After pitching our tents and establishing neighbourhood solidarity, an army of tinny drinkers entered the verdant amphitheatre to participate in a collective countdown to the official commencement of Meredith ‘14. Up first, The Hard Ons bashed out a set of fast, muddy punk and hardcore. Then came the pride of Brisbane, Blank Realm. The four-piece dished out an exposition of brilliant guitar work and melodic clarity that could easily talk you into getting a Yo La Tengo or Television tattoo. As it neared sundown, a possessed throng gathered on the west-facing hillside. Witnessing the sublime beauty of a giant burning sphere sinking behind a paddock of windmills made one promise to pursue this view more often.
Mark Lanegan didn’t bother bringing a band, but he still had the crowd resting in the palm of his hand (or brim of his backwards cap). With a guitarist there to provide distorted background noise, Lanegan’s voice brought the bass frequency, as well as rhythms of human struggle and melodies of rugged fortitude.
The daylight had now faded completely and the Meredith Eye twinkled with romance, while the Pink Flamingo bar was truly popping. In spite of the oft-uttered notion that the album format is dead, the most talked about band of the weekend’s latest release runs for well over an hour without any obvious hits. It’s hard to tell how many songs The War On Drugs actually played, but it’s safe to say the rife anticipation was deserved. The sextet of scruffy Philadelphians don’t necessarily write happy tunes, but their songs understand your melancholy, they understand sometimes words can’t explain why you’re not feeling OK. With layers of treated guitars, ballsy sax and Adam Granduciel’s Dylan-in-the-‘80s melodic bent, the band’s set grabbed hold of the entire Sup’ and gave us all one long, absolving hug.
Even though plenty of folks were chasing the good times right up until sunrise, as soon as the conventional daytime arrived, camp Meredith was crawling with excited bodies. Luckily for most, fried food wasn’t in short supply and the Bloody Merediths took no prisoners, spice-wise.
Appetites whetted, the fantasy folk of Auckland’s Tiny Ruins was a marvelous introduction to the day’s on stage entertainment. Led by Hollie Fullbrook, the foursome struck a perfect balance between tradition and whimsy. The sunshine we’d all been Googling about for weeks didn’t renege on its promise, which meant it was essential to accompany The Harpoons’ set of Spector-fied soul with a Donna Summer cocktail or two. Likewise New York’s Phosphorescent, whose lazy day Americana surely couldn’t find a more suitable setting than this.
Saturday just ain’t Saturday if no one’s dressing the part, right? The amphitheatre was dotted with people in the guise of household pets or simply covered in glitter, while a stroll through Bush Camp led to both a deep sea doof and an ol’ skool hip hop cocktail party.
No time to dawdle, however, as Cleveland’s Cloud Nothings were ready to belt out a supercharged fury. Frontman Dylan Baldi mightn’t do a great deal of body-thrusting, but when he ended the set repeatedly screaming the words, “I thought I would be more than this,” it was impossible to dodge the weight of his neuroses.
The hillside was thickly packed in eagerness for Ghostface Killah. The Wu-Tang legend’s an impeccable MC, but too often his songs ended abruptly or were sent askew. However, a possible highlight of the weekend came when he put the call out for two audience members to replace Method Man and ODB in Wu classic Protest Ya Neck. After dismissing a handful of failed volunteers, the two chosen rappers absolutely nailed it, which brought pride to the entire nation of Meredith.
Speaking of national pride, the recently revitalised Augie March proved there’s nary a greater example of literate and truly original Australian songwriting. And Glenn Richards is so appealingly angry, which is always fun to be around. San Franciscan prodigy Ty Segall brought enough massive guitar sound with him to make The Stooges’ Raw Power seem tame in comparison.
Another glorious sunset meant it was time to sink a few pink flamingos (i.e. the most delicious alcoholic beverage known to man). The feel-good juices kept flowing, courtesy of Jamaican first wave ska titans The Skatalites. It was a perfect lubricant for De La Soul’s midnight set. The Long Island crew came here to have as much fun as possible, and they ensured everyone watching was right there with them. Not only did we get hits like Me Myself & I, Ring Ring Ring and The Grind Date,but we also got to experience the trio, 25 years strong, having an absolute blast at the finest music festival under the southern stars.
Sunday got off to a considerably sleepier start, but that didn’t mean the good times had run dry. In fact, after half a dozen egg sandwiches, Marlon Williams pretty near convinced us all he’s the most captivating solo performer this side of Billie Holiday. The Lemonheads is Evan Dando, really, who started the show alone. That is until new mate Courtney Barnett joined for a duet of Being Around.The full band followed, helping Dando through a set of nothing but hits. The ‘90s indie-rock poster boy had absolutely no idea what day it was, but he still got it together enough to smash out the timeless melodies of The Great Big No and The Outdoor Type.
The naked race that stops a festival, The Meredith Gift, came next. The display of flailing breasts and doodles also included a male competitor proposing to his now-fiancé, which was touching in a slightly perverse way. The community pack-up begrudgingly occurred and, after the nostalgic riff rock of Sun God Replica, we were all kindly asked to fuck off. And fuck of we did, but we’ll be back, don’t you worry about that.
BY AUGUSTUS WELBY
Photos by Michael Cusack
Loved: Meredith Music Festival.
Hated: The majority of other music festivals.
Drank: Where do I start…?
