By day two it seems that lunchtime is too early a start for most. Twenty-one year old skater turned muso Jonathan Boulet takes the stage and appears justifiably overawed. The crowd is peppered sparsely about the amphitheatre more interested in finding a shady spot to consume their first festival-sanctioned bevvies than in Boulet’s indie-pop offerings. Whether it’s nerves from such an occasion or lack of experience is unclear but the short set is fairly monotonous and littered with minor errors. A Community Service Announcement pricks majority of ears, but as the indie-by-numbers set closer it’s all a bit too little too late.
This year’s festival sees a slew of young bands from all genres riding waves of expectation on the back of cracking debut albums and South England trio Band Of Skulls is one. Sporting an irrepressible cockiness and rock n roll swagger Baby Darling Doll Face Honey ’s opener Light Of The Morning oozes energy and each track is visibly appreciated by the steadily growing mass. The shared vocal honours give the material clearcut light and shade, and with hooks aplenty, ultra singable choruses and powerfully simplistic drum throbbing, the band’s regular radio spinners become set highlights. I Know What I Am, Bomb and Death By Diamonds And Pearls crackle and thump with garage-blues goodness. The set is closed with Hollywood Bowl and a couple of thousand emphatic fist pumps and screams.
It’s damn hot but The Mix Up Tent offers no sanctuary when Northern Ireland’s electro indie-pop world beaters Two Door Cinema Club just turned the temperature up further. The sizzling live show retaliates to the dance-off challenge laid down by Foals yesterday, with a writhing, sweating dustbowl under the conducting hand of the band’s biggest radio hit Undercover Martyn. I Can Talk and Something Good Can Work continue to hand young disco-loving punters virtual eargasms.
The indiest-looking band in all of Brooklyn, The Drums may have the old-school twee style down pat – tidy shirts, fringes, rolled-up skinnies – but onstage, they fail to live up to the hype. Still, the not-inconsiderable Amphitheatre crowd doesn’t seem to mind the increasing use of samples and the band not playing Let’s Go Surfing’s hooky bassline live. In practical terms, the much more musical and energetic Northern Irishmen Two Door Cinema Club down at the Mix Up were a better option.
With stage names like Berkfinger and MC Bad Genius, it’s pretty clear that Philadelphia Grand Jury aka The Philly Jays don’t take themselves seriously. Commanding a crowd with nothing but catchy garage-punk and a truckload of insanity, the Sydney-siding attention seekers sure know how to stir some shit. Going To The Casino (Tomorrow Night) and I’m Gonna Kill You are as awesome as the lyrics are trivial, I Don’t Wanna Party (Party) is complete with stage diving, crowd singing-while-surfing and other general madness, finishing with their renowned cover of Jay Z’s 99 Problems.
Coming all the way from Stockport, Lancashire, Delphic turn the heaving Mix Up into a giant disco with their neo-indie-electro anthems. Their rhythm section work, the rave-ups and the use of atmospherics are sublime and the crowd participation is something to behold. Exploding with a timebomb-like precision, the splendid Counterpoint, Red Lights, blissful closer Acolyte, This Momentary ’s “let’s do something real” refrain and the mass-chanted “ah-aah”’s on the extended, Balearic-tinged signature track Halcyon make the set a Saturday afternoon highlight.
Seasoned Antipodean festival circuit regulars Fat Freddy’s Drop bring a welcome dose of chilled vibe to the increasingly-hectic Woodfordia grounds. Far from being a token reggae band, the collective’s surprise treats such as the shoegaze-y twin guitar maelstrom at one point and sticky breakbeats are alternately savoury and sweet while the manically-dancing trombonist puts on a show to eliminate the need for whatever intricate visuals. Their horn section is outstanding and beat machines offer a killer groove, but we’re fanging to hear just how pumping a live rhythm section with this outfit would be.
*The Magic Numbers* are two pairs of siblings and the similarities are blindingly present is far more than just appearances. With a rocking set of beautifully melodic indie, the English foursome preview a host of material from their week old third studio album The Runaway. Powerful rhythms season the immaculate harmonies and while most of the set is largely unfamiliar, it’s obviously adored. The set closes with the gloriously uplifting Love Me Like You and the GW McLennan stage in full voice.
Splendour’s always had a bunch of kooky sideshows to keep the freaks happy, but with the added luxury of space at Woodfordia they’ve really outdone themselves this year. Ibeefa and its yacht, the Fans-group run Jager Cube, a Chupa Chup foam party and a poorly attended but still commendable Forum provided plenty of amusement for festival go-ers. Guz Man Y Gomez stage played host to the (maybe unintentionally) hilarious Dwight Chocolate Escobar who appeared to party harder onstage than the hundred or so tequila-swilling punters he was DJing to.
The true prowess Tame Impala lies in their extended jams which sprawl out into complex odysseys are a band. Bound by their time constraints, the band doesn’t have much to work with but Solitude Is Bliss and Remember Me are neat little packages of the band’s psychadelic, rocky groove. They channel the spirit of Cream for the finale of Half Glass Full Of Wine, even if it is missing the Ginger-Baker style drum solo.
