“Tomorrow, the green grass” isn’t just the name of a classic Jayhawks album, it also happened to be one of this cough-wrecked writer’s trademark, music analogy-drawing thoughts upon arrival in beautiful northern NSW the night before the big weekend. That’s right, we’re here for Splendour In The Grass 2009 and the nasty winter cold can take a back seat – pack the paracetamol, Sudafed and cough lollies and let the good times roll.

Making an early entrance, wandering around Belongil Fields checking out the festival’s rather excellent setup like a total Splendour noob (this being my first-ever Christmas In July), it strikes me how the BDO/Good Vibes-hosting Gold Coast Parklands just doesn’t compare in the department of entertainment options and general atmosphere. Maybe it’s the spirit of the place – which Byron Bay fortunately still has plenty of – that’s the crucial element along with a real sense of happening. /end rant

In the meantime, the clock hits noon and Splendour’s officially on. After the native Bunjalung people of Byron Bay area give us a big traditional Welcome to the Country address, glacial locals Glass Towers kick off the musical part of the event at the Super Top. Heavy on self-described “indie-jungle-postpunk” stylings, the dreadlock-friendly four piece impress with their tight, well-balanced sound and crystalline guitar interplay.

Judging by the tent demographic, Manchester Orchestra are somewhat big with the kids these days. With his face almost entirely obscured by hair, Fozzy Bear-alike frontman Andy Hull signals the action with a buzzsaw guitar intro and the Atlanta quintet douse all and sundry in decibels. Loud guitar clangour and droning organ buzz abound, the latter instrument being vigorously abused by a fiercely headbanging Chris Freeman who is surely one of the most enthusiastic keyboard players out there. The band inject a hefty dose of – œ90s indie revival into the warm Saturday afternoon air. Crunch-saturated material from latest album Mean Everything To Nothing gets prominent exposure and debut single Wolves At Night comes through with enough teeth & howl, yet I’ve Got Friends ultimately proves to be the most – œscene’ song to have been released this year: twinkly keyboard line, shoutalong chorus and all. Cue scene kids’ mass exodus once MO air their Triple J hit. Sign of the times? Word.

At the GW McLennan tent, Adelaide lads Leader Cheetah pay fitting tribute to the late, great Go-Betweens luminary by treating the assembled audience to a deft display of song writing talent. Singer Dan Crannitch and the rather smoochy-named guitarist Dan Pash harmonise beautifully over Alibi, Grass Castles and signature number Bloodlines, which aptly gets the loudest response; busy humming along, I cannot help but notice how the melodies stay there even when the quartet rock it up or take it down to a slow dirge. Additional flourishes include a guest violin and a slick-looking (and fat-sounding) acoustic bass, which the well-presented Mark Harding operates with gusto. Already – œroad-tested’ and armed with strong tunes, the fast-growing quartet could be destined for even bigger things if they carry on this way – and today’s highly convincing Splendour performance bodes well for the future.

The Super Top is at full capacity by the time Children Collide come on, the first squeal of the – œKurt Cobain look’-sporting Johnny MacKay ’s Fender Jaguar sending the predominantly under-25 contingent into overdrive. Having never seen the Melbournians live before, I still know what to expect and duly get it: the trio’s adrenaline-charged live show is firmly the stuff of circa-2009 urban gig-goer legend, and looking at bassist Heath Crawley run across the stage brandishing his instrument like an AK-47 in attack mode is probably just as exciting as the music itself. Songs from last year’s The Long Now dominate the set, Farewell Rocketship ’s zigzagging guitar line and the ensuing chaos serving as Saturday’s first massive moment; the crowd moving like a giant centipede to relentless dance-rock rhythms, both me and my other half get felt on our legs by a saucer-eyed female punter who clearly sees it as her mission to share her temporary affection with everyone in this section of the tent. But hey, is it really a drama when two people out of 10,000 don’t immediately feel the love when (supposedly) grown-up children collide and let loose all around?

Back at GW, Bridezilla were cute. Lead singer Holiday Sidewinder was an innocent figure in white, but with a devilish Shirley Manson-like quality to her. They are a promising (mostly) all-girl band, but this performance was lacking in energy. However, violinist Daisy Tulley really ripped up the stage, bringing liveliness to the otherwise drone-laden set.

