Homebake Festival 2011

Bobbysix.com's Editor went to Homebake Festival in Sydney and realised that he is a grumpy old man. Here's why: 

It started with a vomiting pumpkin...

Australian festivals are a strange thing. Considering the wonderful weather in this country, there aren't very many camping events, meaning that often festivals are staged in a single day. Therefore, punters take the opportunity to get as fucked up as possible, as quickly as possible. No time to waste. It's like watching three days of Reading footage on fast-forward. And so, in that context, we return to the pumpkin. As I entered the site, I saw two girls dressed as pumpkins, walking side by side. One stopped dead in her tracks and proceeded to projectile puke pretty much everywhere. It was like something out of The Exorcist, had The Exorcist been set in Sydney's Domain on a beautifully sunny summer's afternoon. She wiped her mouth, laughed and carried on with her day. It was 1.50pm. The tone, rather perfectly, had been set.

As the awful 360 proved just how awful Aussie hip-hop can be, I took a wander round the site and remembered that men who wear thongs (flip-flops - English Translation Ed) to festivals annoy the shit out of me almost as much as girls who wear those high-waisted denim cut-offs from which 40 percent of their arse hangs out. It's not a good look, ladies. Not a good look.

Anyway, to the music. Well, The Vines played but no-one really cared because it's no longer 2004. Meanwhile Unknown Mortal Orchestra (good name, by the way) rocked the Rowland S Howard Stage and were followed by the equally excellent Big Scary and  Noah Taylor & The Sloppy Boys.

 

Next up, technical difficulties meant that Kimbra (above) started 20 minutes late on the Dome Stage. Looking A-fucking-MAY-ZING in red she played a very short set which ended with the brilliant Cameo Lover. Her vocal was perhaps a little low in the mix and the fact that the sound was bleeding - or, in fact, hemorrhaging - from the main stage was pretty annoying. No-one wants to hear Drapht (more fucking Aussie hip-hop) at the best of times, let alone when they're trying to enjoy the soul/disco/pop of Kimbra.

There were irritating sound issues throughout the day. PNAU could be heard over The Triffids, even when standing about ten foot from the stage on which The Triffids were playing, while Gotye's eclectic, imaginative set was somewhat spoilt by horrible, bassy, muddy sound. Still, by that time, many of the crowd were too mashed to care. The girl in front of me at Gotye was the most gurnful individual I have ever seen. Goodness knows how many drugs she had taken but I suspect the answer to have been "lots of drugs." She was gurning so hard that, at one stage, she seemed in danger of swallowing her own head.

Mashed punters and bad sound aside, there were some outstanding moments at Homebake 2011. The Jezabels proved why they have become so popular, so quickly, with a stunning performance. Brilliantly named singer Hayley Mary has something of the Kate Bush about her in terms of her vocal and the band's pop songs were powerful and engaging. Elsewhere, Papa vs Pretty were great, our old mate Ladyhawke played to a full tent, after which Cut Copy had the crowd going mental with their tightly wound indie/dance stuff that let loose at all the right moments. A bit Icehouse, a bit New Order, a lot brilliant, they were the festival's late highlight and certainly worth missing the start of Grinderman for.

Ah, Grinderman. How I should love thee. Nick Cave. Tick. Warren Ellis. Tick. Dirty as fuck songs dripping in sex and grubbiness. Tick. So, why then, when watching them close Homebake 2011 under a clear purple sky, was I constantly thinking "I wish I were watching Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds."? I guess because I wished I were watching Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. A certain female vocalist who shall remain nameless told Bobbysix.com in the safety of the VIP area that she wasn't staying for their set because it is "mid-life crisis music." Which is actually a brutally fair assessment. Still, mid-life crisis or not, it was still awesome to see Cave hacking at a guitar and Ellis utilising more pedals than you could shake a stick at. But, as a band, they seem to equal less than the sum of their parts. Put it this way, I've never wanted to hear Stagger Lee more in my life than I did at 10.45pm on Saturday.

