walking rek

The long awaited daft Punk gig was nothing short of EPIC. I’ll try to break it down for ya’:

1. We drove out to Homebush (great idea!). Traffic wasnt too foul so we got there about 1315. Parked car, short stroll to the ONLY entrance where we proceeded to do fuck all for the next 2.5 hours apart from stand still in a huge crowd under awful conditions. Some nitwit had sent a bulk email to everyone who bought their tix online. Email went along the lines of “if you dont get there early you will be watching the Punk from the stadium, so get there early punk”. I guess myself and every other sod who rocked up before 1700 were pretty keen on that dancefloor action (mind you, Daft Punk were on at 2145). There was at least 10,000 of us (prob more like 14K but some reports say as many as 24K) stuck in this ugly crowd scence: no water, no shade, no public announcements, no queue barriers, no St John’s, no end in sight. We did have in abundance: humidity approaching 90%, girls fainting, people pushing, people booing, people farting, bottle throwing and dangerous levels of frustration. It took every gram of self control for me not to ark up and barge thru the crowd to hurl abuse at whoever was responsible for the gross misconduct and most outrageous breach of OH+S in party history that we were subjected to. The organisers should def post a public apology and explainantion for what happened. Only ONE fucking entry point??? Big Day Out is a juggernaut in comparison with this Never Ever Again one-off and I’ve never had to endure such disgusting conditions. People could have died! There could have been a stampede. Fuck knows I wanted to! (Might have something to do with the 3 Red Bulls I sculled in the hour prior to the line-up but my yogic breathing technique placated the guarana rage to a manageable degree, but only just). I got separated from Fee in the various crowd surges that occurred. This was also annoying. But as we no doubt would have made the joint decision to fuck the gig, sell our tix for $500 each and drive home to smoke on my balcony had we stayed together in that mob, it probably worked out for the best that we got separated. Small joy!

2. Once inside, it took a while to chill the fuck out after that degrading ordeal. A ciggie and some water with a sit down sorted that out after a bit. Then we decide to get some food. Another fortifying gesture…in theory. Every other punk in Sydney had the same idea. Same FUCKN QUEUES! AGH!!! Ok, no biggie. We already survived the mutha of all crowds so this should be a piece of cake. But then the rain came down. Just like that line from that Infusion/Outfission (sorry lads!) track, it dropped out of the heavy sky and added another dampener (cough cough) to the gig. In retrospect it was actually quite refreshing and our auric bodies no doubt needed the cleanse after that psychic rape earlier. But at the time it just seemed like the day couldnt get any worse, especially since the rain did not look like clearing. Added to this was another example of the slowest moving queue in human history; we were lined up for 45 mins for a burger and chips. Funnily enough, as luck would have it, just as I get to the counter and order my food, I open my wallet to retrieve some cash and the fuckin WIND picks up, swirls around us with mischievious gusto, rifles thru my wallet and snatches $50 from me! It is promptly swept UNDER the fuckn food wagon where I have been standing for almost an hour and despite my efforts to kneel down in the mud and wriggle under the cart, it just always seems to be that little bit too far away from my reach. GRRRR! I spin to to Fee and loudly exclaim “Fuck this, after we eat we GO!” LOL, I do tend to get emotional about these things! We take a seat under cover, devour probably the best fuckn chicken burger I’ve ever had, and reassess. Apart from $50 and a few kilos lost from dehydration, we are in good shape. Fee needs bandaids, and we both need water, so the plan is hatched and we decide to stay…at least for a lil while longer…

