Things I learnt at the 2005 Big Day Out:

- No matter how often and how liberally you apply sunscreen, you will be burnt. This time last year, my time in the sun watching The Darkness left me with a red V on my neck, and 2005’s efforts result in a sore nose and raccoon-like marks around my eyes once I take my aviator sunglasses off.

- It doesn’t matter who you are, you’ll never be as cool as Jon Spencer or Howlin’ Pelle, so don’t even bother trying.

- Kids in Slipknot ‘People = Shit’ t-shirts who consider themselves to be both ‘individuals’ and ‘freaks’ seem blissfully unaware of the fact that there’s roughly 17,000 people just like them milling around the Showgrounds.

- The Polyphonic Spree are truly one of the best live acts in the world.

The day starts off innocently enough. Everyone arrives at the Showgrounds bright and early on a Sunday morning, looking fresh, neat and tidy. Hair is not yet dishevelled, clothes not yet ripped, sunstroke not yet acquired. The gates are opened and everyone rushes inside to watch Frenzal Rhomb. And they put on a great show, playing twelve songs, one for each year of the band’s existence. Richer Than You from debut EP Dick Sandwich gets an airing, as do older tracks Run, Sick and Tired, Kant Kaant, Jesus and Fuck The System. Lindsay McDougall encourages everyone to purchase some “official Frenzal Rhomb heroin and HIV-infected needles” from the merchandise stand. The sound is big and strong, and the band is energetic. Jay Whalley throws some Frenzal Rhomb thongs into the crowd (“they also come in ladies sizes!”) and a fight ensures to grab them.

Following Frenzal Rhomb, we head to the backstage bar to get some drinks and to hear the raucous rock stylings of The D4 and The Donnas on the main stage. Surely midday is too early for foot-up-on-the-amp antics? The Lilypad stage, however, is in full swing already – these people don’t even seem to go to bed. A large crowd has gathered to see Blokesworld – Blokesworld being the late night Channel 10 show featuring such important issues as a Ute Reversing Competition and a Lingerie Pillow Fight Competition. Unfortunately, the Lilypad stage is running overtime (to cover their arses, though, all the acts are listed in the program as starting at “12:30ish”), but I am treated to the MCs trying to get a British tourist to strip, raising money for the “salami” (re: tsunami) victims. But, time to run back to the main stage for The Hives.

Greeting the swelling crowd (with the heat sweltering already – it surely can’t be the expected 23 degrees), Howlin’ Pelle greets the crowd with “We are The Hives… you are Melbourne! Today we’ll play most of our favourite songs – incidentially written by us!”. Having seen the band at their awesome sweaty club show the previous night at the Corner Hotel, the mainstage performance can’t live up to the up close and personal Hives show, but they give it a damn good shot. With a set primarily consisting of tracks from Tyrannosaurus Hives, including Walk Idiot Walk, B Is For Brutus, Two Timing Touch And Broken Bones, Abra Cadaver and A Little More For A Little You, Pelle is a walking sound bite, asking the crowd if they’d slept well the night before, knowing full well that today would be the day that they would see The Hives. Older tracks Main Offender (“about us, because we’re well-paid assholes… and you’re paying us!”) and the bombastic Hate To Say I Told You So go down a treat, and we are left with “The Hives have had a good time playing with their instruments and with your emotions.”

Rise Against are sounding massive in the cattle shed stage, with a queue to get in. Singer Tim McIlrath dedicates songs to all the US troops in Iraq, and gets the crowd to chant “fuck George Bush!” in between songs. Over to the Local Produce stage now, where the crowd trying to get into the tiny room to see The Cops is so large that we sit outside to listen instead. The crowd thins out slightly after the band, and we head inside to see Melbourne boys Ground Components, who sound fantastic. It All Catches Up With You is a singalong, and quickly the room fills up and another group of people have to wait their turn to get inside.

