Hightailing it up the Bruce Highway, it’s clear from the temperate climate awaiting southern voyagers that 2010’s Splendour In The Grass will be different. It not only boasts an incredibly extensive, quality lineup, it’s relocated from its usual home of Byron Bay to the Woodfordia site outside of Woodford (and we may’ve superimposed Duelling Banjos on some of the places we drove through).
Hightailing it up the Bruce Highway, it’s clear from the temperate climate awaiting southern voyagers that 2010’s Splendour In The Grass will be different. It not only boasts an incredibly extensive, quality lineup, it’s relocated from its usual home of Byron Bay to the Woodfordia site outside of Woodford (and we may’ve superimposed Duelling Banjos on some of the places we drove through).
There are some teething problems as, in these more expansive digs, the festival is now accommodating 30,000 punters, with 20,000+ of them camping. But, without too much of a wait to gain entry, and having quickly set up in one of the camping valleys, it’s clear that this version of Splendour – dappled in the vibrant emerald green of tropical foliage – is an incredibly different beast.
And seeing Foals tear the Mix Up Tent, it certainly seems to live up to the heightened expectations. They – as will become something of a theme – sound impressively massive. They take their weedy math-rock and turn it into beefy dance music, with lashings of rock to give it its ragged edge. It’s brilliant.
But it’s the natural amphitheatre, serving as the festival’s main stage, which is the first real aspect of a Woodfordia-based Splendour that rams home the real difference with the new venue. Yeasayer sound amazing as we catch them finishing, but it’s for Black Rebel Motorcycle Club as darkness has fallen that the amphitheatre comes into its own. There are something like 20,000 people on the hill as the stoner-blues-gaze Americans fill the air with their buzzsaw-channelling rock. The band try to cram as much of their Baby 81 and new album Beat The Devil’s Tattoo-style rockers into their set, but a more tempered, Howl-esque approach may’ve been better.
No matter, as Midlake are magical, at least for the two songs we catch – the hike from the amphitheatre to the other two main stages makes crossover viewing difficult. Hot Chip continue the Mix Up Tent’s trend of excellence – they have a massive crowd in raptures. Frontman Alexis looks ecstatic while leading the crowd through an epic Ready For The Floor.
LCD Soundsystem are mesmerising in the clearest definition of the term. You can barely take your eyes from the stage, and James Murphy is Caesar-like in his geeky/imperious stage manner. It’s so good it actually puts the exceptional Grizzly Bear in the GW McLennan Tent into an automatic second place for the evening. And Grizzly Bear aren’t usually relegated to runners-up. Their display is enchanting.
By the same token, Scissor Sisters are ok – their crowd is by far the most across-the-board and their show is as glammed-out as expected. Then it’s back to the bar and Day One is complete. Well, not until after Vincent Juggernaut does baked-spud laybacks (as opposed to the usual goon laybacks we’re all accustomed to. Right?).
Day Two (Saturday, as it were) is spent bouncing around the site – Ernest Ellis is a nice introduction for the day, while Band Of Skulls and The Drums are both quite excellent. Band Of Skulls in particular are just as bad-arse as expected; there were fears that they would be lacking, but they were kinetic. Delphic are another band to benefit from the Mix Up Tent phenomena – they sound fucking huge – and in response their larger-than-expected crowd are going impressively batshit. Later, Bluejuice experience much the same – Jake and Stav are almost leading a sermon, such is the reverence present. Tame Impala deliver a strange one – their sweeping psychedelia would seemingly be a perfect fit for this outdoor setting, but they fall strangely flat. They get through it, however, and the hill goes predictably nuts.
Back over at the McLennan Tent Laura Marling is charming the pants off an extensive gathering – she’s unbelievably cute, but her songs are punchier than her tiny frame would suggest.
From here, however, is where the major failing of the festival layout becomes apparent. A thousand-odd-strong crowd, trying to head to the amphitheatre to see Florence & The Machine and The Strokes, are denied entry to the amphitheatre roads. No reason is given, other than that they’re trying to stem over-crowding. Thus begins a 20-minute stand-off between a massive crowd of pissed-off punters, security and police. Punters are aggrieved, obviously, as they’re upset that they’re missing acts they’ve paid to see. I say a very pissed-off ‘fuck it’ and bail over to Band Of Horses. Eventually people are let through, but not before it teetered on the edge of a small-scale riot.
Band Of Horses, though, soothe the troubles. They’re captivating in a way only they can be – their tales of jaded Americana are set to a dream-like country-fied folk-rawk that can wash your mind clean and set you on your way. They do just that.
Midnight Juggernauts have a healthy crowd considering what’s on elsewhere, and I finally get to the amphitheatre to see The Strokes only three songs into their set. It’s no new songs, lots of dancing, people swooning over how ‘charming’ a mumbling Julian Casablancas is. Albert Hammond Jr also looks about 47, but it’s no impediment to how pinpoint excellent they are. The sight of a hillside of people losing their collective shit to Last Nite is pretty spectacular.
The next day is a blur – Frightened Rabbit and The Mess Hall are brilliant in the sunshine. We wander over to Ibeefa to laugh at the excellent concept of a beach in the Queensland hinterlands, before wandering through the catacomb-like markets that populate the festival’s southern tip. Cloud Control’s swooping indie-pop is excellent, while Surfer Blood pull off the ‘Best Newcomer Award’ in the amphitheatre, and Fanfarlo are not far behind. Ash pull out a ripsnorter show that’s dripping with nostalgia and huge rock-star moves from Tim Wheeler among classics like Oh Yeah and Girl From Mars. Their new tunes from the A-Z Series stand up surprisingly well too.
K-Os has a wickedly responsive crowd in the Mix Up Tent – there’s a huge amount of arm-waving going on as we head back to amphitheatre to see The Vines. They’re scrappy – Craig Nicholls’ schtick hasn’t, ironically, evolved, and you pine for him to drop the bullshit screeching and just concentrate on kicking arse.
Broken Social Scene, though, are amazing. It’s a riotous collection of hair, guitars and tunes that won’t quit your mind long after the show subsides. The crowd gathered are riveted, because if you look away for a second you may just miss something crucial – Kevin Drew might throw a guitar at someone or something. Crazy, yet superb. Much like Jonsi – his ethereal voice has people swooning as far as the eye can see. The Sigor Ros totem adds an air of mystery to the festival that can’t be matched.
As Splendour draws to a close, it’s remarkable that so much music (and booze) has been packed into three days – calves have cramped from all the walking – with only one really large fuck-around. The site itself was brilliant, and the lineup more than lived up to expectations. Whatever happens next year, you mark Splendour 2010 down as a definite success.
