With nearly a decade’s experience under its belt, Groovin’ The Moo has flourished in providing the essentials of the festival experience to the live music starved parts of regional Australia.
With its 10.30pm curfew and Triple J-savvy lineups, there’s a distinct tilt to a younger demographic too, like a kind of My First Day Out it provides a strong entry point to festival culture, complete with a strong mix of local and international artists, but also a great atmosphere.
Being its fifth appearance at Bendigo’s Prince of Wale showgrounds, the site is run and planned very efficiently: entry is smooth, facilities are plenty, and sound separation is excellent. Unless wandering to the borders for food and beverage, or simply between stages, the sound rarely bleeds between stages.
Even the winter weather turns in a favour with a crisp, clear blue day and inky night – without even a hint of rain.
Which means cover isn’t the priority over at the tented Moolin Rouge stage, just a diverse mix of music for the day. Starting wit the muscular rock of Kingswood, then hip hop locals Tuka and Ellesquire, and a slick, spry set of indie pop from Hungry Kids of Hungary.
Later, dusty bodies heave in circle pits to hardcore acts like The Amity Affliction and The Bronx, before the straight up nostalgia of Woody’s 90s Mixtape, Yacht’s oddball electropop (confused by some to be Yacht Club DJs on the bill), more hip hop from Pez, and a strong dance and electronic infused dash to the finish.
But it’s the expansive plot of land before the main stages that the heart of the festival really pumps. The licensed area divides the grounds roughly in half, with the front of the stage real estate belonging to the underagers, which means some chopping and changing if you want a drink and a mosh, but a logical set-up nonetheless.
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It also helps distinguish the two broad types of festival-goer, the young’uns who want to get up close, regardless of personal space, and those who want to hang back and enjoy the spectacle with a few drinks amongst mates (it’s impossible to determine how many Facebook profile pics or selfies the day spawns).
Either way, there’s no avoiding the sea of animal onesies being sported – they were once a novelty, now a given tradition; bonus points for the group of Spanish matadors and Mexican luchadores for creativity though.
Equal kudos to organisers for coming up with an innovative way to reduce littering, but also the inflated drink prices – by offering discounts on purchased beverages in exchange for discarded cans.
The e-can-omy leads to some creative scavenging (and humorously awkward exchanges) but importantly a smart gimmick to reduce detritus.
Following the morning’s trio of heavier local acts, Last Dinosaurs provide the first burst of activity at the main stage at midday, followed by Urthboy, who with a small cadre of musical mates gets the kids suitably warmed up with his mix of soul and urban music (and a few well placed airhorns).
Hilariously, Brooklyn twosome Matt & Kim continue the hip-hop theatrics with their set, punctuated by seemingly random interjections of gangsta rap, if for no other reason that’s its entertaining and instantly familiar – a nice way to describe the Brooklyn duo as a whole.
They waste no time making the most of their youthful energy, putting as much effort into psyching up the crowd than in the notes they play.
Matt Johnson’s boyish vocals and bubbly keys parts buoy their synth-driven pop, while Kim Schifino is easily the cutest drummer – female or otherwise – all day. She uses every opportunity to vault upright onto her drum kit, her enthusiasm matched by the crowd as she thumps away.
From the bouncy ‘Daylight’ and ‘Let’s Go’, they play as much to the crowd as for them. Their cover of Alice Deejay’s 90s Europop hit ‘Better Alone’, complete with Kim goading “I can’t fucking hear you!” throughout, is performed without irony, and with confetti and balloons aplenty, their set is all about having a good time.
Homegrown success Seth Sentry provides the highest billed hip hop set of the day, and for good reason. The Melbourne rapper arrives onstage with his comic artwork backdrop fluttering in the winds and launches straight into spitting his equally cartoonish couplets.
From ‘Float Away’ to ‘Room For Rent’ his lyrical narratives recall The Streets’ Mike Skinner in their everyman detail but complemented with knowing pop culture references.
None more so than on ‘Dear Science’ where he laments technology’s lack of progress in providing sci-fi leisure. It’s his most well-known number, as evidenced by the number of those who turn from being dormant during his set to now turn to their friends and shout ‘hoverboard!’ along with glee.
