Round two for Sugar Mountain at the VCA, and the morning clouds rolled away just in time for the festival to roll out a lineup that took risks while also satisfying less demanding listeners.
City Calm Down were up early, confirming that Joy Division’s impact on the youth is as strong as ever. When it came to potent British sounds, however, Kate Tempest wasn’t just the day’s finest representative, but surely one of the world’s most piercingly incisive social rappers. Firing out verses in rapid motion is itself a captivating signature, but Tempest’s magnetism stemmed chiefly from her elaborately organised observations of the soul destruction perpetrated by the neo-liberal hierarchy. Despite the heavy substance, it was neither off-putting nor hard to follow. Tempest is compulsively drawn to her artistic practice, investing all the time necessary to equip her songs with intellect, educated opinion, and enough empathy to make her words speak to you, not at you.
Royal Headache were at last back in Melbourne and happy to take us through their new LP, High. A mismatched crew, they followed Tempest’s lead in showing us that regular-lookin’ folks have the best ideas. Frontman Shogun trampled across the Dodds Street stage like he was shaking off a cyanide injection, while adding a blackened char to his already visceral vocal lines.
Despite forcing you to stand in an inhospitable gravel pit, the Car Park stage was the place to be for much of the afternoon, playing host to a succession of contemporary innovators. After the lead-off of remodelled hip hop from Sampa the Great and Tempest, Empress Of brought her deviant pop to the stage. With a drummer and keyboardist helping to minimise the amount of midi triggering, Brooklyn’s Lorely Rodriguez served up a super smoothie of energy, showcasing the majority of her debut LP, Me.
The envelope pushing continued with Le1f, the animated New Yorker immediately hooking in the curious crowd. His show foremostly succeeded as a piece of performance art – his pineapple hairdo, extravagant movements and duo of backing dancers shining above the songcraft. Empress Of stood side stage and did her best to keep up with the choreographed dancing, and otherwise appeared genuinely enraptured, which enhanced the overall spectacle.
Dam Funk spent a lot of time wailing on a keytar, blissfully inhabiting a world of his own. It was wonderfully amusing, although the small crowd size was a little dispiriting. Having just marked a trail through some of the nation’s more sophisticated theatres, Courtney Barnett was able to let loose on the Dodds Street stage. Over a 12-month period of near-constant touring, Barnett and her two sidekicks have developed great malleability. Today they made towering over a buzzing festival crowd seem like a cakewalk, giving us unresolved angst (Small Poppies), sing-along melancholy (Depreston) and charged-up, speak-sung rock’n’roll (Pedestrian At Best).
Anticipation for the Dirty Three was smeared on peoples’ faces ever since the sun broke through several hours earlier. Warren Ellis, Jim White and Mick Turner didn’t have to fight for the crowd’s affection; they were greeted like figures of eminence. They did, however, fully vindicate the onlookers’ devotion, traipsing broadly through their catalogue. Each song came with a prologue of absurdist stream-of-consciousness ranting from Ellis, speaking of such things as marrying Rupert Murdoch and being held hostage in the boot of a car, for example. On a more serious note, two songs were dedicated to those either dead or dying, and he also told us they’d be putting the Dirty Three “to bed” for a while after this show.
The exposition of cruel misfortune transmitted in a seemingly rambling manner applied to their music as well. Dirty Three don’t care much for orderliness – the three instrumentalists each occupy their own space in which they flex primal feelings, but their energies coalesce to create something utterly illogical, and yet completely vital. Abetted by the fading light, we felt vulnerability from Sea Above Sky Below, viewed battered beauty in Everything’s Fucked and were lifted up by the circus-like zeal of The Zither Player.
They’re a hard act to follow, but Hot Chip proved an apt successor to Dirty Three. The London synth pop collective facilitated a place of warmth and familiarity while rolling out all the hits – Over and Over, One Life Stand, Ready for the Floor, I Feel Better. Denying the urge to dance would’ve been most prudelike, never mind how wearied you were from a day on your feet.
For a festival of its size, there’s nothing quite like Sugar Mountain. Let’s hope it hasn’t peaked.
BY AUGUSTUS WELBY
Photo by Simon Atkinson
Loved: Sunshine on a cloudy day.
Hated: Sunburn.
Drank: Quite a bit, I’d say.
