CHECK OUT THE PHOTOS FROM HOMEBAKE HERE.

Unlike most other dance-centric festivals on the summer calendar, Homebake can be a leisurely sort of day if you so choose. It’s conveniently sized, the crowd is predominantly made up of sun-dazed drunks, not off-chops derelicts, and you’re in a shady park on a summer’s day.

Because of the line-up, this particular day was more leisurely than years passed. Gone was the rock-heavy list that’s featured heavily in Homebake’s fifteen-year history (Screamfeeder, Grinspoon, Magic Dirt et al), replaced by what promoters called an – œinternational focus’. Or – œour famous ex-pats and those who’ve hit it big overseas’.

However, I wasn’t wholly convinced the crowd was tuned into this – œfocus’. As the day wore on (despite the sentimental addition of Tumbleweed and Underground Lovers ) you could hear people hankering for the rock-fuelled, local Homebake of old – or for Powderfinger to at least play These Days (which despite the wailing and pleading, they did not). But let’s start at the beginning.

The leisurely pace at The Dome was set by The Middle East, who played indie-folk to a crowd trying to make sense of programs while sucking down first beers. To keep the blood pumping, most made their way through the fig trees towards the Main Stage where the first lot of ex-pats, Closure In Moscow, were doing their best Mars Volta interpretation. A compliment rather than a slander, the likeness was uncanny, making a fair few punters turn on their heels to listen. Chris De Cinque’s vocals were commanding, though his overseas status was unveiled when he asked, “Does anyone know where the Annandale Hotel is?”

The progressive dub and reggae sounds of Tiki Taane (sans Salmonella Dub) came to find us from under the Big Top. Now here’s a lovable aspect of this Domain set-up – the next act is only a few minutes walk from the last. After enduring oversized festivals like Future Music (where you spend half an expensive day walking from stage to stage), this is a god-send.

A kind friend gave us the hot tip that there was a great band with “one or two syllables in their name” playing at the Hopetoun Stage. Those syllables spelt Parades, an infectious collective that crowded the small, annexed stage with an ensemble of brass, tom-toms and a huge bag of homely, hippie fun. Joined by jack-of-all-trades Jonathan Boulet (who did his solo thing moments earlier), they set a precedent. It was in this tucked-away corner that lesser knowns played homage to the loved and obviously not-yet-lost Hopetoun ideal of solid, local music.

The Scare and the Philly Jays would’ve married well to this ideal, but instead they played on the Main Stage around midday and were sorely missed. Luckily, New Zealand’s Die!Die!Die! brought comparable grit and substance that transported you from the middle of a sunny park to the Vic On The Park. Their fiercely dominant bassist Lachlan Anderson was fun: one minute a-top the speakers, the next held up by a crowd who neatly passed him back onstage in time for the next song.

Back over at The Dome, aka The Chillout Lounge, Sia (in her self-described “lesbian wearing batik” look) was a charming match for the sunset. Breathe Me and You Have Been Loved had people hugging and swaying all over the place, although the general vibe was more – œsiesta’ than we bargained for – especially when the string of headliners were about to begin.

To do the – œinternational focus’ justice, Daniel Merriweather was the next stop. Up until this point, the Big Top’s sound was impressive but it’s a shame to note that Merriweather, in his Mark Ronson-issue suit and sunglasses, didn’t get the same treatment. His great – œ60s soul vocals, along with his band’s obvious skill, were lost in a mess of sound. You could see him struggle.

“I like being in between Sia and Sarah,” Tim Finn declared, “I don’t mind being the meat in that sandwich.” Well, we didn’t mind you being that meat either, Tim. As the bats flew overhead and darkness set in, everyone got a bit nostalgic as the sweaty, silver-maned Kiwi led us in song. Fraction Too Much Friction and It’s Only Natural rounded out a brilliant – œbest-of’ showcase.

Then Sarah Blasko stepped onto the stage in her black, sequined finery. A few shirtless, Southern Cross-bearers had made it over to perch on the hill and it was a treat watching them sing along to All I Want and Is My Baby Yours?. The diverse crowd is a real testament to her mammoth year. She certainly didn’t fail those who wanted to end the night quietly, sung to by Australia’s most talented songbird.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for the ‘Finger. Oddly though, the Homebake mainstayers took this opportunity to show off Golden Rule – and the crowd couldn’t have been less pleased. At one point, Bernard Fanning urged us to sing along to a verse for a live recording. Nobody knew the lyrics (yet), the not-so-helpful karaoke screen was off time and the whole thing fell embarrassingly flat.

Judging by attitudes in our immediate milieu, most wanted to end the night singing to Internationalist/Vulture Street era material. They were given an amped-up medley of (Baby I’ve Got You) On My Mind/Summertime Blues and My Happiness, but they wanted more.

But we can’t always get what we want. Despite the poor reception, Powderfinger were an exceptional live act by any standard and Fanning’s songwriting and vocals remain peerless in the genre. They’ll have to come back next year – more people will have heard Golden Rule by then.

From the pub-like Hopetoun Stage to the sleepy hollow of The Dome; the nightclub arena of the Big Top to the mainstream Main Stage, the line-up stretched to all diverse corners of the present Oz music landscape – far wider than this word limit allowed. But the undercurrent of locals overshadowed the bigger acts this year. And for this scribe, they made the stroll in the park a winner.

CHECK OUT THE PHOTOS FROM HOMEBAKE HERE.