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The Vines fittingly ended their set at Golden Plains with a song called 'Fuck the World'. Laced with some intention of a vulgar political anarchism – fuck the government, fuck the police and fuck war, the sentiments went – its central refrain (“fuck the world”) disavowed any positive political program to, instead, highlight Craig Nicholls' utter alienation. This compelling, sad spectacle of ongoing angst seems the only magnet for the crowd: the rest of the set treaded the same alienated territory, in either lyrical content or general disposition.
Between song banter included an uncomfortable number of spiteful references to playing their breakthrough single 'Get Free', a plug for the album “because the record company told me to” and a baffling story about throwing bottles of water at homeless people. Nicholls' accent throughout all this veered violently from continent to continent. We also got the expected, obligatory guitar smashing antics during the closing song. A section of hardcore fans moshed and crowd surfed through the set, but a far larger ring of people outside of that looked on bemused/amused from their deckchairs and assorted drinking positions. Most were probably trying to understand the band’s place on the line-up – perhaps holding out for some new direction.
And yet the new material seemed of a piece with earlier stuff – sub-Oasis “psychedelic” ballads ("Vision Valley") alternating with trashy, boxy grunge. There were guitar tones here unheard since some of the finest Smashing Pumpkins covers were last bashed out – through music room Peavey amps, no less – at high schools across the land. Nicholls played along in his cartoonish rock star fashion, all bratty swagger and insouciance. The band, unrecognisable from previous appearances, came dressed in a pre-packaged set of Los Angeles ensembles (tailoring by Slash) – a Hendrix-style bandana, purple velvet and leather jackets, top hats etc. The light show was from the Las Vegas school. There was a lot going on – and the audience got its expected trainwreck from Nicholls – but none of it was to do with the music.
by Ben Gook
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Context is everything. Perhaps this semi-serious union of Jane Badler’s vamping, sex-obsessed chanteuse and Sir's gliding ballader backing makes sense in the right nightime surroundings. Perhaps. At a Golden Plains fairly baking in midday sun, all the rollicking seemed a little embarrassing, a little too much play acting, and, mostly, a little too heavy on the sexual innuendo; standard-issue sex metaphors were mixed and tangled to no effect. This is also the site, after all, of a yearly co-ed nude race. There be no inhibitions here. Your titillating taboo breaking carries no shock here, verily a place of ogling, boozing and danceflooring.
Where Sir have long had the waft of low-down sex and sleaze, the relentless assault of adultery tales and sub-Gainsbourg, sub-Hayes naughtiness of the new deal felt a little too obvious, a little too un-coy. What's more, playing the coquette at the second day of a festival – which had already hosted the much more successful soul-funk experience of Sharon Jones and her wonderful band – felt a touch, well, lame. The sly fnar fnar charge of the whole ruse was diffused by the heat, sun and the fact Jones had already unblocked sexual neuroses the night before, the whole tented place much less uptight than when festival gates had opened. One representative section of duet repartee about a saucy dress and being held captive was about as erotic as a boiled cabbage. This lack of spark between the male and female co-leads made the thing largely unconvincing.
The pairing, bemusing on paper, of a moderately successful US actor and a moderately successful Australian indie band was either going to elevate both participants, or not. Subsequent appearances may prove otherwise, but this first flush was a disappointment. The appendageless Sir cut a finer figure.
by Ben Gook
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As if aiming to blast away preconceptions, Melbourne’s Qua went straight for the big beats in his fresh Golden Plains set. Not ‘big beat’ per se – more DJ Shadow and Four Tet than Fatboy Slim – but comparatively large beats for this genius of the microtone and the deliciously delivered stuttering computer error. There were recognisable samples of actual drums and the addition of a drummer paddling an electronic drum kit. All of which Qua has toyed with before, but never to this extent. A set of largely new material, previewing his new record out later this year, it was recognisably Qua, but headed in a different direction.
The trademark Qua denseness is still there. He strings melodies along unexpected lines, pushing them longer and longer before letting them double back over. His rhythms cross one another with dizzying regularity – he’s never going to lay-down the straight 4/4 beat end-to-end, as some in the audience would’ve liked.
This was an ambitious slot for him, second act on – the audience still easing drinks into the cup-holders of their Campmaster chairs – and some weren’t quite ready for the glowing mesh of sounds. But, any time of day, it’s a wonderful thing Qua has going. It just takes patience and the inclination to navigate through the thicket of ideas and sounds.
by Ben Gook
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