‘Dear Science’ is now clearly a crowd favourite, and fresh from wooing American audiences and currently complementing Groovin’ The Moo with his own headline tour, the Melbourne emcee is in polished form.
The same can be said for Melbourne sextet Alpine, who themselves are about to embark overseas for the American release of their debut, A Is For Alpine.
The record has won their brand of minimalist indie rock much acclaim at home, including seeing them play a few festival themselves lately (most prominently February’s Laneway). Curious given the chilled, atmospheric nature of their music, but as the choppy groove of ‘Hands’ kick-starts their set, they’re not without sweet hooks to suckle on.
Their biggest drawcard however – twin singers Phoebe Baker and Lou James – remains a double-edged sword.
While musically their waifish harmonies and inter-lapping parts are beautifully in check, visually and in presence, they seem to be in competition for attention rather than working together for it.
Their individual diva-esque dancing can be distracting, and between-song they over each other (albeit accidentally), they’re still clearly just enjoying their swift rise than honing their focal point, because musically they’re still very slick.
Their small catalogue has already racked up some clear highlights, if the ravenous cheers given to the bright guitar strokes of ‘Gasoline’ and the closing, moody ‘Villages’ are anything to go by.
One of Scotland’s finest, Frightened Rabbit, take the adjacent stage next and for a band that hasn’t necessarily priorities aesthetically pleasing sounds, their rough, intimate charm on record translates to a robust, rousing energy on stage.
The slow churning of ‘The Modern Leper’ provides a natural introduction to a set characterised by cathartic swells and big, brash stomping. Though probably more used to the cult-like devotion of their headline show crowds, they’re nonetheless appreciative and never slacken their passionate attack during their 45min set.
They are let down however by the fact a key part of their appeal – frontman Scott Hutchison’s emotionally raw lyrics and cathartic vocal delivery – is uncomfortably low in the bass-heavy mix.
Equally the punters seem a little flat by comparison to the fervour onstage, as the six Scots sweat in the unfamiliar winter sun; drummer Grant Hutchison in particular building up an impressive collar of sweat over his brawny playing.
‘Holy’, from this year’s Pedestrian Verse, and ‘Old Old Fashioned’ from their breakout The Midnight Organ Fight album, are both energetic highlights; ‘anyone up for a wee dance?’ asks Hutchison before the latter – the appreciative members responding with a happy jig in kind.
Fashion’s strange rotations have turned back in Regurgitator’s favour, currently experiencing a revival – younger audiences included – thanks to re-visiting Tu-Plang and Unit through a series of festival appearances last year.
Netting the biggest hits from those, their first two albums, and mixing it with some of the more recognisable (though clearly lesser) tunes from their more recent work, the trio are a reliable festival quantity.
Charging headfirst into ‘Everyday Formula’ there is a punkish edge to their set that ensures even their more obvious pop-shaped numbers, like ‘Polyester Girl’, have a ragged bent to them.
It’s particularly effective on the thick, fuzzy ‘Kung Foo Sing’ and lurching ‘I Wanna Be A Nudist’, but even ‘Black Bugs’ (complete with footage of ‘Game Over’ screens) benefits from the intensity.
The requisite finish of ‘! (Song Formerly Known As)’ and its Prince-indebted funk forms huge dance tribes in both the back reaches of the festival and hefty po-going up front. It proves that the ‘Gurg are not just a hit with those who first discovered them through Hottest 100 compilations, but the current generation of Spotify users as well.
It’s a gulf that’s more apparent during the next band to the stage.
Like Regurgitator, humour is a consistent quality to They Might Be Giants music.
After ‘Older’, which contains an enormous pause for comic effect in its second verse, they announce: “We come in peace from the Northern hemisphere,” to offer “the greatest afternoon of our lives.” Before joking, “I won’t stop shouting at you until you listen to me.”
Supporting the wry, tongue-in-cheek tone of their demeanour is some of the sharpest, genre-savvy music going round. One of America’s most prolific and stylistically efficient units, TMBG (as they’re affectionately known) is what ever gun ensemble is currently orbiting around the boffin musical minds of ‘the Two Johns’: Flansburgh and Linnell.
