Sexta-feira 23 Jan 2009, 0h:56
It’s been a while since I’ve taken the plunge into the mass of desperate youth indulgence that is the Big Day Out. As this most iconic of Aussie music festivals has evolved, I’ve increasingly found myself alienated by its tendency to present a bill so broadly appealing as to almost defeat its own intent to service a niche music market. This is certainly a charge that could be levelled at the 2009 incarnation, but for me there were just enough interesting bands dotted thoughout the lineup to induce me to jump back in.
On immersion into the mayhem surrounding the entrance of the Gold Coast Parklands, I remembered why I had started to give each annual BDO a miss. Letting everyone visit the toilet, finding water refills, organising some drink tickets (attempting desperately to put an accurate forecast on how much we were going to consume), grabbing something to eat, and just getting a grip on the lay of the land took up the better part of an hour and a half. Eventually we had to grab a seat in the stand opposite the main stages just so we could come up with some kind of plan. As the sodapop-punk of The Grates wafted intermittently across to us through the wind, we were thankful for Mikey’s iPhone - with printed programmes apparently rare as hen’s teeth, we had to get online to see who was on where.
Finally we set our sights on the (distant) Converse stage and headed off to catch Black Kids for a half hour or so before TV on the Radio were due to set up next door. The Kids were everything you would have imagined. I had surprised myself immensely this year by actually enjoying their fine debut, Partie Traumatic, and the band enthusiastically ripped out some very polished-sounding renditions of that album’s excellent pop. It just goes to show, genre aside, quality is quality, and it was with a fair amount of reluctance that we shifted across to the next stage.
TV on the Radio were a must-see for me, and I was completely pumped as I waited for them to come on stage. But this just served to remind me of another reason why the BDO can be less than optimal: it seemed to me that most folks crammed under the tent were just sort of semi-interested passersby. Hmmm, maybe I should have waited for the sideshow. Although TVOTR showed glimpses of the live intensity that they first built their reputation on, I couldn’t help but feel that they were adversely affected by the lack of energy from the crowd. But, despite this and some pretty crappy sound mix, they put a brave face on it and churned out some still wrenchingly powerful stuff, with Wolf Like Me and Staring at the Sun real highlights.
As we wandered away from the Green Stage, we found ourselves at a bit of a loose end so just kind of moseyed over to the main stage with no real aim. Sitting down at a distance from the stage, I found myself somewhat repelled by the febrile neediness of Pendulum’s lead singer (”Come on, let’s hear some fucking noise!!!”). We decided it would be best to find a comfy spot back near the Green and Converse Stages.
I wasn’t really interested in My Morning Jacket but from my seat on the hill next to their stage, I have to say their set sounded damn impressive. They have an incredibly clear sound and an obvious mastery over their instruments that made me want to hear more. I was planning on seeing The Drones next door, but as MMJ’s long set kept going, I found myself disinclined to leave them. The Drones will have to wait for St Jerome’s next month. Note to self: check out some of MMJ’s back catalog - somehow I’ve remained ignorant of it up till now.
Heading for the bar to get a drink before Cut Copy started, I suddenly found myself in a scrum. The bar was absolute chaos (here’s a suggestion for your box, BDO organisers: Put up more bars!!!). Finally emerging triumphant with my unsurprisingly overpriced Johnny Walker cans, my jaw dropped. The imminent arrival of everyone’s favourite retro-electro’s had pulled moonlike at the Parklands masses, as a tide of people poured into the vicinity of the Green Stage. Do people understand just how popular Cut Copy have become? Surely they were an act worthy of the main stage, although one wonders what that massive set would do to their precisely melodic music. In any case, they nearly blew the big top off the ground, as a writhing mass of ecstatic punters enjoyed every moment of a fantastic set. After already stealing the show at the brilliant Nevereverland show in December, I find myself loving these guys more and more.
OK, time to stop stuffing around now. I had to get through the gate to get up front at the main stage. Although more than interested in checking out Arctic Monkeys, the real reason I was here was to catch one of my heroes, a legend, a demi-god even. I’m a Rusty from way back - well, a new recruit in the timeframe that Neil Young has operated over. A push and a shove and a hastily avoided trample and I was through: front and centre a full hour before he took the stage. Thankfully, the Monkeys put in a great set next door to keep us all entertained, complete with a nice cover of Nick Cave’s Red Right Hand and a cracking version of Do Me A Favour.
It’s a dodgy prospect sometimes, seeing one of your heroes play. But I’ll cut to the chase. Neil Young was better than I could ever have hoped for. No surly insistence on focusing on newer work (not that the new stuff is at all sub-par anyway) or on subverting his adoring fans’ expectations here: Neil just wants to give the punters a great show, and he was in fine form tonight. Attacking his guitar like a deep-forest hermit on acid, he rocked through a great version of Hey Hey My My before fulfilling a dream of mine by wading through the achingly beautiful guitar solos smothering his classic ballad, Cortez the Killer. Out came the acoustic guitar for an indulgently crowd-pleasing trilogy of The Needle and the Damage Done, Old Man and Heart of Gold, and the Parklands crowd became a choir. But then we were back in electric mode, as a parade of classics passed by, dotted with the kind of epic, soulful lead guitar that only Neil Young can produce. Eventually the rollicking chords of Rocking in the Free World burst out, before Neil and band finally lined up to take a bow. But there was one last unexpected treat: an exceptional cover of the sacrosanct Beatles masterpiece, A Day in the Life. Well, if anyone has the cred to take it on, it’s Neil, and he beautifully guided us through the haunting balladic verses, up through the first crescendo and down through the jaunty McCartney bridge before finally tearing the stage apart with the song’s final climax.
It was a fitting finale to the day - itself an experience of ups and downs. But as the crowd trudged wearily out the gates I was walking on air.