So, a mixed bag then. Some great performances, some bad sound, some beautiful weather and a vomiting pumpkin. A pretty fair representation of your typical Australian one-day festival.

Review and shitty iPhone pics by Bobby Townsend

Getting To Know... Rob Irish

In the latest in the Getting To Know... series, Rob Irish tells BobbySix.com about his favourite albums, trips to Japan and his obsession with Leonard Cohen:

I would describe my sound as being fairly 'old-fashioned' as far as the Sydney scene goes. I've always loved traditional instruments and traditional music. I'm a big believer in the 'song,' and in continuing the Australian songwriting tradition. Bands like The Drones and The Dirty Three, Nick Cave, The Go-Betweens etc have been very influential in that regard, as I think they all capture something that is uniquely ours, and theirs are the songs of our time. Just as Dylan's were the songs of America in the 60s and 70s. I guess they still are, really.

As well as being a solo artist, I'm involved in a couple of other acts - fronting Sydney band Sooners, and playing drums for A Casual End Mile. Great people who I'm happy to be working with! All my projects act as very different outlets. Collaborating is challenging and very inspiring, and it's interesting to see what you can bring to a group of musicians. I write a lot, and my solo work is a collection of poems-made-songs. It's very close to me in that way.

Music has been the corner-stone of my life since I was very little. My mother, who also sings folk, pushed me to play guitar when I was six or seven, which I hated at the time, but was grateful for when I got older. I was in a few punk-bands throughout high school (believe it or not!) but the great songwriters were played constantly around the house and in the car. I avoided them for as long as possible but I guess it all sank in after all... Cohen has been a constant obsession for a long while now.

If I could only listen to three albums for the rest of my life, they would be:

Blonde On Blonde by Bob Dylan,
Songs From A Room by Leonard Cohen,
No More Shall We Part by Nick Cave.

I'd hate to have to choose but I can't fault any of those records. They've lasted this long already.

It might surprise people to learn that I speak Japanese fluently, and used to go over every year. The instruments are cheap, and food is great, and the people are lovely - if a little strange. If you ever want to feel Australian I can recommend a trip to Tokyo, it's an incredible city and so different to anywhere else in the world.

Aside from music I work as a barista in a bookstore/cafe to pay the bills. It means I get cheap coffee and cheap books, as well as being able to choose the playlist when I'm on. Not sure if part-time work gets much better than that, but music is definitely the passion.

Hear some of Rob's songs at his Myspace page.

Latitude Festival 2009

I'd prefer not to live up to the stereotype of us Brits always talking about the weather but, okay, let's start by talking about the weather. I've never known anything like what was thrown Latitude's way and, with more than a few English 'summers' under my belt, that's saying something. Having arrived in blissful sunshine on Thursday evening, the entire camp-site awaited the predicted storm with trepidation. When it arrived in the early hours of Friday, it didn't disappoint. Thank God, then, for a sturdy gazebo, which I only ventured away from mid-storm to assist three poor girls who were trying to erect their tents in the ensuing monsoon (by 'assist', I actually mean that I stood under a brolly, issuing advice before slying back to my tent before my feet got too wet).

For the remainder of the weekend, the weather went from torrential rain to boiling sun and back again at ten minute intervals, making it impossible to select a suitable outfit to venture to the arena in. The t-shirt/shorts/wellies/raincoat-either-tightly-done-up-or-tied-around-the-waist-depending-on-the-weather look proved popular throughout. Never mind though, the site remained remarkably mud free all weekend, so the affluent middle-class lefties and their irritating kids that made up the majority of the crowd didn't need to summon the kind of Dunkirk spirit that somewhere like Glastonbury thrives on in times of inclement weather.Onwards and upwards then, and Friday began with a great set by Eastbourners, The Late Greats, (above) with two frontmen sharing vocals over intelligent, interestingly crafted, lo-fi post-punk indie noise. Australia's The Temper Trap's sound seems to get more and more imposing and impressive with every show. On this occasion they filled the Uncut stage with movement and the large tent with soaring anthems. Over on the main stage, Ladyhawke offered the first anthem of the weekend in Paris Is Burning.