Experimental popsters Dappled Cities do everything an intelligent, melody-conscious band with a strong emphasis on big emotion and clever hooks should – and then some. From boppy mid-tempo clap-alongs to celestial synth-swept slowies, the quintet are absolutely spot on all the way through; singers Tim “Tomahawk” Derricourt and Dave “Razor” Rennick shine solo and together, with the former being responsible for a bunch of decidedly goosebump-inducing moments. All of the Sydneysiders’ three albums – 2004’s cult indie classic A Smile, 2007’s Granddance and the just-released Zounds – get represented with respective choice cuts, and the fact that the ever-majestic Fire Fire Fire is only one of the set’s highlights speaks volumes about the five-piece’s ability to craft exquisite pop songs and recreate them in a festival setting. Latest single The Price incites plenty of blissful dancing and when the last looped vocal segment of the epic closing number (the name of which I struggle to recall, it’s that good) begins to echo away amid thunderous applause, we know Dappled Cities Fly high again.

All of a sudden it’s Homebake 98 and Regurgitator are knocking out I Sucked A Lot of Cock as their opener. But hang on; they’re not on the bill! Connoisseurs of taking the piss, You Am I kick off their Super Top set with all the humour and aplomb we know and love them for – rolling out a cover of the fellatio favourite and warming the crowd instantly. Looking like Clint Eastwood circa The Good The Bad & The Ugly, Mr Tim Rogers sports a poncho, his battered wide-brimmed brown hat and a heap of charismatic attitude. Punching Givin’ Up & Gettin’ Fat , How Much Is Enough , Purple Sneakers and Cathy’s Clown out in quick succession, this is the tighest the band have been live for a while and they’re clearly relishing the big crowd response. Davy Lane smiles like a kid in a candy store as Rogers kicks, minces and hip shimmies his way through each track. After classifying the band as purveyors of “vintage” rock that the kids may not have heard before and challenging pennies not to drop for Rumble , Rogers slams home a windmill finish as guys hug each other and sing their guts out all around. Introducing Jack Ladder (apparently the real Tim Rogers) to the stage, we’re treated to a very chic, crooning Rat Pack rendition of Heavy Heart that after all these years of joking about it, really could earn Rogers some royalties. It Ain’t Funny How We Don’t Talk Anymore , Junk and Berlin Chair continues the raucous sing-a-long, until closer Piano Up A Tree sorts the real devotees from the retrospective fair-weather fans. Unfortunately we again don’t get the call and response of this most poignant of tracks in the same way that we did from The Zoo’s crowd last year, but I tried for you Timmy, I really did.

Ian Kenny ’s been reigning supreme as Australia’s finest rock singer since Karnivool’s Themata first hit the airwaves, so hearing his golden pipes in action is a familiar delight. He’s in likewise sublime form fronting Birds Of Tokyo, who blast through an astonishingly gripping hour of live/radio staples including Desperate, Off Kilter, Wild Eyed Boy, Wayside (with seemingly everyone in attendance singing along to the gargantuan chorus), Black Sheets and Silhouettic to the deafening crowd roar. Augmented by a beautiful light show, the Perth quartet fire on all cylinders, guitarist Adam Spark unfolding thick sheets of drop-D riffage and melody-soaked solos along to Anthony Jackson and Adam Weston’s monolithic rhythm section work. Previously sceptical about the band’s mass appeal, it takes one powerful show like this for me to become a convert (as was the case with Karnivool) – I don’t care how many times BoT get played on commercial radio as long as I can hear Ian sing. The heaving Super Top, of course, knows it all along and lives the moment. Splendour-ific.

In the Mix Up tent Yuksek were surprisingly enjoyable considering I have never heard of them before, just going out on a whim to check them out. The French electronica outfit had the people dancing straightaway, and right until the end of the set. Not many people left the tent in that time – which is a good indication of the quality techno they were pumping out.