Creeping into their fifth decade as a musical duo (and as humans), and still remaining somewhat of a cult concern (by their own orchestration one suspects by now), their best material is also usually that unknown to the larger masses.
Second in the set, ‘Dr. Worm’ truly separates the Gen X’s from the Gen Y’s, as youthful faces offer blank stares – the song’s popularity going way over their heads.
Quite literally, as it settles with enormous excitement with the older crowd in the licensed area, who begin to lose their collective mind as they get the chance to experience the duo’s biggest hit live for the first time in over a decade.
Given their vast songbook (their latest album, Nanobots, alone contains 25 new possibilities to their setlist), it’s humbling that they focus on what is, in essence, a greatest hits set.
Though there’s no room for ‘Particle Man’ or (Malcolm In The Middle theme) ‘Boss Of Me’, there’s the familiar ‘Birdhouse In Your Soul’, ‘Don’t Let’s Start’, and ‘New York City’. Newer material – such as the strident ‘You’re On Fire’ and 50s surf-rock of ‘Call You Mom’ – is just as strong, and the closing polka of ‘Istanbul (Not Constantinople)’ is professional and punchy.
Fans are satisfied and the uninitiated will have hopefully caught a glimpse of what’s made them one of America’s biggest cult bands, with a new appreciation of their musicianship and showmanship.
With the sun now gone from view, and the crisp winds picking up, bodies start crunching shoulder-to-shoulder to catch one of Australia’s most successful recent musical exports, Tame Impala.
Returning from mapping (and conquering) most of the UK and the US, there’s few festivals left that the Perth cosmonauts haven’t played. But ironically, Tame Impala aren’t strictly suited to the ‘get in/get out’ festival format.
They’ve never been shy about the esoteric, proggy nature of their kaleidoscopic take on pysch rock, but as they take several opportunities to stretch the instrumental sections of their arrangements, their indulgences become potentially alienating for the many mainstream fans who have simply come for ‘the hits.’
They certainly get them, their set opening with ‘Solitude Is Bliss’ and continues to serve a healthy portion of Lonerism, but casual listeners (the kind who call them Tame Impalia) are quickly turned off by their tumbling, labyrinthine turns.
It doesn’t help that their set is seriously lacking in volume. They play with the impeccable synergy you’d come to expect of the well-traveled band they’ve become, but it’s simply not loud enough and mild chatter can be heard above even the burliest sections.
Even their colourful light show feels restrained, focussing on the audio-sensitive squiggles projected behind them and little light and fog to contrast.
Which might all sound like tall-poppy criticisms, but the fact of the matter is that musically, they’re a band operating near the very peak of their powers like few others.
The Beatles chug of ‘Apocalypse Dreams’, the tumbling twin lines of ‘Mind Mischief’, the prog-blues of ‘Elephant’ – all are beautifully realised even as they’re warped as Kevin Parker and co. search for new corners to tunes they’ve no doubt played hundreds of times before.
The acid-blues riffage of ‘Half Full Glass Of Wine’ is extended to a woolly ten-minute workout. It plasters a mile-wide grin on those along for the ride, and probably confers to informal fans that this is what Tame Impala are about, more so than jubilant sing-alongs to ‘Feels Like We Only Go Backwards’.
At the conclusion of their set, the mass migration occurs to the Moolin Rouge tent for Australia’s other hugely successful international export: Flume.
Some stop their changeover short to visit Tegan & Sara, who open with a powerful turn of ‘Back In Your Head’, setting a great pace for a solid set, but its clear from their undersized crowd where the majority of punters are spending their evening.
If the roars of approval at the mere sight of the Sydneysider aren’t enough to confirm his popularity, the impossibility of getting anywhere near the action due to the size of his audience certainly should.
Unless they’d staked a spot under the tarpaulin during Alison Wonderland’s DJ set, late-comers had no hope of getting front and centre, instead sausaged – conveyer belt style – through the fringes of the area, as the bulk of bodies began whipping in tandem, complemented by the sci-fi sized light display.
Flume’s great talent however is not only in his fine production skills, or as much his savant way of weaving touches of dubstep with popular dance elements and downtempo electronica – it’s that Harley Streten knows how to read a crowd
If one of his famously teased ‘drops’ doesn’t get everyone going as bananas as hoped, he’ll quickly shift gears or rhythmic tact to something that certainly will.
