Following a very sloppy Meredith, all eyes were on the forecast as Golden Plains approached.
As we drove in down the dusty roads, couches strapped to the roof racks and Zooper Doopers melting in the eskys, the temperature rose steadily. It was going to be a scorcher.
But if the floods couldn’t stop us, neither could the heat. Really, could anything? Glazed with sunscreen, hidden under parasols and spraying each other with water guns, we were ready to be reminded yet again why they call this the best festival on earth.
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The only thing that the heat did stop was the smoking ceremony, which usually kicks off processions. As is tradition, a buzzy local up-and-comer brought forth the first music of the day and Split System easily proved why they’d earned the coveted spot. As soon as the opening riff of Alone Again echoed through the Sup, the festival’s first crowdsurfers and boots were in the air.
After retreating to the campsite to inflate air mattresses and gulp down water, I returned in time to see Wednesday in full swing. Karly Hartzman’s descriptive lyricism transported the Sup to the band’s native Asheville, North Carolina, fit with a healthy dose of rage. “I would like to dedicate the scream at the end of this song to all those in Gaza while we’re out here enjoying the music festival,” she said before the set’s closer, inviting everyone to scream along with her if they also felt angry and confused.
The Zamrock legends WITCH (We Intend To Cause Havoc) delivered an expectedly delightful set. It was impossible not to smile back at the two support vocalists, both grinning ear to ear and offering up some lively dance moves. Frontman Emanyeo “Jgari” Chanda interjected with a playful sense of humour, encouraging fans to pick up their 2023 album Zango: “If you don’t buy it I’ll have to swim home and your waters are not safe, so do me a favour.”
By God, Boris – a truly haunting affair. Smoke filled the stage as lead singer Atsuo, shrouded in black robes and emanating a Lord Voldemort aura, emerged silhouetted against the orange glow. The Japanese experimental noise group was a heavier choice than what’s usually billed at the Sup, but judging by the sludgy mosh pit and expressions of pure awe in the crowd, it was a welcome one.
After that hour-long onslaught, the wildly talented Yussef Dayes brought our heart rates back to normal. “The Yussef Dayes Experience,” a fan in the front row read off the LED backdrop, “Like the Joe Rogan Experience!” And an experience, it was – sat centre stage behind a sprawling kit, the South London drummer and composer offered up a spine-tingling display of contemporary jazz, sprinkled with licks of saxophone and guitar.
Regurgitator jump-started the pointy end of the night. Although the humping, weed jokes and refrains of “I will lick your arsehole” may have come off as crass to some of the less acquainted guests in attendance (especially when following the technical mastery of Yussef Dayes), their manic onstage energy clearly hasn’t waned after more than three decades – an impressive feat. Of course, we all went crazy for hits like Polyester Girl and ! (The Song Formerly Known As).
Charlotte Adigéry and Bolis Pupul’s set can only be described as magical. The sheer charisma radiating from the stage was palpable. The Belgian duo’s danceable beats, quirky lyrics and eccentric charm arrived at just the right time of the night (another miracle crafted by the programming team). Charlotte’s maniacal laughter echoing across the park is a moment we’ll never forget. They left the crowd begging and pleading for an encore they wouldn’t get. Festival etiquette, sigh.
Despite our waning energy, we simply had no choice but to throw it back to the bangers offered up by Mount Druitt rapper Vv Pete, before DJs took over and we headed to bed to conserve our energy.
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Those who made it out early were treated to the melancholic ballads of Sarah Mary Chadwick. Perhaps it was due to the amount of dust in my nose and mouth, but I may have shed a singular tear. Sarah’s work is so viscerally beautiful and raw that in that setting, paired with a throbbing head and just a few hours sleep, it was impossible not to feel it.
Despite the rumours, the only taste of Fred Again.. the audience got was during one of the interstitial intermission DJs. At this point, the high noon sun had steadily sucked all of the vitality out of this writer, whose whole friend group fell asleep on the cool earth until the mozzies came out.
The musical talent of Black Country, New Road is something that can only be fully appreciated live. The band members switched with ease between instruments, sharing lead vocals depending on the song. Unfortunately, they were billed just as the sun descended over Sunset Strip, but the latter half of their set made for an excellent soundtrack to the beautiful moment.
King Stingray – how was this their first time at the Sup? It’s hard to think of a band more universally adored and perfectly suited for a slot. There’s something about the girthy bellows of the didgeridoo paired with twangy electric guitar and the scent of eucalyptus in the air that is just so quintessentially Australian. Followed by the psychedelic grooves of British funk Cymande, spirits were high going into the headlining set.
After kicking things off on a high by showering the front row in bubbly, what The Streets offered was a little bizarre. Mike Skinner had developed an elaborate plan where he would climb off the stage, wade through the crowd to the yellow smiley face doof stick and raise his shoe in the air.
When he did so, we were all to do the same to become “TikTok famous”. He would then crowdsurf back to the stage and he invited any willing females to join him (spoiler: none did). He reiterated this plan between each song. “You’re all going to have a shit week after this” was another thing he kept going on about – an oddly negative sentiment for such a happy-go-lucky festival.
When the big moment finally came, it was anticlimactic. The music was good; the chatter, a bit much. But really, what can one expect from a man who’s turned yapping into a successful musical career? The entertainment value was there.
Sunshine and Disco Faith Choir capped off the evening with over-the-top decadence and drama. Shimmering in blue and gold feathered costumes, they delivered classic diva hits with unbelievable energy and zest, the cherry on top of an incredible weekend.
Contrary to what Mike Skinner had foretold, I, personally, didn’t have a ‘shit week’ after Golden Plains. Was I exhausted? Yes. Hungover? Maybe. But ultimately spiritually revitalised, washed clean by two days of immense talent and wholesome revelry.
Check out our review of Golden Plains 2023 here.
