Everyone pitches in. The No Dickheads rule could well read No Slackers. Action items arise and are quickly dealt with by the community.
Has someone organised 70 yellow-tailed black cockatoos to fly over the crowd at the start of Uncle
Barry’s Storytelling?
All on track.
What if hundreds are gathered at Inspiration Point to cheer the sun set but the big yellow guy gets bashful and hides behind a cloud? We’ve organised a heroine to emerge with a giant bubble wand and (literally) save the day.
Who will remove a bulbous blue doof stick jellyfish when it obstructs everyone’s view? Relax, boss, we’re on it.
It might be a reach but will there be French-themed toilet with a customised RATAPOUILLE poster, recipe books and poster of Paris at night where I may wee? Mais, oui.
OK well then how the devil will Basement Jaxx meet the moment and do justice to Where’s Your Head At? Hush, child, it’s alllll gonna be fine.
SATURDAY MORNING 5.57am
We hop on the hire bus in a leafy Coburg street and already some elite Overheards tumble my way.
“Last year my mate kept asking: ‘Who brought music to the acid festival?’”
90 minutes and one wrong turn later we cruise into the gravel driveway singing “Life in the Staff Lane”, Don Henley-style. My crew are already set up in Mulwaverley. Curiously, we have chosen a rat-themed aesthetic (it’ll make sense later) and someone is giving out felt rodent ears and wearable keychain rats made of rave kandi.
Did you know the collective noun is a mischief of rats? It stems from their historical reputation for causing trouble, destruction and havoc. Don’t threaten me with a good time.
It’s only 10am so I take my air mattress down to Inspiration Point with a sleeping bag for a disco nap. I use the Insight Timer app to do some meditation (“Where focus goes, energy flows”) and between the earnest American wellness coach and the fluffy cumulus creations I clear my chakras so thoroughly I accidentally disable my Instagram account.
Shitfuck. It takes me 30 stressful minutes to reinstate it. Result! But, yes, that was cooked. Time for some music at the acid festival.
Public Figures rip into their sesh like they are attacking a brekkie bong. Looking like Cassandra from Wayne’s World (“She will be mine, oh yes she will be mine”), lead singer Evie Vlah gives a timely rant about global politics then adds the caveat “Sorry to sound hippy dippy.” Her disclaimer galvanises the crowd who cheer in support. The Naarm firecrackers’ best song is still How I’m Feeling and when they sing “I hate the city and I hate all the people”, strangers give each other a knowing grin, knowing thousands would give one of their small toes to be here.
Podophobics warning: this will not be the last little piggie reference.
Next up, Georgia Knight is serving up her ethereal cereal (shout out to The Avalanches). Knight’s elfin ears poke out of her hair as she strums and plucks the tobacco sunburst autoharp. The perfectly quaint instrument steers her refreshing take on dark pop and trip hop and you can see why Cate Le Bon just tapped her as support for RISING Festival. The Australian-born, Lyttelton-based belle of Marlon Williams is giving it her best shot while everyone is nattering on like Animal Crossing characters. It’s early in the festival; everyone is two drinks deep and deeply in lurrrve with their mates.
“Do you like this?” asks Knight. A resounding “Woooo!” comes back. “Good. I have circus energy today,” she adds, bringing in guitars and low-slung bass right on time. The newly re-recorded Desire lands spectacularly and I over zealously text a mate “I can see her playing Red Rocks in 2032.”
“My cunts!” says Sidney Phillips, affectionately. The Queensland cool kid gets is throwing down meme-adjacent cloud rap. She wins over section after section of the crowd like a politician securing factions. Morayfield, Queensland’s Wikipedia page needs updating to include her as a person of note. I’m So Tired of Being Staunchy is already her fourth (!) album and the young fanbase is frothing hard.
Not since Father John Misty’s snake hips hypnotised the Sup’ have we seen such a writhing rigatoni. I’m talking about Obongjayar, of course, who arrives in postcode 3333 via London and Nigeria. “Golden Plains, shall we dance?”
He’s on fire from the get-go and it isn’t long ‘til we see his glistening pecs and my review starts to objectify him. Tomorrow Man, Give Me More and I Wish It Was Me show off stylistic adventurousness but it gets a bit samey because his voice lacks the range of his arrangements. You can’t fault the intent when he says: “I want to see everyone shake their ass!” then showcases his Little Simz collab Point and Kill. “He’s wearing the same white pants as Father John Misty,” a mate correctly quips.