3. Soon enough the phone starts making noise and its the cavalry, here much later then expected and in much happier spirits then us early birds. Looking and feeling very chipper they sweep us along in a tide of good vibes to go sit up the very top of the stadium to avoid the rain. Blazed up and for the first time today I was actually laxin. Feelin good after a temporary bout of vertigo, we head en masse to to the dancefloor. Ha! Should mention here that the “limited” dancefloor tickets were referring to the grope pit up the front of the main stage. So, it really would not have been a big deal had we turned up later as I had NO intention of getting in that pit anyhow! That email def presented a different story to what unfolded. I will post it here if I can be bothered at a later date. We grab a few beers on the way down and I’m in front of Fee. Next thing I hear is bang and bounce and I turn around and there she is, mid-text, on her ass on the metal steps with a beer in the other hand! OUCH! Fee insisted that her injuries were purely ego based, so we kept on. That would have been another Get The Fuck Outta Here moment, but we forged on, tuff ladies of the floor that we are

After that , the party got considerably better. The sun came out toward the end of Muscles set, the defining moment of his career so far, the crowd went wild. The sun stayed out till almost 2100 (being the longest day of the year, a solstice in fact) when the moon dropped in, almost full, and hovered above us till the end.

I could have a whinge about the DJs, the sound and the vision. But I won’t. Presets and Cut Copy were lots of fun and very familiar. The toilet situation got better as the nite wore on, as did the bar wait. So no complaints there.

Daft Punk were mad. Their lites and production were something else. It felt like they really were robots talking to us! Some said that they played a close version of the Alive CD, and maybe that is true. They still captured my imagination, hips and head as I bopped about like a lil kidder.

And yes, they did end with One More Time. It was perfect!

see below for excerpt from the group email:

1. GET THERE EARLY

The gates fling open for NEVEREVERLAND in Sydney at 2pm.

The first 24,000 people through the door will be given a wristband that allows access onto the field in front of the stage and the stands. After that, punters will be directed into the stands. If you do not have a wristband you will not be admitted to the field at any time.

BULL SHIT

Hot dog. The summer season is upon us here in down town Sydney. I am happy, hungover n broke and it aint even NYE yet. Excellent form. Did the twist with my body n mind with Rocket Science tonite in preparation for Daft Punk tomorrow. I like to be limber for these events. In true w.rek style, I meant to blog about the last time I saw the The Science back in June. But, as fate may have it, I’ve only just checked my drafts now. And as much as I want to describe the sensory overload that accompanies each of their sets, words again escape me. For another day.

My poor old knees have been getting a work out this past week.

I took a flamboyant spill on the dancefloor at Spectrum on Saturday nite. This was ok as I was in a very jolly mood, I had my red shoes on and I was dancing like Mick Jagger (or trying to). Bounced up from the wet floor, took a curtsey and started boppin around again. Didnt really remember the incident till much later the next day when I was rumaging around for something in the mountain of clothes that permanently inhabits my room when the pain hit. Closer inspection revealed evidence of a heavy tumble on both knees, bruised and puffy with fluid building steadily in that bit below the patella. No skirts for me this week!

And so, wearing my sharp black pants I make my merry way to work on Monday. Push bike has been deemed unroadworthy by the swathy gents at Cheeky Transport (another story) so I’m on the tram for a few weeks. Strolling across City West Link at the pedestrian crossing, I momentarily misplace gravity and take yet another belly flop, this time in the middle of the road. Bag and contents fly everywhere, mobile phone skates across the intersection and I’m left laughing so hard I can hardly drag my shredded pants to safety on the other side. I need to point out here that I was NOT jay walking at the time but observing correct pedestrian protocol. I was, however, wearing those red shoes again…

It is moments like these that remind me why walking rek is such a fitting moniker. It seems that depsite my ardent efforts to be industrious and sensible, those mischievous imps that follow me around are just as up for a laugh as I am. Too bad for my knees though, they are on ice for a week. The smart black pants were sadly another casualty, but the red shoes are in fine form, waiting for round three…

Upon rocking up at the Metro, having already employed the oft-forgot parking station option and therefore shaving a good 30mins off our ETA, we bypassed the early bird queue in favour of a liquid lounge. When we returned to the lane next to the Metro, the situation appeared much worse, even more so when we discovered that more then a few other people had the same idea as us, resulting in a severe glut of spare tickets. There was an unheard of average of 3 tickets per interested party, and for the record, tickets were going for peanuts. So much for a lil bit’o free enterprise. Whatever, we weren’t going to hang around for some unlucky sucker to dupe, so taking timely advantage of that familiar face up near the front of the line, we almost didn’t have a chance to discuss the unfortunate demise of the Metro side entrance. After a nod from security we climbed the stairs and missed regular door girls Deb&Co whose absence was conspicuous. Perhaps they were getting a drink. A fine idea.