Half an hour later, The Specials proceed to make everyone’s Saturday at Belongil completely unforgettable. Emerging in the original lineup sans notoriously volatile founder Jerry Dammers, the Coventry ska collective rewind the clock 30 years to 1979 with their timeless, socially-conscious grooves, the irridescent horns cutting through the freezing evening air. Lead singer Terry Hall might not have retained the slim stature and youthful looks of old and generally appears rather hungover, however remains in top voice throughout while partner-in-crime Neville Staples dances up a whole storm while also giving his legendary vocal chords a great workout. Rat Race, Gangsters, Do The Dog, Too Much Too Young , dubbed-out Stereotype and Message To Rudy (which sends the tent absolutely ape-shit) sound a hundred times bigger and more ebullient live than their respective recorded versions. Guitarists Roddy Radiation and Lynval Golding ’s economical playing (with enough room for an assortment of stinging, clean-toned leads) and bassist Horace Panther ’s brain-tickling pulse being indelible treats. Dedicated to John Howard, Does It Make You Taller? loses none of its original bite and the immortal Ghost Town rounds off Day 1’s best set. 2-Tone for life!

In the Mix Up tent, Architecture In Helsinki have managed to completely transform their stage show from indie cuteness to electro pop club mastermix. I’m not sure if this is a good thing, but it isn’t a bad thing either. New hits Underwater, That Beep, and Hold Music go down well with the new generation of AiH listeners and the sound certainly suits the Mix Up Tent vibe. All in all a great set to dance like a crazy person to.

I’m assuming the majority of the Splendour crowd have seen The Living End at least once in their lives because I haven’t up until tonight [/n00b], so accordingly I’m not going to bother reciting the set list – just because everyone already knows what songs the Melbourne powerhouse are likely to play live. Standing in for last-minute deserters Jane’s Addiction, Chris Cheney and co ram through their favourites with the similar force chief inspiration The Stray Cats exercised during their farewell Australian tour earlier this year and make up for Perry Farrell’s crew’s absence with a surprise cover of Jane Says, with Grinspoon’s Phil Jamieson making a guest appearance on searing lead vocals. Early anthem Prisoner Of Society segues into prime Led Zep-ish riffola before Cheney goes off on an extended excursion through his long-documented rockabilly chops (throwing in a nod to the current MJ theme with the Beat It riff), climaxing in a glorious, noisy rave-up fashion. Remind me if I missed anything – I was too busy rocking out, because as we all know… The Living End fucking ROCK!

It’s Bloc Party ’s third time at Splendour (and second time onstage in two days, having played Byron’s famed Great Northern Hotel under the code name – œSilent Alarms’ the night before) and they mark it in style… with an airy synth intro and a subsequent “OMG-totally-epic-so-fucking-awesome!” show, you guessed. The non-fans having defected to either Happy Mondays at the MixUp or Sarah Blasko at the GW, an earth-shattering, festival-sized cheer greets the London fourpiece as they walk on and launch into their Gen Y-approved, neo-postpunk oeuvre. As with The Living End, all the hits get played and it’s difficult to say which track – Hunting For Witches, Banquet or The Prayer – draws the biggest response. One thing, however, is certain: songs from last year’s Intimacy, while sounding perfectly widescreen live, fall considerably short of vintage (ie 2005-2007) material. Beaming wide, Kele Okereke presides over the jam-packed Super Top while Russell Lissack plucks out signature guitar flourishes and shirtless drummer Matt Tong hammers out one spasmodic pattern after another. The poppy Flux turns the place into a giant disco and Helicopter chops through the tent like a swarm of Ka-50s; getting lost in exuberance, it’s past the scheduled finish time of 11.30pm when the band decide to extend their allocated slot by including the Silent Alarm opener Like Eating Glass as an encore. I am, however, near-comatose by that point; Splendour Day 1, over and out.

Sunday starts with a volcanic hangover for many partied-out attendees and an excruciating fever for this festival trooper. An elephant dose of paracetamol and two cups of honey & lemon tea, however, knock down the temperature and soon I’m back at Belongil Fields feeling cool as a cucumber.

Cruising to the GW McLennan tent in time for the second half of The Middle East, I kick myself for not getting there a little earlier and go “Have I missed Blood?” It soon turns out I didn’t and the Townsville indie-folk collective are still busy sharing their much-vaunted live magic with a crowd of devotees and early birds (ie those who got in before 1pm). Captivating finger picking and harmonic vocal displays ( The Darkest Side gets a particularly ethereal rendition) sit next to the jaunty accordion and banjo runs before the anthemic Blood takes off in all its Arcade Fire-recalling glory and drowns us in the sea of euphoric “la-la-la-la”-s. It feels over too soon once the guys (and girl) exit the stage to mass applause and I ponder what’s going to come out of the supremely talented band once the sequel to the revered Recordings Of The Middle East materialises.