Under black skies, The Pretenders put in the performance of the festival so far. On a stage that had, earlier in the day, been frequented by some completely unworthy bands (hello, Amazing Baby), Chrissie Hynde owned the entire field. It was refreshing to see a real band playing a back catalogue of greatest hits (I'll Stand By You and Bob Dylan's Forever Young were particularly memorable) and putting on a proper show. Outstanding.

Next, Russian-born New York beauty Regina Spektor cut a teeny, tiny figure at her piano, so much so that half the crowd had to watch the big screens to catch a glimpse of her (above). Her set started slowly but got more and more awesome with each song. New songs Laughing With and Machine were highlights, as was a ramshackle, bashed-out-on-a-guitar rendition of That Time which she didn't know how to finish. "Sorry. I can't play the guitar," she shrugged with a giggle before sitting back down at the piano and playing one of the greatest songs ever written (seriously), Samson. Behind me, a man proposed to his girlfriend mid-song. She said yes. Tears and cheers all round. Even the rain couldn't spoil such a perfect moment.

While Golden Silvers, Little Boots and Bat For Lashes were headlining various stages that night, this reviewer was onstage in the Bafta-sponsored film tent as part of a choir for an acoustic version of Gangsta's Paradise (really), before dashing off to dance like a twat for the magnificent last twenty minutes of the Pet Shop Boys set.

Saturday at midday saw a secret show by David Ford (above) and his band down by the river. He played old and newies to a large crowd (some of whom were made aware of the event via twitter, others who just happened to be wandering past and stopped for a listen), before handing out champagne and ending with his singalong set-closer Cheer Up (You Miserable Fuck).

The rest of the day's line-up was patchy to say the least, and highlights had to really be sought out. While Patrick Wolf was dressing as an owl on the main stage, Dave Gorman chatted about magic poos in the comedy tent. Later Jessica Delfino started badly but was increasingly funny with each ditty at the comedy tent, ending with the brilliant Don't Rape Me. An acoustic show from New York's Jeffrey Lewis (below) was next, during which he tried out a bunch of new songs "for the first and maybe the last time". They showed typical lyrical genius in the very understated way we have come to expect from the artist.

Over in the Uncut tent, Newton Faulkner's arms were flying everywhere in a blur of motion in a crowd-pleasing set as the festival geared up for the arrival its wild card.

Grace Jones. Oh dear, oh dear, Grace Jones. Despite being a weird choice to headline a major festival, hopes were high that she would wow us with an amazing show. Sure enough, there was a costume change after pretty much every song, and the lighting was great, but where was the substance to back it up? "We finally have some new songs for you," she told us, (as if any of us know any of her old songs except for those two), before singing something instantly flat and forgettable. Indeed, once the costume changes lost their ooh factor, the show was only worth watching for the between-song banter, which was intriguing as it was incomprehensible. "Me Grandfather was a killer," she informed us. It was a car-crash of a headline set and not at all comfortable viewing. But then what would you expect from watching a 61-year-old woman with eyes totally vacant draping herself over onstage railings?

The sound of beautiful acoustic guitars woke campers from their slumber the following morning. It turned out to be Thom Yorke sound-checking for his midday solo set, which included the odd Radiohead song. After the biggest crowd of the weekend had stood in reverence at the great man, last night's hero, Jeffrey Lewis, reappeared, this time in the film tent, with his band to play a full set of folk-punk in place of the absent Lightspeed Champion. It was a more than welcome substitution, and those who attended would have struggled to get the chorus of Creeping Brain out of their heads for the rest of the day.

Following The Late Greats and David Ford earlier in the weekend, further Eastbourne representation came from newcomers Capital, who, either side of a power cut, played big pop anthems that seemed to pay a debt of gratitude to The Killers. Rain clouds hovered ominously as Lisa Hannigan began her set, and how disappointing it was that the heavens opened midway through, causing two thirds of the crowd to run for shelter. Still, those who stayed for the whole thing would surely have been dazzled by the breathtaking vocal of Damien Rice's former sidekick.