The Sup’ does funny things to hyped internationals. You can get found out pretty quickly if you don’t have enough truly great songs or are a bit out of form (Hi MGMT). The former issue holds back Norwegian duo Smerz.
They look the part: crimson hues, TICK, wafting fog, TICK, gentle grooving with smoky female vocals, TICK, but as a whole it doesn’t quite hold up. Maybe I’m being too harsh because when they lean into their scuzzy rock and channel Chairlift at Dargo Hotel I gesticulate wildly like Leonard DiCaprio in Once Upon a Time In Hollywood: “(trill whistle) Right there!”
Feisty is a track worthy of The Sup’ and the duo manage to pull off some creative accounting when they finish with final song You got time and I got money, one of the songs of 2025 (“Put your hands around mahhh bodeeee”), replete with those Bittersweet Symphony strings.
Great save.
Cometh the hour, cometh the Marl.
We need a little boost and 35-year-old boy wonder Marlon Williams puts The Sup’ on his back with the help of The Yarra Benders.
“It’s hard to sing about loneliness with all of you here,” he quips, cheekbones slicing the light, making us all fall in love with him even more. They roll through Māori-language songs from Te Whare Tīwekaweka then dip into the leering Party Boy: “If I find you, if I catch you sniffing around my pride and joy, I’m sorry boy but you can party at the bottom of the see.” He turns the joint into soft shoe shuffle singalong + rock show = cuddle puddle. The vibe shifts somehow higher when local Māori group Ngā Mātai Pūrua take the stage as his choir and perform the Haka.
The silence is deafening and pure. Everyone understands the assignment: shut the fuck up.
It’s so special I do a slurry, blurry voice note into my phone afterwards about how Williams has the character traits Aunty Meredith embodies: cheeky generosity, deep empathy and a clear-eyed commitment to putting on a damn good show. MVP for the weekend.
We do a pit-stop at base where things are in full swing.
Someone is asking the plural of lychees, Negronis are being passed around, abundance is abundant.
We extricate ourselves while BADBADNOTGOOD show off their full range then dive back into the throng doing the crabwalk limbo to the front for Cut Copy. The Melbourne quartet have simmered between warm and hot away for two decades and earned the right to play some new stuff first.
Standing In The Middle of a Field is an extra nice bop when you’re doing just that. It’s not all smooth sailing, a female right in front of us has an epileptic fit from the strobes and the show stops for a good five minutes. Lead singer Dan Whitford looks shook but stoic as he brings his charges back onto stage, thanks the crowd for their patience and they regain momentum with a new cut then hit us with goated Supernatural Amphitheatre anthem Lights and Music.
The second great save of the evening. Class.
The best thing about Frost Children is the stretched cartoon S on the screen. They come off as Ninajirachi in The Bad Place to the point it’s borderline comical. If you enjoyed it, fair play.
I’ve hit a wall and need to reboot for 20 minutes before Djrum.
My beloved pseudoephedrine-laced Cold and Flu Tablets are nothing to be sniffed at and they help me get up and about again. We float like butterflies and buzz like bees down the hill as the Oxford scholar drops a track that samples Flava Flav’s “Yeah boyeeee”.
We’re front left now, grey fog is billowing out and the versatile producer is Absolutely. On. One. DjRUM (real name: Felix Manuel) builds castles of sound, stacking and subtracting woodblock percussion as they reveal moats and sturdy turrets. King shit. It’s like watching Grand Designs Australia: Nolan Farm. With 15 minutes to go he darts back and asks the stage manager “What do you need right now?”
“Drum’n’bass please.”
A nod of the head, back to the decks and – BAM – in comes the 170bpm goodness.
I retire to my tent, take a sleeping pill and proceed to get not one wink, let alone 40. I watch a caterpillar and a bull ant jostle for position above. I note that one invented the conga line while the other is a King Gizzard side project.
SUNDAY 9.43am.
The mind is willing but the flesh is (piss) weak.
“What should I eat right now?” I muse out loud. A Group Assignment colleague hands me two bananas, a nut bar and a Blue Gatorade bottle.
I split the G and feel way better.
“Here’s a Chicken Green Curry Roti too, you need your protein, babe.” Thank you, universe.
I jot down some Learnings from the day before: “Less booze, more bands. Also, no Negronis before 9pm.”
We sit around the campsite and talk about last night. “Marlon good, Frost Children bad” is the consensus. My fellow campers are preparing their rat-themed outfits for the evening’s Basement Rats’ DJ set by Camp Dad aka Master Splinter.