The subsequent stroll over to the MixUp tent for a little jig to Sydney’s Lost Valentinos proves to be worth it, but ultimately leaves us wanting more. As the deafening rave siren signals the start of the show, the bandanna-happy lads proceed to hammer out a tribal drum intro and smoothly glide into their psych-dance repertoire. Formerly Australia’s answer to Klaxons under their abandoned Valentinos guise, the sextet have the shuddering bass and multi-limbed beats down pat, with this year’s Serio bringing out the assorted funky gibbon moves, yet the still largely docile crowd fails to really ignite throughout – and we soon defect to the Super Top.

A large proportion of UK expats (who were earlier serenaded by Kram with a spine-tingling Liverpool FC anthem You’ll Never Walk Alone) in attendance is a deadset indicator of White Lies ’ homegrown appeal, however the moody rockers’ music transcends the British Isles much like that of previous Splendour visitors and stylistic compadres Editors. It takes extra time for the sound crew to prepare the stage for the show, however no one really has a reason to complain once the shimmering lights go on and the fresh-faced trio (augmented by touring keyboardist Tommy Bowen) emerge to a maelstrom of cheers. A Place To Hide serves as a soaring start, frontman Harry McVeigh’s voice towering above the Super Top before he bids Farewell To The Fairground in a grandscale fashion. All instruments beautifully mixed, To Lose My Life has everyone express their wish to grow old together and die at the same time while the sonorous Unfinished Business prompts another huge singalong and the gradually unfolding Price Of Love again sees the sublime McVeigh induce another case of goosebumps. Elated and electrified, I savour Fifty On Our Foreheads ’ Joy Division grandeur (and I mean JOY DIVISION, not the bloody Wombats) and the Technicolor radiance of set closer Death – quite possibly the most gloriously life-affirming song about a grim subject since Alphaville’s Forever Young (in its original version, not the gloopy Youth Group remake). It goes without saying that To Lose My Life is one of the best albums of 2009, but seeing its songs expand to a different dimension at Splendour makes for an unforgettable experience. White Lies = epic win.

Following an extended (and well-deserved) lunch break, I’m back for more elevation at the Super Top where Doves steal the day and the entire festival with a performance that can only be described as magical. The stage swathed in red light, the masters of Mancunian melancholy take us into the stratosphere with the Jez Williams-sung Jetstream; as the 747-like waves of crowd noise settle, the ever-affable Jimi Goodwin (at one point chortling “Ooh! Beachball!! Gimme!!”) takes charge of the mike and continues to guide the band through songs from this year’s masterful Kingdom Of Rust album. The Outsiders, The Greatest Denier, Winter Hill, the epic 10.03 and the loping title track not only sound like instant Doves classics, but also transport the listeners to a place of alpine beauty, while older tracks like Pounding, Black And White Town and the magisterial Cedar Room also retain unmatched levels of bliss. Not even the omission of fan favourites N.Y., The Man Who Told Everything and festival anthem par excellence Catch The Sun can mar the set’s kaleidoscopic brilliance, Jez ’s glistening guitar lines bouncing off Jimi ’s rock-solid bass like Slinkies. With everyone’s heightened state threatening to send the tent airborne, the UK wizards bow out with The Last Broadcast and the gorgeous There Goes The Fear, replete with a surprise cowbell/collective drum outro. An imperial Splendour triumph.

After such a grandiose start to the evening, I feel like sitting down and chilling out for a little and cross over to the GW faster than one could say The Gutter Twins. Holding court onstage, grunge-era veterans Mark Lanegan and Greg Dulli treat the observants to sombre acoustic folk songs, not once standing up from their chairs as they vocalise both in unison and in harmony. Dulli – œs piano accompaniment and shrieking, emotive tones are commendable flourishes, yet it’s Lanegan ’s voice – the inimitable, gravely bourbon rasp – that proves to be the ultimate star of the stripped-down set. She’s Alright With Me, by definition the best Gutter Twins track, gets a spirited reading; the duo (plus touring guitarist) appear slightly perturbed by the overpowering roar of The Boys Are Back In Town (*Grinspoon* ’s intro music) emanating from the Super Top, yet retain their composure and deliver an uplifting closer in Joy Of Moving On.