Over on the Essential Stage, Le Tigre arrive to a sycophantic crowd. Kathleen Hanna says “It’s a pleasure to be playing for you in a cattle shed”, and the band tear into This Island opener On The Verge. The band’s large plasma screen projects images of Sonic Youth album covers and novels to the crowd, and punters in the front row throw a demo CD at Hanna, with a profession of love. It’s all great fun, and makes me wish that I could see the band’s sideshow – the same night that I’ll be at Blues Explosion. Speaking of which, it’s time I left Le Tigre to go and get a good spot for said band…

Australian daylight doesn’t particularly suit the Blues Explosion. For a start, Jon Spencer must be incredibly overheated in that tight grey suit. A Blues Explosion gig is designed for a small, sweaty club – but regardless of logistics, the band proceed to put on the best rock show of the day. With a minimalist set-up – Russell Simins’ drum kit is moved to near the front of the stage, and there’s no fancy backdrop – they tear through what is essentially a showcase for latest album Damage with plenty of older favourites thrown in for good measure. Opening up with a heavy version of Fed Up And Low Down, the early, killer, back-to-back efforts of Sweet N Sour, Damage, Mars Arizona and Chicken Dog alone is enough to confirm to me that, yes, this band is just as good as I like to tell people they are. Spencer struts the stage yelling “C’moooooon!” to anyone who makes eye contact with him, while Simins and Judah Bauer barely look up. In between song banter is indecipherable, with only “New Yaaaaaawk City” and “I love you, Melboooourne” clearly audible. Halfway through Help These Blues, Spencer lackadaisically takes a comb from his jacket pocket and adjusts his hair. The end of the set features Spencer on his knees, going nuts on the ever-entertaining theremin, while the crowd cheers and the majority of the bands who are playing the same stage stand side of stage watching. Rock and roll? Undoubtedly.

My post-Blues Explosion euphoria sees me decide I want to see some of Slipknot, so we head to the main arena for a gander. Now, I’ve no aversion to bands with masks on. I like costumes. But Slipknot confuse me. The sound is murky and lost at the back of the arena, and Corey Taylor tries unsuccessfully to get everyone in the D Barrier to sit down. Wait And Bleed inspires one of the heaviest moshes I’ve ever seen, and the one in the pig mask just scares me. So, enough of Slipknot for me, thanks. I would have liked to have seen The Streets but the crowd is so thick, that seeing anything is impossible. Why Mike Skinner and his geezer mates didn’t get a main stage spot, particularly after the massive success of latest album A Grand Doesn’t Come For Free, is beyond me. I can hear, though, and Blinded By The Lights, followed by It’s Too Late, is a definite highlight.

Regurgitator put on an effortlessly brilliant show as usual. Guest keyboardist Spod almost steals the show with some tamborine action and backing vocals for Hullabaloo. The ‘Gurge have enough hits to fill their own entire Hottest 100 CD, and ! (The Song Formerly Known As), Black Bugs, I Sucked A Lot Of Cock To Get Where I Am, Track 1, Everyday Formula and Kong Foo Sing are all slotted into the set primarily to flog new album MishMash!. The MishMash! songs are a joy live, too, with The Game and My Computer Crashed (“think harcore punk rock circa 1981”, urges Ben Ely. “But played by Revenge Of The Nerds”) being amongst the set’s highlights. Regurgitator’s music is designed for festivals – it’s catchy and fun. A large crowd gathers despite the fact they’re up against Powderfinger and Carl Cox, and Ely and Quan Yeomans seem genuinely grateful that so many people chose the Regurgitator option. I wouldn’t have been anywhere else.

And now it’s time for The Polyphonic Spree. 48 hours earlier, I’d dubbed their sideshow as “one of the best gigs I’ve ever seen”, and I was more than keen to see how they’d go in the darkened, ampi-theatre that is the RRR Stage – up against the Beastie Boys on the main stage. A large proportion of the crowd seems slightly miffed when the band bursts onto stage and launches into We Sound Amazed, but that confusion has been turned into pure, unbridled joy by the end of the set. Even Tim DeLaughter – who’s young son Oscar comes on stage to belt some tom-tom drums – stands by himself, looking at the crowd and muttering “this is fucking amazing” to nobody in particular. The set is a condensed version of the sideshow, with It’s The Sun, Hold Me Now, 2000 Places and Soldier Girl all getting airings, but sadly void of their stunning cover of Sgt. Peppers. There’s nothing not to like about this band. The choir (which features The Most Beautiful Boy In The World), is magnificent, the songs are grandiose without being overbearing. I shed a tear, but I’m not sure whether it is due to heat exhaustion, hunger, consumption of too much wine or the actual brilliance of the band.

And that’s it. It’s time to head home. Everyone is a stark contrast to several hours ago. The Slipknot kids’ makeup’s running. Arms and legs are red with sunburn. People are actually paying money for dagwood dogs. It’s madness. Sunday public transport timetabling means that people have to wait ages to get trams and trains back to the city, so the nursing of sore heads has to wait a bit longer. Still, there’s another 12 months to recuperate before it’s time to do it all again.