We have Club Rats who call to mind Marlon Williams’ fetching green and white tracksuit, Lab Rats with two sized beakers (one for pouring, one strictly for drinking), the camera-toting PapaRATzzi and two members of the Rat Pack with tuxedos hired from Rose Chong.
I wait for the shower queue to go down (it doesn’t) then grab my penguin suit, a 500 ml Asahi can (you gotta fight fire with fire) and join the line.
A girl in front of me asks her fella “Should we share a shower?”
“Steady on,” I chip in, unnecessarily.
She looks slightly taken aback by my accidental cockblock.
I hope I haven’t stopped their soapy time bally-hoo.
Thankfully, a friendly woman behind me, Steph, has perfect timing when she declares she’s part of the Business of Ferrets and aren’t I Joey Lightbulb from the Corner Hotel gig where the Ferrets won a drink card? Why, yes, young Stephanie!
It takes zero convincing for me to lock the ‘Ferrets in for a stage invasion at my next Night Cat headline show (May 9, see you there #shamelessplug) and then her crew serendipitously walks past and spots her.
This time they’re dressed as Sunflowers.
The line moves along and I see the couple discreetly enter one cubicle together.
Phew.
I have a two token shower and emerge a shiny new man, no longer a weak-bladdered journalist, I’ve been reborn as Spank Sinatra. Ol’ Blue Eyes is back.
While I’ve been negotiating, um, life, I can hear Way Dynamic’s low key, Nick Drake-esque bangers glide up the hill. Dylan Young has the vibe of Mac DeMarco’s mellow Antipodean cousin who works at Hope St Radio and prefers one-on-one conversations than group settings. Someone cooks a sausage sizzle on stage and hands one to him (update: it’s Action Dan). A less savory matter: friends spot a discarded toe sitting atop a green couch. WTF.
On closer inspection it’s a pink toe Jibbit from a pair of Crocs.
I’m not sure which is grosser.
I’m still gathering myself as The Gnomes are smashing it out of the park, 200 metres down the hill. I outsource this portion of the review to fellow scribe and Lab Rat, Michael Barrett: “The spark that ignited Sunday’s energy came in the form of The Gnomes, four kids from Frankston who wear their influences (The Kinks, The Easybeats, early ‘Beatles) as proudly as their bouncing mops of hair. While their music feels familiar, there’s an urgency that resonates. Lead singer Jay Millar may or may not have been alive in March 2007, when Golden Plains first took place, but his band’s performance reminded those old enough in the Sup’ of a similarly blistering set by fellow ‘Ninchians: Eddy Current Suppression Ring.”
Derya Yıldırım & Grup Şimşek turn The Sup’ into an Anatolian saz-funk soiree as the sun peaks out every now and then. When they finish with Dom Dom Kurşunu they receive the coveted ‘Boot and win hearts, minds and merch sales.
I’m starting to feel semi-normal again then run into a pack of great interstate mates just as Francois K starts going full throttle with his Live Stems set. I sing the shit out of an eight- minute version of WHAM’s best song Everything She Wants and I’m feeling as happy as I’ve ever been “Somebody tell me, oh (Won’t you tell me?) Why I work so hard for you?” Francois is feeling it: “What an amazing Sunday, let’s goooo.” He brings in Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush and Once In a Lifetime by Talking Heads. The joy all around is palpable.
Many things happen, but a gleaming red and yellow sunset at Inspiration Point is not one of them.
Luckily, the aforementioned saviour is there to generate giant rainbow-tinged bubbles and we “Oooooh” and “Ohhhhh” each success and failure. It’s great sport.
OK we are deeeep in it now and Basement Jaxx take the stage with a band. They’re ready to rip and come out firing with Good Luck into Bingo Bango into Jump n’ Shout, bang bang bang. Romeo, Red Alert, Rendezvous and Jus 1 Kiss all slam and then we know the Big One™ is coming.
Tonight’s Englishman named Felix (Bunton) looks at his mate Simon Ratclife and they trigger the strings for Rosalia’s Berghain, releasing a local ballerina onto stage as the operatic voice makes for an unhinged scene.
Somewhere, Timothee Chalamet is eating his words.
The “bwaaaar bwaaaar bwaaaaar” Gary Numan sample lands seismically and 12,000 people can barely wait to shout “Where’s youuuur heaaaad at!?” Huge.
They keep it current by upping the tempo to drum’n’bass and I watch eyes roll back into skulls all around me.
Aaaand breathe.