Want to experience something epic? Then be in the Super Top when Phil Jamieson asks So You Wanna Be A Champion?. Home town boys and Splendour regulars, Grinspoon always manage to fill the main arena and send the crowd into a frenzy of mosh jumping and all the words being bellowed until throats threaten to bleed. A Thousand Miles is so ferocious that Jamieson “whoo’s” as he comments on how good it feels before sliding a few newbies into the set. Announcing that their putting out a new record in September called Six to Midnight , the new tracks lean toward psychobilly guitar and drums in parts, but Jamieson’s lyrics still lend themselves to the anthemic crowd choruses of yore. Closing the set with Dead Cat Three Times Grinners make everyone just that, cementing their place as this festival’s favourite act.

Having first toured Australia merely half a year ago, zeitgeist-riding New Yorkers MGMT (also affectionately known as “MGM-poo”, “MGM-shite” etc) don’t even bother altering the set list. There are no new songs, no gimmicks – just Oracular Spectacular (which one of my good friends memorably called “the jean shop soundtrack of 2008”) in rehashed order. Backed by a solid live combo (the kaftan-clad lead guitarist periodically going off on Jerry Garcia-conjuring wigouts), Messrs VanWyngarden and Goldwasser entertain THEIR crowd like two hobbits on helium, the indie kids, football jocks, ravers and yuppies inside and outside the packed Super Top collectively forgetting their differences and giving in to sheer, wide-eyed abandon. It’s fair to say that the duo’s Triple J-flogged party songs possess levels of catchiness that border on the visceral – Time To Pretend, Youth, Electric Feel and the drawn-out closer Kids all pack humungous hooks and a potent live punch – yet for all the sense of guileless fun they carry, they capture neither the generations-crossing vitality of The Specials nor Doves ’ cinematic drama. The rest, as they say, is glossy filler and to paraphrase the band’s lyric, the youth are NOT starting to change now. Soz!

The exhaustion starting to firmly set in, an injection of chilli hot chocolate gives me a much-needed energy jolt to see festival closers The Flaming Lips do the whole psychedelic charade we’ve all grown to love. Long known for their Day-Glo theatrics, the US indie icons kick out the jams with a jaw-slackening entrance sequence that involves, in order: a) a nude hippie girl dancing on the big screen b) the said girl spreading her legs to reveal a blinding light portal c) band members exiting the said portal one by one d) Wayne Coyne crowdsurfing inside a giant plastic balloon upon the placenta-like enclosure’s inflation. Steve Drozd ’s resounding drum crash marks Race For The Prize’s effervescent pop explosion (coming with an accompanying halo of smoke, confetti and oversized balloons being tossed in all directions) and the animal suit-clad dancers flank the stage; once the song’s over, Coyne yells a hearty “Alright, motherfuckers!” and goes on about what an awesome weekend we all must have been having before continuing to roam the stage atop the King Kong guy’s shoulders. The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song again makes the crowd erupt into uncontrollable dancing while the stripped-down Fight Test summons a collective chant, demonstrating along the way its obvious similarity – and a shared singalong quality – to Cat Stevens’ Father And Son. Rich on enthralling stage antics, the rest of the set turns out to be somewhat scant on old glories (no Yoshimi, Feeling Yourself Disintegrate or Waiting For The Superman ), yet features a number of extra guest appearances in the shape of Coyne ’s pre-recorded trumpet, smoke-billowing megaphone and a strobe-light music box. Caught up in wonderment, I nevertheless itch to hear THAT song and duly join the audience choir when Do You Realize?? ’s heart-stirring strains finally erupt across the tent. Two false finishes and approximately one more tonne of confetti later, I realise we’re floating in space and call it a comprehensive Splendour In The Grass.

Following an extended navigation towards the carpark and the seemingly endless wait to drive out, we leave Belongil Fields with a feeling of disbelief that it’s all over for the year and it’s time to get back to the outside world, but also with an unshakeable knowledge that it has been a phenomenal weekend containing all the special ingredients – great times, great food and amazing music – and that we are going to be coming back for more. Long live Splendour!

Review by Denis Semchenko, Shan Welham and Abigail Lees.