To the bar. Buying a Crown Lager somehow loses its appeal when served in a plastic cup. Never the less, old habits die hard and the “King of All Beer” is no exception. Best enjoyed from the greatest view in the house, one can then allow for a certain degree of spillage as you negotiate your way to the upper section of the big room. There is a sense of calm before the storm as you savour the flavour whilst taking the in the surrounds and discuss the running order of the DJ’s for the nite.

First up is the Biz. We decide to stick around in our vantage point. This guy is simply exciting to watch. Pure class. From a performance perspective Biz entertains with his characteristic and dynamic gestures: sharp, slick and quick, this guy is Born to Get Biz-E. Tonite he was hammin’ it up, giggling to himself in anticipation of the crowds’ reaction to the next track, kickin’ around behind the dex with that nonchalant air that has endeared him to many. Biz-E set the musical agenda for the nite with a hectic mix of acidic textures and big fat ole ass in the tekkers and electro vein, working back through to that kinky disco sound. From recollection that is. Anyhow, he ripped shit like always. At the end of his set Biz-E also ripped off what may have been a compulsory Sabotage 5 t-shirt, displaying not only a well defined torso but his outright contempt for marketing merchandise. Maybe he just wanted to change. Whatever. Biz-E left us wanting more, which is what we wanted, and on came King Kenny with a crate full of killers and big smirk.

The second set of the nite ain’t an easy slot. You gotta kinda ride the clutch. Ken was champin’ at the bit as though he too wanted to let loose, hinting at harder things to come in his seamless delivery of fine musical moments. Nevertheless, he kept the pot simmering gently and thrust the bass in our face when necessary. Apart from that, I cannot remember anymore about Ken’s set except that it was all over a lil too soon. And that there was some kind of commotion going on down behind the dex with him.

Perhaps it was in anticipation of a Mister Pocket and his bag of goodies. Always outstanding, tonite was no exception. Combining some vintage material with fresher produce, Pocket offered an energetic and entertaining showcase of varied deelites. The opening number was pure Pocket magic with the epic soul searcher Indian Summer heralding the start of his set.

By now the energy of the room was soaring. We wanted the main course. Up popped Sugar Ray right on cue and proceeded to do some damage to our already throbbing limbs. Shoogzie worked us with an unrelenting yet unspectacular mix of harder beats; a few classic numbers rescued this shell of a set from mediocrity but I still found it hard to leave the room.

Still riveted at 5am when Phil Smart sauntered out to take over the wheel. Some consider the final set of the nite to be the most crucial, the one by which we remember the whole party experience, perhaps the most anticipated set of the evening, and one certainly worth sticking around to hear. A special DJ will give you a decent hed-fuk that will linger for a couple of weeks. Phil’s uncanny intuitive manner and musical presence lend his end-o-niters certain qualities that make this slot his very own: no body does the 5-7am better then Phil. With a penchant for slippin’ in a retro classic, tonite Phil treated our over-loaded senses to a moody Blue Monday and we lapped it up. Once again Phil played a challenging set, rounding off a night of moving music.

The memory of Sabotage 5 was dampened only by the defiant lack of encore at the end of the party. End of set, lights up, every body out. No amount of “One More!!!” was going to give us one final concluding movement in the symphony that had proceeded; like a story without an epilogue, the party ended without resolution. I have always considered the encore to be a gesture of appreciation toward the dancers who have given it up on behalf of the DJ’s, but on this occasion it appeared that we did not give enough. Either that, or Metro management pulled the plug. Whatever, Sabs 5 was over and we were out.
DJ OF NITE: Biz-E
HI LITES: Blue Monday, Indian Summer, THAT Lazer
LO POINTS: all that General Pants endorsement, no encore

I jumped at the chance to cover this gig. My gut intuition was whispering sweet promises of a close encounter with some serious groove. My prior experiences at the Metro, albeit mostly in the main room, had forged strong impressions of events soaked in super sound and awesome vibe. Expectations riding aloft after a gruesome week, this Friday night I was gonna cut loose and get high.