While, somewhere where I annoyingly wasn't, Javis Cocker was making an impromptu guest appearance, Tricky created a quite an intense atmosphere in the Uncut tent, but while it was nice to hear classics like Black Steel from his magnificent debut album, his set did seem a bit stale. Conversely, Phoenix were all about upbeat indie/disco/guitar pop. Their songs were bouncy and bright enough to banish the rain - even if they did neglect to play crowd favourite, Too Young.

Over on the stage hidden away in the woods, !!! were nicely funky but with paper-thin vocals, and on the Lake Stage, Slow Club's boy/girl tweeness found the middle ground between The Magic Numbers and The Moldy Peaches. Okay, so they weren't anywhere near as good as either of them, but still fun, even if they were a little drowned out by a polished yet uninspiring set from Editors on the main stage.

(I was collared by BBC7 on Saturday afternoon)

And so, to the main attraction of the festival. Sunday night was headlined by Nick Cave (who had already wowed the crowds here last year with his grubby side-project, Grinderman) and his Bad Seeds. It's safe to say he blew every other performance at Latitude 2009 out of the water. The sound that emanated from the stage from the first moment to the last was an absolute aural attack. Songs from the universally acclaimed latest album, Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! came at the audience like they wanted to beat the hell out of their eardrums and leave them sobbing in a gutter. Cave, an unbelievably intense frontman, pointed out individual members of the audience and stared them straight in the eyes as he delivered lyrics with venom. Of the older tracks, There She Goes My Beautiful World and the deliciously nasty Stagger Lee sounded as fresh as anything all weekend. Devastatingly brilliant.

Aside from the main stages, there were plenty of other things to entertain; movies were shown, celebs like Vivian Westwood spoke in the literary tent, there was a cabaret tent, a kids area, and lots going on down by the lake, like a classical orchestra, a man playing flute inside a bubble floating on the river (below), a robot dancing between the trees, coloured sheep to ahh at and a charity shop selling second hand clothes.However, while these things continued the tradition of Latitude being a laid back, eclectic, family-orientated festival, nothing could paper over the cracks of the line-up. Sure, there were some good acts and a couple of truly great performances, but generally there just wasn't enough depth of quality, especially for a festival that thinks that it can charge £150 a ticket and get away with it. Okay, so there were some big names and some of the little bands did themselves no harm, but where were all the decent middle-range bands; your Mystery Jets, Jamie Ts, Laura Marlings and Late Of The Piers? Any single day's line-up at this year's Glastonbury was a million miles better than the entirety of Latitude.

So, in a nutshell - Latitude 2009: great vibe, shame about the line-up.

Seasick Steve - I Started Out With Nothin' and I Still Got Most Of It Left

Steve Wold’s story would make a great book. Born in post-war San Francisco, he ran away from home at 13, busked from 16, split much of his life between jail and sleeping under bridges before he moved to Norway, married a waitress, had a heart attack, recovered and, a couple of years ago, won the Mojo Breakthrough award well into his 60s. Now, I Started Out With Nothin’… sees him make the move onto a major label. Considering how he recorded his previous album, Dog House Music, in a kitchen using a knackered old 3-string guitar, one wonders how well his unpolished American hobo blues will translate having been recorded in a fancy English studio owned by one of the dudes out of The Darkness.

Thankfully, such slick surroundings didn’t affect his rough charm; and this is very much the same old Seasick Steve. He tells yarns, growls like Tom Waits and busks away on buzzy guitars. Okay, so a few showbiz mates turn up, but they all make valuable contributions. Happy Man features KT Tunstall on guitar and Ruby Turner’s soulful voice. Awesomely, Nick Cave and Grinderman show up on the Just Like a King, with Cave offering a typically menacing, witty vocal turn.

Such is the quality of I Started Out With Nothin’… that it proves Wold isn’t just appealing because of his intriguing back-story or through the novelty, these days, of him playing homemade, beat-up old guitars, but, quite simply, because he writes fantastic tunes and oozes personality.