Two Pink Flamingos to level out, some dancing on the fake turf green box things and we go again.
Crazy P are up next and they put the pieces back together with some seriously sexy house music and faultless mixing. One crisp 4/4 cut into another, treble out, new treble in, volume nudge, bass out, new bassline in, absolute perfection. They start with Like a Fool and end with Heartbreaker, doing justice to the legacy of fallen comrade Danielle Moore. I’m pretty sure they drop the bonkers Ayo! By Tartan too.
My fifth wind finally runs out so I head back to my tent and do the wiggly toe dance for the next few hours. Sally C’s big chunkers sound big and chunky and she holds her own admirably with a remix of Forget by Patrick Topping, Sunscreen by Spriitzz, Spray and Merely and a deep re-rerub of CC Disco’s Chez Moi (Waiting for You) feat. Confidence Man.
Like Obongjayar, OK Williams finds herself coming from Nigeria via London to play music in the bush in regional Victoria to a crowd who trust her implicitly. She responds in kind by running the gamut with a wild and woolly set, dropping an Un-Shazamable cut that sounds like Omar Souleyman, some grime bizness, loads of techno, drum’n’bass, baile funk and then a pitched up Got To Keep On by Chemical Brothers into a Groove Armada remix of I See You Baby.
The bull ant is gone but the caterpillar is still throwing ass.
Williams lets the second last song echo out then drops Ashley Beedle’s remix of The Streets’ Weak Become Heroes.
INTERSTITIAL DJS
Andy Le, Action Dan and Elsie crush it on Saturday and Action Dan, Sweetie and O Honey don’t put a foot wrong on the Sunday. Over the weekend they collectively dropped the Severance TV theme, Bamboléo by Gipsy Kings, I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor (the clean up song I believe) and He Not In by Chicken Lips.
O Honey made the biggest impact with a drum’n’bass version of The Specials’ Ghost Town, a perfectly, ahem, twisted Around The Twist version, Girls on Film by Duran Duran and Steve Aoiki’s teeth rattling remix of Pursuit of Happiness by Kid Cudi, MGMT and Ratatat.
Main stage when?
CROWD HEROES
The 80s/90s TV Gladiators. The Olympians at Sunset Point, directing traffic. One woman in full equestrian gear. A man dressed as a scuba driver, filling up his oxygen bottle with cocktails. The Bubble Wizard!
And, of course, the “Smoke a cigarette with me” guy who hands out durries and refuses press.
BEST DOOF STICKS
That dancing monkey is the carryover champion (Milo Eastwood agrees). The giant cheese. One Battle After Another – “A Few Beers”. Miss Piggy and “Don’t Mess With The Pig”. The feral Scrub Mommy.
OVERHEARDS
“I think some people come here just to camp.”
“Do you like going to the Ice Hockey? We call it the Boy Aquarium.”
“I can’t feel my feet – I’m down to the stubs.”
“There was this muscly guy who came to the festival by himself to try and make friends and he was giving out fruit. My friend took an apple from him then made him eat one in front of her so she knew it wasn’t poisoned. He was weird but I was reading his dating app chat over his shoulder and he must be doing something right because the only message I saw from a girl was ‘That’s sooo fucking hot’.”
“BADBADNOTGOOD did the bob down move and I was like ‘Noooo. My knees!’”
“Devaura was scary good.”
“She scared me.”
“Good.”
“I can’t wait to go home and just rot on the couch.”
“I walked past the RATAPOUILLE toilet and a mum was explaining to her daughter the plot to Ratatouille ‘You see, rats can’t cook in kitchens so what happens is a young boy…’.”
“My favourite celestial DJ was O Honey.”
“If Golden Plains was a film it would be Everything Everywhere All At Once until Monday then it’s One Battle After Another.”
“Have you had any impure thoughts today?”
“I have three different female friends who have told me they masturbate to Marlon Williams.”
“There seems to be a lot of people looking for their cars.” (points to keys hovering at nose height).
“I was annoyed by the complexity of DjRUM.”
“I had to go to bed at 6am when I realised I was only dancing with my arms.”
WEDNESDAY 11am. So sweepy.
I return my dishevelled tuxedo to Rose Chong, minus one tie and two cufflinks.
“Just find us a cute pair of cufflinks and we’re square, Lightbulb.”
Really?
I didn’t realise the Group Assignment reached all the way to Gertrude St, Fitzroy.
High distinction.
Mikey Cahill
DJ Joey Lightbulb / Writer / Host / Promoter
+61 411 883 795
🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀
