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For a music lover’s festival born out of Melbourne’s famed St Jerome’s Laneway, the 2010 Laneway Festival seemed to fit oh-so-sweetly into the Northbridge Cultural Centre. The overcast and typically sleepy Saturday afternoon in Perth greeted laid-back punters (attired in a colourful range of style do’s and don’t’s) amicably and without the overbearing police and security forces typical of the suspicion around Generations X and Y.

The Cultural Centre proved to be more spacious than it seems, comfortably accommodating three stages and allowing a simple flow between them. However, a number of acts, including Tim and Jean and The Very Best, suffered from playing on the relatively remote Tafe Stage.

This was not the issue of concern for indie-cool Whitley, who drew a neat crowd to the Museum stage. This festival could have been made for the Melbourne man and his band; his sound being a perfect fit for the line-up and theme of the day. The incredible popularity of Triple J hits Streetlight and Bright White Lights was evident, however Whitley failed to deliver that perfect balance between playing (in the garage) and performing (like, for an audience). It was a lazy and boring performance, even for the late afternoon timeslot. Lawrence Greenwood revealed an ugly tendency to rely on a crowd of adoring teen girls and skinny boys to carry the success of his “show”. Add to that a guitarist with an apparent disregard for rehearsal and you’ve got yourself an inoffensive, pleasant set which flat-lined all the way to the end.

Exhibiting more spunk were Perth electro-act The Voltaire Twins on the Pond stage (with the Art Gallery pond having mysteriously disappeared…) Delights to look at, they delivered a set of super tasty disco pop with tunes like the increasingly familiar D.I.L. On stage, Tegan Voltaire is sugary temptation, Jaymes Voltaire quirk and edge, and drummer Jye Satti is…well, simply a babe. But their most appealing live attribute is that they are doing real work on stage (unlike Whiltey), and are having real fun. While their technicolour set of electronica could do with a dose of darkness, or at least grit, new song Cabin Fever is such a delicious way of telling someone to “eff off!” Who could resist boogieing to that?

On a more serious note: the expectation in the air for Mumford & Sons was as thick as a Clare Werbeloff and Corey Worthington love-child. As the Londoners took to the stage, the crowd erupted into a deafening roar – it seemed everyone was buying the hype. And you know what? Boy, did Marcus Mumford and Co. deliver! Opening with Sigh No More, a song so brimming with pain it nearly tears your heart out, the anti-hipsters showed just how powerful folk vocals can be. The overwhelming crowd lapped up the tempo of the set, the hoe downs, and the gyrating hips of more than one band member. Apparently, the Perth Laneway show turned out the largest crowd the Sons had played, and the Hottest 100 triumphants appeared to enjoy the party as much as the rest of us. It was near impossible to find fault with this rollicking show, and as for Little Lion Man...enough said.

In the cool of the evening, Sarah Blasko showed Perth the right side of the line between a theatrical performance and plain ol’ theatrics. The much loved Aussie songstress wove a magical web with All I Want as darkness slowly began it’s creep into the sky. Bird On a Wire provided some edge to the set and like-songs kept Blasko’s repertoire from becoming too light or stale. It is her ability to pick the right set list and perpetuate a fresh sound that makes Blasko a dynamite artist. And she is an eclectic treat on the eye, too.

Relative newcomers The xx, on the other hand, present a bit of a pickle. In theory, they simply scream Laneway (or, in their case, whisper it.) They look the part, their sound is just the right mix of cool, careless and alternative dreamscapes, plus, they do not seem to give a damn about their own status. However, as a live act, they just don’t make the grade. Perhaps it was the open air arena, perhaps the writhing crowd of expectant fans; but the trio’s sound was too subtle to carry any weight on stage. It simply was carried off on the Fremantle Doctor, and disappeared with the sun. Which is such a shame, because Crystallised and Islands were hyped to be some highlights of the Perth Laneway. As sexy as Romy Madley Croft and Oliver Sim’s whispered vocals are, it really doesn’t matter if you can’t hear a thing. Points were awarded for effort to Sim’s uncharacteristically energetic cymbal solo. Points were lost for using what sounded like screeching amps as instruments. This is beautiful music, no doubt about it, but is best left to more intimate gigs, indoors.

Florence Welch is, quite possibly, the polar opposite of The xx. The woman has a voice that would surely knock you flat on your arse, were it not for the screaming crowd being packed tight right to the front cattle gate. She worked with her band, a well-oiled machine (ha ha!), to deliver a set that resounded through Perth’s cold and silent concrete playground. A vision in electric blue – although, not much of it! – Welch blasted out playful renditions of Rabbit Heart and Kiss With A Fist. A bundle of energy on stage, the flame-haired vixen showered the crowd with love, scaling scaffolding and diving straight into Perth’s welcome arms. Her vocal solos in Drumming Song were completely awe-inspiring feats, even though she looked as if she was barely popping a vein. Throwing all manner of jewellery to eager faces, Welch commanded the crowd with barely more than a jump and a “whoop!” The power of her lungs is rivalled by none and of her showmanship – surely, she wrote the book?

So, while the night was certainly crisp, Florence and the Machine proved much cooler, rounding out what had been a day of binary opposites. Lions roared, while others paled; stage presence won some battles and miserably lost others; and Perth punters walked away with a handful of hits, a handful of misses, and Welch’s voice still ringing right through their head.

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