One thing is for certain: some things change, and others remain as stoically unblemished by the winds of time as a good pair of flares. I tell you what, this freekin no-smoking policy at the Metro may have some mild mannered supporters but let me ask you this: who goes to gigs to stand around picking ones nose and deliberating on the texture and flavor? I can only speak for myself but I go to gigs to savour the rewarding fusion of music, liquid and smoke: this was the first time that the harsh sting of anti-smoking legislation had backed me into a corner and I decidedly did not like it.

The first band we caught was Panda. Cute name, cute sound. They had this rootsy funk thing happening with a gospel thread that was almost infecticious had there been the sweet smell of cheeba in the air. Which there wasn’t. There was a lot of people lying around on the scattered poufs looking like they had partaken their fair share before they arrived, a thought that struck me as perhaps a little pre-meditated. I wish I had been fore- warned. Panda boasted some throaty vocals and sumptuous saxophone accompanied by a sassy steel guitar and ripe old funky beats. I thought they had a lot to offer and wish that I could have enjoyed their set without thinking up elaborate ways to sneak a drag on my dhurri. The venue too had plenty to smirk about: with the clever stage, pre-loved couches and tables upstairs, this space combined boho cabaret with serious sound reinforcement. Too bad about the long walk downstairs to indulge in a little inhalation…(this unfortunate detour did, on the other hand, present us with happy hour at Bar Ace next door with $2.50 spirits from 5-11pm.)

All funked up, we venture back to catch the Modernists. Holy smoke, these cats were on FIRE before they even started. The band began their set with an illegally fat instrumental – then, enter stage left… their lead singer, we’ll call him Kamahl, made his grand entrance by executing the maddest strut ever down the tiered stage to take his position with the other magnificent seven. Introducing themselves as purveyors of Funk Disco Soul, the Modernists made my heart leap: they were the real deal, the funk fantastique. Jamiroquai – watch ya back, these kids are the freekin bomb. With a solid repertoire of super dope originals, the Modernists played for over an hour to a stunned audience: the extended instrumentals allowed the immense talent of the band to shine through whilst the genuine ladies man lyrics were delivered in deep honey tones. The Modernists offered a generous mix of faster funk along with seductive slow numbers, never losing momentum or the audience adoration. Their stage presence was flawless, their musical talent unquestionable. I can’t wait to see them again in a smoke friendly venue. The Modernists have a new CD out soon.

I always thought that Electric Six were a band whose music would befit a retroactive nightclub in the middle of a circus ring with crazy cabaret artists dangling from the trapeze. Having never seen their video clips, I had this mental image of performers decked out in Parliament and Village People flavoured outfits, swinging microphones around and busting ballistic manoeuvres. Their music painted a vivid picture in my mind and I was looking forward to the Electric Six live experience, whatever that may be. Having heard on the grape vine that the gig was sold out, we were well prepared to get there early to secure a spot with a view. We were not expecting to find a long queue out front at 9pm: punters were obviously pretty keen to catch local supports SPOD and Peabody. There was excitement in air and the line moved quickly once doors opened. SPOD were warming up the room with their quirky mix of electro-clash, rocked out disco and tongue-in-cheek lyrics. SPOD are two guys, a guitar, a drum machine and an effects box. They dance around the stage hamming up the performance with lewd moves and plenty of crowd interaction. SPOD were an appropriate opener for the night, they set the vibe and got the punters moving and laughing. Up next was Peabody, a punchy three piece with pacey ditties about being drunk and disorderly. They held the crowd’s attention and impressed with their tight and zealous performance.
Peabody’s popular hit “Stupid Boy (Full of Alcohol)” was well received as the punters loosened up their vocal chords and jostled for room on the heaving dance floor.

Peabody was a smart choice as segway to the headlining act. And what an act! Electric Six were nothing like I expected them to be, not one pair of bell-bottoms to behold. These guys embody everything that was great from the Eighties From the haircuts, to the tight pants, to the mirror shades, these guys oozed sex appeal from every angle. Electric Six are drums, keys, bass, rhythm, lead and vocals and they are all outstanding performers. In particular, the guitarists hung off their instruments with the right blend of nonchalance and technical dexterity: little stabs of legs, leaning out into the crowd, grand arcs of flamboyant persona endeared me immediately. The drummer was super tight too, whilst the keyboardist was pure magic. The vocalist has one hell of a voice: very Tom Jones in his manner, he belts out lyrics with the power of a gospel singer complete with hand moves and dinky dancing. I was dazzled by the thick, polished rock-funk sound that permeated the room – their recordings simply do not do justice to their live performance. There were blistering guitar solos, dynamic rhythms and grinding grooves. I was expecting something perhaps a little camp, but their very masculine show had an raucous effect on the audience: one guy got launched onto the stage much to his surprise, someone’s g-string found its home on the neck of a guitar and people were going crazy. They played all their familiar hits “Danger! High Voltage”, “Gay Bar” and “Dance Commander” but I also found their other material highly danceable. I enjoyed the gig so much so that I simply had to buy the t-shirt. I hope that Electric Six tour here again very soon, and would recommend catching them live. They are playing at the

Annandale next Tuesday 27th July. Get in early to avoid disappointment – Electric six is one act not to be missed.

Sydney loves the Presets. With all the madness surrounding their recent album release it came as no surprise that this gig had well and truly sold out prior to doors on Saturday nite. Having caught these guys earlier in the year I too was looking forward to sweating it out again under the capricious spell of the Presets.We started proceedings for the evening down the road at the Century Tavern where they sell the largest $3.50 middies of beer in Sydney. You can also smoke unimpeded in relative indie comfort high above the chaos of George Street.
Back at the Metro The Valentino’s were prowling around stage in their tight jeans and flat hair. They produce a sound very much like the Cure meets Richie Valens, 60’s surf rock with steel guitar and moody unintelligible vocals. The lead singer must have had his jeans a little too tight as he seemed to have enormous trouble staying upright – he spent a good portion of their set writhing about on the stage behind the drums. The drummer himself was also a good laugh: when he wasn’t thrashing about like the guy from Def Leppard he was blabbering on about some bouncer in Brisbane who did him wrong. Regardless of these hilarious antics, The Valentino’s did play with panache, especially the guy on steel guitar.

Whilst we were blinded by the first big laser I’ve seen in years, The Presets creeped out in clear plastic masks that warped their features in a greasy fashion. This 2 piece powerhouse of dark electro pop are certainly entertaining to watch and tremendous fun to dance to: their disjointed rhythms and jagged melodies swing between the hypnotic and stabbing, the raunchy and the angular. The guy on drums didn’t stay there for long, he was up and about, punching and kicking the air, dancing like an old school raver in his smiley tshirt. The lead singer was flicking his power fringe all over the place and seducing the crowd with his alluring lyrics and sardonic delivery.

I couldn’t say which was my favourite moment, but when they threw the big balloons out into the crowd it brought on a major flashback! The steamy conditions on the dancefloor were exacerbated by the saucy sounds and those in the front row started crawling onto the stage and soon there was another inferno up there. Aye carumba, this was something else.

The Presets demolished their 60 minute set all too quickly for my liking. Left high and dry after a wild and sweaty session on the tiles, I could’ve danced all nite. Lucky for me I have the album so I can re-live the gig again and again til I see them next time. Won’t you join me?

I like the Gaelic Club. There is something authentic about the place; be that the smiling Irish voice who answered the phone when I rang to check the gig time, or the tasty array of world beer on tap, I reckon this place is just what Sydney needed to reboot our sluggish live scene. Thus it was with much anticipation that we donned our drinking hats and stepped out to brave the torrential drizzle, en route a la Gaelic.

Firstly I must say that the door list was seriously lengthy. There must have been at least two hundred names on those tattered shreds of paper. I guess Koolism and Katalyst have a lot of friends. Hoping that they had saved us a seat, we side stepped to the bar and made the first very important decision of the evening. Beverage in hand, the search was on…get thee to a table with a view. No chance. We might have had better luck trying to park a mini-bus on the Opera House forecourt, but on this occasion the Gig Gods were against us and we found ourselves wedged up against the wall over to the left near the toilets. There was an army of very surly and very tall gents camped defiantly on the dance floor so we voted to stay put temporarily.

The first DJ was slamming down old school Biggie-esque beats which got things happening in our corner, but it is always hard to get the momentum moving when you are getting battered around by folks on a mad dash to the amenities. Steeling ourselves with more amber liquid, we stood staunch and checked out the locale. The crowd was a mixed bunch of old uni students, B Grade Celebs and off duty bouncers all trying to find a spot to put their drink and roll a cigarette. The rather hefty hip hop heaving out of those tall stacks of speakers definitely set the mood: there was a certain tension in the air and even that army of giants shifted their weight in anticipation of the set to come.

Katalyst came on just after 11 with DJ Leeroy Brown and some super sounds of the seventies. The unique style of Katalyst who blends beats with grooves of gold is perfectly set off by Leeroy’s sleek scratching skills, but the first MC fell flat on his yank accent and lost the vibe almost instantly. Katalyst reclaimed some of it when he whipped out an old CB radio rigged up as a mic and ushered in his second MC who got a warmer response from the crowd. Pulling out the big guns, Katalyst and Leeroy amped up a Seven Nation Army mega mix that got the crowd interested and then followed through with some Kelis and current Beastie Boys. Most of the crowd dug it, but the solid gents in the front row didn’t appear too impressed, a feeling that was echoed in our corner. We endured the moment by admiring the cool visuals of old record covers from the seventies being projected behind the performers. Katalyst wrapped up his set on a big note with an original party pleaser off his album and managed to reinstate the lost vibe. Overall, I thought he played to the Triple J crowd too much and didn’t promote his more eclectic collection.

Koolism were obviously the act everyone was eager to see and hear. With DJ Danielsan proving why he is most revered with the choicest beats and technical proficiency, the 2 MC’s bounced around the stage with unabashed abandon. The crowd lapped it up and gave it up for the big beats and choruses. There was little banter between tracks and one number flowed into the next leaving little room for timely breaks to the bar. The critical mass of MCs in the crowd was showing signs of enjoyment whilst average Joe struggled for a piece of dance floor action. Plenty of beer was getting spilled, sweet smoke filled the air around us and the vibe was holding strong. Koolism’s new material got a swell reception and the crowd was happy to jostle amongst themselves, eager to ride the wave of funky beats and straight up lyrics. Koolism are about busting your guts on the dance floor and as an album launch, this gig split its pants.

The inaugural Come Together festival boasted an all Australian lineup of alternative and indie-dance cross over bands in a spectacular harbour side setting. An all-ages gig, this festival drew a friendly diverse crowd to Sydney’s beloved Luna Park.

Come Together was a triumph. At less then $60 a ticket, the event featured 30 edgy home grown acts as well as unlimited rides making Come Together excellent value for money. The defiantly non-mainstream program successfully combined quantity and quality across a wide range of musical entertainment.

Come Together was staged in the Big Top arena along with smaller space Spectrum, all smack bang in the middle of Luna Park’s side show alley. We were torn between watching the gigs and running amok amongst the families who were there for the day too. Lining up for the Wild Mouse ride offered a telling cross section of mums and dads, toddlers and punks. The seven nation army of Spazzy’s fans started a food fight with a gang of kids: uber cool noveau wavers traded sulky glances with boozy home boys: skater chicks pashed on with guys in tight black denim. It was on for young and old! This playground of ride-induced nausea, fashion and mischief was a circus; against the backdrop of loud music and rides, gleeful laughter filtered through the day and into the night.

Each band had 30 mins of show time to blow us away so the pressure was on to impress. There was little on stage banter as the performers powered through their best material, so we were treated to highly refined performances that were designed for maximum impact. The result was concentrated quality; rather then wandering off half way through a set due to lack of interest, I found myself compelled to stick around till the end of most acts even though there was so much to see and do.

The Spectrum Stage housed by the Popcorn Hall played host to bands such as Peabody, the Presets, Starky and the Panda Band. This room was on ground level with no audience elevation making it difficult to see the performers unless you were right up the front by the stage. Those over 18 who wished to buy alcohol had to stand behind barricades at the rear bar which was annoying. The room had a low ceiling and some odd fluoro lighting fixtures that cast an unhealthy glow without flux, whilst the lack of ventilation caused a thick humid cloud despite the venue being non smoking. The Presets were rad and got the crowd moving to their moody melodies and dark wave loops; a 2 piece outfit with synths, vox and live drums, these guys are the ultimate in tortured bliss.

The Big Top is a big joint with massive sound, great lighting rig and monster floor. We spent most of our time hanging out upstairs in the over 18’s balcony which offered supreme vantage points of the main stage. The sizable back room featured indie DJs spinning a respectable selection of cult classics to a transient audience under the golden glare of the Taj Mahal installation whilst the bar queue moved quickly and a beer cost $6. One problem with the Big Top was the lack of designated smoking + drinking areas: the only place in the whole festival where we could enjoy both together was an outdoor concrete slab fenced in underneath a screaming ride. It felt like an after thought and offered little shade in the heat of the day.

From a musical perspective, the Big Top gets props. The stage was split into halves allowing one act to set-up shop whilst another rocked out on the other side. This ensured a smooth transition between performances and delivered almost non-stop entertainment; for most of the evening it was difficult to leave the room for fear of missing something and I found myself catching acts I would not have ordinarily seen.

Gerling were always going to be larger then life: bouncing around the stage, this 3 piece have an infectious demeanor and hilarious lyrics. Infusion were a little more solemn in comparison: one of the acts I was desperate to catch, I found their set a far cry from earlier days. The 3 lads were joined by a dude on bass and another on guitar fusing dance and rock in what was a very serious and perhaps lack lustre rendition of recent material. Rocket Science were out of control – I love their dramatic sound, that Theremin, the way the front man throws himself about the stage and crawls back to hunch over his keys. Awesome. The biggest surprise of the night was the Spazzy’s; these girls were tight as F, and whilst I don’t really rate them lyrically, their set was kick-ass.

By this stage the Big Top was packed to capacity, the floor was a sea of punters slipping over in vomit, all hyped up on hurdy gurdy madness, beer and hot dogs; it was a far larger crowd then I had seen all day and the vibe in the room swelled along with it.

The highlight of the night was without a doubt those saucy blokes from Brisbane – Butter Fingers. They stumbled out on stage all messy, they weren’t really ready to start and bumbled around for a bit all apologetic. Then they nailed it with their opening number and took it from there; their set was super slick and covered all their hits as well as some of their punk interludes. Butter Fingers are hot stuff and fully deserved the rowdy response they received.

Come Together offered something for everyone. I thoroughly enjoyed the variety of acts and found the all ages aspect pretty refreshing despite some underage drunkeness . The event was well organized and top value for money. But most of all, I had the best time running around Luna Park; it made this jaded punter feel like a kid again. Can I have another turn on the Ranger? Please!

one of your favourite bands decides to tour your home town AND play at a camping festival small enough that you might just get to see them up close?!

I am thrilled that !!! are on their way.

Now I just gotta work on lcd sound system and my year’s mission is complete