It’s impressive stuff, and while most are just happy to be dancing in the presence of Australia’s hottest thing going, there’s a recognisable skill to his live show.
All the more remarkable considering his 22 years of age; given more time and his current level of popularity, Stretn is in good stead to become a festival mainstay both locally and internationally for some time to come.
While a large quadrant of the Flume population stay on for the big beat trifecta of Yolanda Be Cool, ShockOne, and Example– large flocks begin making their way back to the main stage for another international headliner.
It’s a wonder how The Kooks have remained so hugely popular over seven years without evolving their formula of chirpy next generation Britpop, but by the same token, their ‘if ain’t broke’ mentality is precisely why the masses love them.
If Tame Impala are at one end of the festival spectrum, using their popular drawcards as a bait and switch to lengthy jams, The Kooks are at the other, sticking to their guns – firing off short and sharp with little embellishment.
Their unfussy presentation matches their easy to digest songs – breezy guitars, simple structures, a hummable chorus – all packed into a sugar-sweet two and a bit minutes.
Frontman Luke Pritchard speaks only to shower his audience with adoration, or to offer the usual tricks to keep the energy up, his fey singing voice the central driving force to their upbeat tunes.
Unlike some of the muddier mixes earlier in the day, their simple arrangments are bright and clear, lifted by the huge amount of voices joining each lyric.
‘She Moves Her Own Way’, ‘Ooh La’, and a solo acoustic take of ‘Seaside’ all get lung-bursting assistance from the fans.
Their show is safe and predictable, but it’s precisely the kind of soft-edged sing-alongs the masses want, and it’s hard not to respect the British quartet’s ability to deliver it in such a ruthlessly efficient way.
And yes, they finish with their first and biggest song, you’d be ‘Naïve’ to think they’d do otherwise.
Another band that could benefit from taking a few risks but are no less competent and internationally lauded are The Temper Trap, who close out festivities on the main stage.
Complete with the biggest light and sound display found all day, they kickstart with ‘Love Lost’ instantly showing that Dougy Mandagi’s tremulous falsetto is just as powerful in the flesh – soaring into the night sky – as it is on the radio.
‘Love Lost’ and ‘Fader’ proves a strong double-header for an opening, their widescreen rock showing that the band have benefited from the exposure of international festival slots and supporting arena specialists like Coldplay.
Interestingly, apart from a brilliantly brooding ‘Rabbit Hole’ and the earnest ‘Trembling Hands’, they play almost exclusively (and thankfully) from their 2009 debut, Conditions.
Jettisoning some of the listless material that marred their self-titled sophomore means they forego mixed responses and give the peaks and troughs more distinction.
‘Soldier On’ providing one such contrast, between the slowly simmering guitar and vocal first half, into its sweeping conclusion, all soaring guitars and barrelling rhythm section.
The emphatic ‘Down River’ also hits hard, while the terse angles of ‘Science Of Fear’ shifts flawlessly into the jagged ‘Drum Song’, making a case for that their live show is better the darker the music gets.
A point easily contested with The Temper Trap’s obvious, but no less powerful conclusion.
Despite its familiarity (even before its U2-isms became a worldwide hit) ‘Sweet Disposition’ remains a brilliantly euphoric song; simple as that.
The delayed guitar hook, the propulsive drum groove, Mandagi’s drawn-out singing, the pure, cloud-busting melody – it’s a tune engineered to close festivals.
And as a flash mob of punters performs a kind of co-ordinated haka up the back, it proves to be a late highlight for the day.
In what is becoming an increasingly ruthless market, Groovin’ The Moo has managed to occupy an enviable niche. But to categorise it as simply an entry-level experience for festival first-timers, or as a scaled-back Big Day Out for regional areas, doesn’t take in the whole picture.
The problems that plague longer-running or better recognised festivals – high prices, timetable clashes, poorly balanced lineups – are minimal to non-existent issues for Groovin’ The Moo. As a musical trip to the country, sporting for young or old, Bendigo 2013 proved it to be another well worth taking.
