What was left to do but chat with the bus driver? I had squeezed on board a 1970s shuttle bus en route from Werribee station to Werribee Park, stuffed to the brim with festival-goers young, old and blue in the face with excitement. I was so far up the clutch that I could’ve driven, but the stuffiness of the afternoon didn’t seem to get me down. I was happy to see just as many people excited about the pending festivities as I was, and even more so to see the sun scorching up the port.
We arrived eventually, after cruising along dusty dirt roads and through smelly currents of animal dung, to a little oasis situated right across from the Werribee Open Range Zoo.
To say that this spot and the weather were both perfect is an understatement. Punters couldn’t have asked for a more picturesque day, and to align the atmosphere with one of the best festival line-ups to sweep Australia’s east coast in some time, the scenario was almost dreamlike. Where had Harvest Festival been all our lives?
Once we entered, The Hypnotic Brass Ensemble greeted The Great Lawn with their heavily Southern inspired horn licks on the main stage. These eight brothers from Chicago captivated the entering audience and lured us to the stage with shirtless physiques and well-choreographed dance routines. They had us chanting in chorus ‘we get the party started, you get the party jumping’ – and indeed people were going ape shit. It kinda felt like church, or what I imagine a southern Baptist service would feel like. Soon enough, all that dancing and singing made me and my crew thirsty.
At this point, I think it’s safe to say that the queues at Melbourne’s Gathering were a bit of an issue. There’s this funny system in place that I don’t think anyone quite understands, where people had to line up to buy tickets to then line up to buy drinks. You could buy food with regular, good-old-fashion dollars and cents, but when it came to the booze, you probably ended up missing a set or two waiting in lines the length of a footy oval circumference.
Luckily for me, I wasn’t too bothered by getting smashed. Sure, days like this one in particular make you want nothing more than a refreshing glass of crisp cider, which the main bar did run out of mid-arvo, but heck, punters were there for the bands, right?
One group in particular, The Family Stone, was next to take the main stage, and even though they were short Sly (he is surely missed), they sang and performed their hearts out, reminding us all that we are, indeed, everyday people.
This was a near perfect afternoon lineup, only to be made perfect by rockers PVT. Once we made our way to the Big Red Tractor stage, right next door to the Great Lawn, we walked underneath a crowded circus tent where the sound and the vibe became much more condensed. It was such a stark contrast to the open, hippy vibe of the main stage, that it completely changed my expectations for the day.
To me, this band represented everything that The Gathering aimed to be – high energy, new, exciting and quintessentially Australian. The crowd were in the zone, and as vocalist Richard Pike shouted more so than sang and synths pulsated in the background, the vibe became almost trance like with everyone possessed by the music in true festival form.
TV on the Radio was to follow so we headed back to the main stage located smack bang in front of Werribee Mansion and surrounded by beautiful gardens in full spring. Having been a longtime fan of the band and pumped up by the level of musicianship PVT demonstrated, I felt my expectations growing by the second, and I was not disappointed.
Their set felt like an old-time blues session, with vocalist Tunde Adebimpe stealing the show. His vocal lines are so original and refreshing that it’s hard not to sing along, even if you don’t know the lyrics. Of course, the band is really tight, loud and raw with an infecting quality about it that I would’ve loved to see in a more personal setting.
Getting tired of the grandiose larger stages, we finally headed to the Garden Stage, tucked away at the back of the venue in a little area surrounded by trees and a mini man-made lake. It was there that we were fortunate enough to catch the Trojan Sound System DJs, spinning the best in reggae and dub just as the sun was setting. The crowd was dancing the hardest I’ve ever seen a festival crowd dance since moving to Australia, which is hilarious because there were only about 50 of us there. Others enjoyed the music lounging about, and the drink lines continued to grow as we waited for our mates to collect their second rounds.
We raced back to the Big Red Tractor stage to catch a glimpse of Death In Vegas, another band I was looking forward to seeing, but at this point in the festival the vibe started to change. This was a more low-key, vibrant set that impressed but didn’t energise. We then (with cold drinks in hand) moved on to see a much anticipated set from The National back at the main stage, only to be lulled into another restless set. The afternoon had rocked so hard, and so I wondered, why the big names were taking to the big stages without the sounds to fill them?
The Windmill stage, which we made our way to for the first time all afternoon after seeing The National, was a muddy extension of the festival that didn’t quite feel like it belonged, but that worked in a way. Mogwai managed to fill the open, barren space with its euphoric guitar rifts and violin melodies. The guys play such epic music that would’ve been more suited for the larger stages, in this reviewers opinion, but the booze lines were shorter and the vibe started to pick up a bit so I couldn’t complain. The Scotsman proved why they are one of the world’s loudest bands, leaving my ears ringing with excitement.
Finally, it was time to see Portishead back at the main stage, and the crowds anticipation was nipping at the now black night sky. A chill went through the air and as vocalist Beth Gibbons took to the stage, everyone held their breathe. Would they be able to shake off rumors that they’d lost it somehow? Would this performance live up to expectation?
Of course it did. Gibbons was captivating and although the set was slow, mellow and creepy in that Portishead way, it was a fresh breath of air that breathed new life into the evening. The visual effects were mesmerizing and the stillness of the crowd was meditative. The set stretched out for some time, but this was all in apprehension of the madness to follow. Yes, the Flaming Lips were chosen to end the festival, and if you know anything about these guys, the word madness isn’t to far from mind.
We all sauntered back in the direction of that hidden Windmill stage, knowing the last trains from Werribee might cause some desperate members of the crowd to scramble out through the narrow gates and trample the rest of us, but there was something exciting about it all. The thought that I could actually be crushed and killed. This had better be well worth it, was all I could think. And it was.
The Flaming Lips aren’t a musically aggressive band, the songs are more banter than they are beef, with a few exceptions. But where the band excels, probably past any other group I’ve seen, is at its live performance.
There were over-sized balloons, confetti up the wazoo, large epilepsy-inducing strobe lights and vibrant screens that gave us an abstract view right up a woman’s vagina – no joke. The entire audience was just playing, popping balloons, singing back in chorus, jumping around and generally reciprocating the madness. It felt like a rock n roll wedding, with streamers and glitter exploding all over the place, sexy stage dancers swinging their hips and to top it all off, front man Wayne Coyne entered the stage in a giant bubble. He floated effortlessly over the masses in a way I have never seen before.
In doing so he managed to connect with his audience in a way you wouldn’t think possible at such a large festival. It was the perfect way to see the night to its end.
There were no stampedes, no stress about getting home. The people of Harvest were a diverse lot, mostly tired or drunk or pumped up at this point, but never aggressive, even though they had a few reasons to be (I didn’t even mention the toilet situation, or lack thereof). The Gathering was a day of firsts with a huge learning curve, but as far as festivals go, this was history making stuff, and I’m certainly looking forward to next year.
– Cayce Hill
