ken Done outfit, tears through a brilliant set to a core group of fans and
several hundred stunned onlookers. “This next song is called Halo. It’s from my album Embracism. If you don’t have it…fuck you,”
he jokes, but not without that lingering sense of unease that threads through
his best work.
Back at the Future Classic Stage Run
the Jewels provide the most aggressive fun anyone could ask for. Arriving
to Queen’s We Are the Champions, and
cries of “make some motherfucking NOISE Melbourne!” El-P and Killer Mike’s
blistering tag-team rap is full of the edgy theatre that the best shows boast. Enough
of the crowd knows when to shout the song titles back (“do dope fuck hope!”) to
keep things exciting for newbies and the band themselves are clearly having a
sweaty good time.
Sweating over some very different sounds is Youth Lagoon, yet another artist whose profile has rocketed since
their last visit. A master of textures and a writer of bizarre and wonderful
hooks, highlights from last year’s Wondrous
Bughouse album litter the set. While the album is a rewarding listen on
headphones, here, the mewling textures are fodder to chat over for much of the
audience, though once the choruses arrive we’re hooked.
Up the hill at the Moreland Road stage it’s time to ramp things up. Savages are looking elegantly vampiric
and archly focused on their intimidatingly exciting set. Opening with Shut Up they move like a gang none of us
will ever be cool enough to join, their music is cavernous yet immediate and
songs like She Will, No Face and the
searing, closing Husbands mark theirs
as a high point of the day. Seeing the band walking amongst the crowds later, people
look and point but no one seems brave enough to approach them.
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| Savages, lethal...as long as they're not in direct sunlight (Photo: Carbie Warbie) |
In sharp contrast, Dick Diver act
as though they’ve come over to play a house party, laughing and joking with the
audience from the get go. Head Back gets
a rowdy response with only a brief and warmly echoed political diatribe (“Fuck
Chris Pine!”) from singer Rupert Edwards breaking the laconic swagger. It’s
hard to dislike a man playing what many bands would regard as one of the gigs
of their life, dressed in Rip Curl board shorts. Gap Year, Calendar Days and the closing Alice epitomize the easy charm missing from every other band today.
As the sun crawls across the sky, punters jealously guard shady spots
and while Cashmere Cat’s dulcet
piano, swooping vocal effects and buzzing hi-hats appeal, the pulsing party
jams of Unknown Mortal Orchestra draw
the sundazed punters into their orbit. Alligator,
Ffunny Ffrends and a blazing take on So Good at Being in Trouble emerge out
of extended flurries and squalls of psych guitar jams and perfectly calibrated
effects settings. Being this good and Kiwi, it’s amazing we haven’t given them
an ARIA yet.
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| Parquet Courts, the noisiest highlight of the Festival (Photo: Carbie Warbie) |
There is little change in personnel along the front barrier by the time Parquet Courts launch into the set of
the day. Blasting through the first four tracks from their Light Up Gold album, half the audience are soon gleefully screaming
out lines like “Socrates died in the fucking gutter!” into each others faces
while the other half smile in bemusement. Stoned
and Starving generates the most noise, and several fresh Parquet Courts
t-shirts are spotted before the day is out.
Despite sound problems that bite into a good fifth of their set, Chvrches nevertheless deliver a show
resplendent in some of the best sound and visuals of any of the day’s acts.
Closing with The Mother We Share, a
sense of icy perfection lingers after the final chord dies and is replaced by
loud affection from the crowd.
Earl Sweatshirt draws a massive crowd, who he then proceeds to gently diss, with the aid
of DJ Taco. While his album Doris is
full of inspired rhymes and production, live Earl relies on brief bursts of
songs that he swiftly moves between, most around two minutes long. It’s
disappointing when comparing it to the seething energy of last year’s Odd
Future show.
Down at the River Stage, home of the languid rocker, Kurt Vile is emitting good vibes that entrance
all that hear him. The songs are glorious but the man himself remains
frustratingly enigmatic. Behind dark glasses, a thick curtain of curly hair and
an emotionless voice, Vile switches from acoustic to electric as he eases his
way around his glorious Wakin’ on a
Pretty Daze album, with help from one of the most hirsute bands in recent
memory.
A crowd far more vocal in their appreciation of a band can be found about
eighty-two miles away at the Dean Turner stage, watching Haim. Almost unfeasibly exciting, talented and with the most ardent
crowd of the day, the Haim sisters chat easily with the crowd between dishing
out stellar pop tunes. The Wire garners
one of the day’s loudest responses and by the end of the set the crowd is
comprised of dancing circles of friends.
For those unable to get close, several screens
are situated at intervals between the stage and the rest of the festival.
Despite having woefully latent sound, the screens prove popular and help to
spread the crowd, most of who are now here to see Lorde. Flipping her hair and gesticulating wildly, Lorde interprets
the songs as she sings them. Choice covers of Son Lux’s Easy and the Replacements’ Swingin’
Party go down well, but the set is
built around her hits which are nearly drowned out by the vocal appreciation of her fans.
As the night takes over and sunnies and hats are
put away, the absence of any trouble, sunburned punters or drunken shenanigans
is notable. Closing the Moreland Road Stage, Warpaint stand stoic, bathed in purple and red lights as they
introduce the crowd to their most recent record. Love is to Die is a clear high point and a mysteriously sexless
cover of the legendarily sensual I Feel
Love is a low. While a smart band of producers, their songs come across as disappointingly
inert, despite the talent that went into their creation.
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| Four Tet, pushing buttons, getting results (Photo: Carbie Warbie) |
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