The overused phrase of ‘genre darling’ has never been more comfortably worn than when draped over the shoulders of 20 year old English folk-angel Laura Marling. When she sings it’s like a glorious monologue and you feel blessed to have been entrusted with her deepest secrets. Her breakthrough track Ghosts comes early and is gushingly received, and with the introduction of Marcus Mumford on bass a thousand heads lean in for a nibble at her palm. Rambling Man is Joni Mitchell reincarnate and the whole set is a saviour in a time begging for some beauty and honesty in music.
Wolfmother are a very different beast to their 2008 Splendour performance, which heralded the end of the original line-up. Still, they delve into the vault to deliver their crowd favourites like Woman, Mind’s Eye and Joker And The Thief as Andrew Stockdale assumes his self-appointed role of rock god. Problem is that it feels like it’s Stockdale and a group of session musicians. The band hasn’t quite stabilised to develop that intuition that made the old line-up so renowned, and a considerable chunk of the Amphitheatre crowd wander off mid-set for a delicious burger or marvel at the Ibeefa yacht (rumoured to be huge, but in reality looking a little Spinal Tap-ish in size).
Australian music institution Paul Kelly is a machine, full stop. With his skin-tight band including the incredible Vika Bull on vocal support, the storyteller opens with the tribal-tinged Nothing On My Mind and keeps pumping out hit after hit – Dumb Things, Careless, Before Too Long et al – to the adoring GW McLennan tent gathering.
As flocks of people pour into the Lower Amphitheatre gates for Florence And The Machine, security shut them – which doesn’t stop the quick-thinking punters from running up the hill, knocking down the fencing and gleefully streaming down to the over-capacity grounds. A curtain drops revealing a stage laden with bird cages, a drum kit wreathed with flowers and a Celtic harp, Florence and the Machine delivers and absolutely captivating performance. Striking in a white bridal dress, Florence Welch is a whirlwind of fiery red hair and exuberant movements as she commands her willing Amphitheatre prisoners. Welch’s true brilliance shines not in her singles like Kiss With A Fist and Dog Days Are Over, but in the rest of her album. The accompanying musos aren’t lacklustre either, adding intricate piano and harp touches to the songs. “Are you with me, Splendour?” the UK siren enquires to a deafening roar of 15,000-plus voices before bidding everyone a fond adieu with the giddy, disco-swept Raise It Up.
Electro-rock three-piece Midnight Juggernauts take the stage and roar through an epic, soaring and haunting soundscape. With immense songs back to back, beautifully shocking lights and imagery and a headline slot at The Mix Up Tent, the Juggs should be setting the stage alight. Unfortunately for them, they’ve managed to be mercilessly wedged between alt-country and indie men-of-the-moment Band Of Horses and the undisputed drawcard of the entire festival The Strokes. Barely a third full, the Mix Up Tent is unconvincingly occupied by obvious punter overflow from the other unavailable options.
Band Of Horses is a forced card for some, given the bottleneck at the Amphitheatre. As a result, bars across the entire site are shut down, likely to prevent crowds getting more out of hand (though it’s argued the mid-strength booze available wouldn’t really have allowed for that).
Whether or not the GW McLennan stage was a first choice for punters, Band Of Horses cranked an impressively rocky set and offered some of the funniest and unexpectedly crass stage banter of the entire weekend. Ode To LRC and The Funeral are hard hitting, powerful tunes, with No One’s Gonna Love You More Than I Do inspiring crowd vocals as well arm-swaying. For a band with somewhat stoic discography, frontman Ben Bridwell clearly enjoyed regaling the crowd with his outrageous story of not being able to spot native animals until arriving at the festival, where he announced he’d fingerbanged a wallaby. A few songs later he admits, “I wasn’t entirely honest with you all before. He fingerbanged me.” An excellent consolation prize for The Strokes and with their impeccable musicianship, sound production and vocals, a must-see band in their own right.
Those who did make it to The Strokes weren’t disappointed either. Any mixed reviews of their previous performance were put to bed, and God damn it is good to have them back. Walking onstage to the opening strains of Queen’s We Will Rock You, Julian Casablancas and co brought the rock-star to Woodford like no other band yet. Standing in front of a giant video screen which projected images of Pacman, Pong and Space Invaders, the band put on a ‘best of’ set that had the crowd moving like it was 2001 all over again.
After smashing out opening track New York City Cops Casablancas nodded to the audience with a cheeky smile and muttered “Look at this cauldron of humanity!” And this would not be the last time the usually reserved front-man would acknowledge the crowd, in fact, he littered the band’s entire set with wry chatter, highlighting just how much the singer has lightened up over the last decade. As they worked through hit after hit including The Modern Age, Soma and Is This It Casablancas continued to throw out such gems as “How is tent city? Looks like fun…ish ” followed quickly by, “What is going to go on in tent city, hopefully lots of fucking and maybe some other things”.
The band left the stage after Last Night and ran back not long after for a five song encore which included a speedy version of Juice Box. The band seemed to genuinely enjoy playing together again, with the quiet onstage jokes between Casablancas and Moretti signposting a very different group to the one that last appeared in Australia. The Strokes finished up with the frenetic Take It Our Leave it and strutted out of Woodfordia and back to New York.
Reviewed by Jake Newell (yaki), Denis Semchenko (denistheman81), Crystle Fleper (misscrystle), Scott Thompson (scotty_thompson), Sarah Smith (sarahanne). Compiled by Crystle Fleper.
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