Future Music has made its name on the Australian music scene in bringing together a sometimes unorthodox mixture of big name stadium DJs and festival bands to tour the nation over the summer.
Hipper than Big Day Out and avoiding the head bangers of Soundwave, Future somehow manage to attract a diverse crowd made up a strange and heady combination of people.
It’s a hot, sultry one in Sydney, which means traversing the streets of Randwick resembles something from the trenches of a forgotten desert warfare than a music event.
Even at lunchtime, bodies lie slumped over cases of alco-pops and low-slung cars patrol the usually genteel suburb, pumping out derivative trance beats as shaved headed teens in wrap-around shades stare aggressively at anyone in sight.
Its no better in the overwhelming queue, with The Harbour City’s population of idiots deciding in unison it’s their given right to enter without a ticket or any form of recognisable documentation.
With the (in)formalities of the queue dealt with, it’s time to enter the grounds and, bypassing the already mobbed Cocoon tent, it’s off to the Mariachi stage to chill to the sounds of Ellie Goulding.
It’s difficult to do full justice to the Future Music daytime crowd, an eclectic mix makes for a good time at any gathering, but the assembled gangs of underage girls with rolling eyeballs hanging off NSW’s finest collection of muscled up, tattooed billboards takes some believing.
At the second stage, Goulding is finishing up what seems like a spirited mix of electro-pop and indie folk that seems to fit the lazy summer afternoon just right, culminating in the ethereal but pulsing ‘Lights’.
Next up it’s US indie-popsters fun. – surprisingly low on the bill after their world-conquering year. The crowd is with them though and by the time recent anthem ‘Some Girls’ drops its pogo-a-plenty in front of the stage.
Future is not all about the bands though and, suitably refreshed by the warm beer on offer, it’s back across the arena to catch the man who has seemingly copyrighted the phrase ‘K pop phenomenon’, PSY.
God only knows whose idea it was to book the global one-hit wonder, but surprisingly, it works. Displaying the best manners of the day, PSY breaks into what he does best (and can probably only do); a short set of songs that seem to include two versions of ‘Gangnam Style’, and two others that sound just like it.
It’s fun though and PSY’s genial banter and cartoon styling lighten any tensions.
Bloc Party are up later but for now its lead singer Kele spinning some tunes in the curiously named Jack Daniels Barrel House. Its hot and its sweaty, but the crowd are loving the indie-electro mix, including a rousing, dubbed out version of 2005’s Bloc classic ‘Flux’.
Next to the Barrel House it’s techno time with the aforementioned Cocoon sound system. Away from the madness of the mainstream, this is really the place that rave lives today with clued-up clubbers dancing away from the rest of the festival to a deeply groovy soundtrack of bleeps and bassline techno.
The Cocoon stage is really one of the highlights of Future, embodying as it does what makes dance music so powerful in its original state.
No pyrotechnics, no stage diving, no superstar egos – just pure heads down underground party music. Proof that sometimes Germans really can do it better.
Passing by the Future Stage, the illuminated headline notes that its time for DJ Steve Aoiki to spin his deeply conservative mix of EDM ( Electronic Dance Music – as opposed to what? Acoustic Dance Music? Dance music played entirely on woodwind?)
This is clearly music for imbeciles, but strangely the outdoor setting puts the limp mix of watered down trance and electro beats into some kind of context, and the crowd are lapping it up; rigidly facing the stage to cheer a man fiddling with his laptop, stopping only to occasionally to remind us of the size of his ego by pointing to the sky.
The Temper Trap are next up to do the business on the second stage and they put in a fine if somehow uninspiring show. There’s energy here but it never really lets itself go.
This could be down to the sunset slot that deprives them of the full glory of their light show, or maybe just a disconnect with the audience. ‘Sweet Disposition’ of course blows things up and it really looks like The Trap could have carried on into what may have been an epic set.
Back and forth again and it’s Dizzee Rascal’s turn to mash up the main stage. Since morphing from underground MC into pop sensation, Dizzee has become a consummate performer.
To command the crowd singlehandedly in such a manner puts many of his supposedly more credible contemporaries to shame. And to his credit, tonight’s not just about the hits.
‘Holiday’ and ‘Bonkers’ of course cause an enormous response, but dropping underground grime anthem ‘Fix Up Look Sharp’ to the pop kids was inspired and by the looks of it Dizzee loves his new life as much as the crowd seems to dig him.
To the half of the crowd not here to wave glow-sticks and vomit behind the kebab stand, the big draw today was always going to be the Stone Roses.
‘Legendary’ is an overused adjective, but despite a sell-out show at the Hordern only days before, The Roses’ return to Sydney is greeted with quite some anticipation.
Darkness has now fallen and the Roses’ searing melodies and razor sharp musical prowess sweep the horrors of the main stage antics behind. Despite only boasting once decent album and a clutch of singles to their name, the band produce a greatest hits set to rival any modern act.
From the blustering intro of ‘I Wanna Be Adored’, to the freak-out jam of ‘Fools Gold’, this is live music at its very best. Despite Ian Brown not being known for his vocal acrobatics, he’s in fine voice tonight and the band are with him.
And it’s not all about Brown; the Roses were always about more than the sum of their parts, and in drummer Reni they truly posses one of the finest musicians of his or any other generation.
Add to that John Squire’s languid guitar genius and Mani’s stoner, laidback bass and this is a tight and quite amazing spectacle.
As the final chords of ‘She Bangs the Drums’ mass crowd sing-along hysteria filter out, the never-so-funk opening bars of ‘I Am The Resurrection’ fill the night sky.
This is time for celebration and the crowd seems genuinely grateful to be here, and part of something so special.
As the euphoria fades, it’s up to a choice of the Prodigy or Bloc Party to bring proceedings home.
The worst of the plastic rave proceedings have dissipated now, and The Prodigy seem better placed to reveal something about one of the real roots of their scene.
Wisely, the band stick to a thumping greatest hits session, high on energy and low on experimental improvisation. They are all here in their mid-nineties glory: ‘Voodoo People’, ‘Firestarter’ (with what looked like Azealia Banks on guest vocals), and a stellar closer in ‘Out Of Space’.
The Prodigy seem glad to rest on their past laurels, and they are all the better for it. The beats are thumping, the bleeps are squelchy, and Keith Flint seems to have lost none of his cartoon rage.
It’s a fitting end to what was in many ways a quite bizarre day. Watching the casualties careen through the streets of Randwick afterwards, it’s strange to think that Future Music Festival is actually a direct descendent from the Acid House boom of the 80s.
As one old timer was heard to mutter at the bar, “I was there at the beginning, if I had known it would turn into this, I would have told them not to bother.”
