Come Together 2 @ Luna Park,10/09/05

Tue 20th Sep, 2005 in Gig Reviews

Every music fan has their festival outfit. For some it’s all about practicality. Cargo pants, comfortable shoes, wide brim hat, sun screen, oh God the sunscreen. Then there’re the cartoon characters, your team of Steve Irwins with inflatable crocs, teenage girls in fairy wings, home made where the fuck are Grinspoon? shirts. What your average festival lacks is style, some panache, and to quote Chris Bailey, a certain rock and roll je ne sais quoi.  At nearly every turn the fans at Come Together 2 dressed for the occassion. From the denim clad slim hips and skinny arses of the Melbourne crew to the dapper suits and aviator sunglasses of the Sydney set there was scarcely a shirtless, tattooed surfie in sight. Put that down to the line up more than anything else.

The most exciting thing about Come Together 2, other than the unseasonably hot weather and great harbour side location of Luna Park, was that there wasn’t a single platinum selling Triple J band on the bill. OK, other than You Am I, but they’ve slipped from the Powderfinger, Grinspoon, Alex Lloyd league to being more of the elder statesmen of rock. Alright, they’re that uncle who you don’t see until Christmas when he turns up drunk, tells inappropriate jokes, smokes at the table and everyone whispers about in the kitchen. There was plenty of airplay between all the bands, but thankfully none that two thirds of the crowd had come to see. It is a festival for music fans.

The park is still open to the general public, so the ferocious chewing of the off-chops set queue suspiciously for rides with the kiddies in Spiderman outfits. Hip scenesters talk shop on benches alongside weary parents taking a breather. Trucker caps bob in line for chips alongside balloons and prams. Inside the Big Top, after eyes adjust to the darkness, it’s a different story. DJs from Triple J and the seemingly endless indie nights that have popped in Sydney pubs play records downstairs where it’s all-ages and upstairs in the licensed area. The crowd downstairs ebbs and flows dependent on who’s playing in the alcohol free band room. Upstairs the floor in constantly full of people dancing to the so-hot-right-now (The Killers, Franz Ferdinand), the old-but-cool (The Stones, The Clash) and the ironic (Chisel’s Khe Sahn!).  The question of why people would spend $60 on a ticket to dance to records they already own while paying $6 for a beer when there are wall-to-wall bands playing without a break in between them in the next room is a question that will never have a logical answer. Did those people have fun? Yes, yes they did. Could they have done that shit at home for a quarter of the price? Fuck yeah.

The absolute truth about the bands that played was that there wasn’t a single dud performance amongst them. This was thanks to PA that few of the bands on the lineup will have ever even seen, let alone played through (although it was so bass heavy, my heart is still yet to return to it’s normal rhythm). Kisschasy drew a huge crowd, so big when their set was over it looked like there was an evacuation for a bomb threat. Peabody were blistering, the songs from their new album The New Violence stabbing at the audience as singer/guitarist, Bruno Bayovic spat out the words. Graeme Trewin was, as ever, the entertaining and a consummate showman on drums. He remains the true heir to the throne held so long by Rob Hirst.

If you dropped out of Screamfeeder-land for a while, rest assured they are still one of the best bands getting around anywhere. Tim Seward still writes those  tunes with big curvey arsed riffs that are instantly loveable and you just can’t help but grope.  Bluebottle Kiss were intense and enthralling. Jamie Hutchings (who produced the Peabody’s record) and the band play songs that have velvety textures, bleeding noise and arty hairpin bends, often in the same tune.

The Midnight Juggernauts were fun, one of the few concessions to anything other than straight ahead rock with flat out beats backing thrashing guitars. Clare Bowditch added bluesy class and a welcome break from boys with guitars. She was sultry and delightful, her songs teasing the early crowd.

The Mint Chicks took their spot head on, climbing the signage and getting amongst the crowd. The Camels are the ultimate good time band, impossible to watch without breaking out into a smile, audience members were caught actually dancing. That’s right, dancing.

Easily one of the highlights in a day full of them was The Tremors. Singer Geoff Corbett, who also has Six Ft Hick with his brother Ben, who also has Gentle Ben and His Sensitive Side, were nothing short of fantastic. No easy pop hooks here. The guitars are stretched taut, attacking the songs with electric power. Geoff menaces a crowd split between loving it and cringing in fear. They deliver on their threatening swagger delivering an urgent, nasty performance. Sensational.

The crowd became less transient as it came down to the business end of the day. The Pictures played a truncated set due to the bands running over time (can’t upset those residents by having the show run 15 minutes over you know, they’ve lived in the area for coming up to half an hour now) but played a highlights set from Pictures of Eight. Davey Lane manages to be both cute and handsome and growing into his rock star stature rapidly.

Much of the crowd stayed to watch a reunited, and judging from their new material reinvigorated Stems, although whether it was because they’d heard a lot about them from older brothers or were trying to score a good spot for The Cops is unclear, but they were treated to a ripped up greatest hits show. Looking older and more rubanesque than in their day, their garage rock loses none of it’s sharpness. In fact, some bands could do with taking a leaf from their book.

Waiting patiently on their stage, playing along with The Stems, The Cops come on to a mighty roar and they own that crowd. They benefit from the PA and play a sensational show that would have shut many of the doubters up had they bothered to watch.

I don’t get The D4, but that puts me in the minority because they were jammed into that mosh pit. The Casanovas do an awesome take on bogan rock, especially playing under a PA that let every note of the Angus Young style guitar playing through crystal clear. Three songs in and you get the picture though.

How Butterfingers went from novelty single to second headliner is a mystery, but they were really, really good. No, scratch that, they played like the rumours that they’re going to be huge are all true. They held the crowd from their irreverent skip hop to pop punk and good times rock and roll.

It was difficult not to imagine the previous 10 hours of bands playing 30 minute sets were just the support acts for You Am I who had the only hour long set of the day. While there wasn’t a bad band that played all day, no-one could stand up to an on fire Tim Rogers. They peeled off the greatest hits one after the other, and squeezed in five new songs that have the band sounding less like The Kinks, The Who and more like The Stooges. Get excited about the new record people.

It was a testament to the vibe of the day that there were rock stars everywhere in the outdoor smoking area at the back of the main bar area. The VIP bar had a steady transient clientele, and why not perched on the edge of the water looking over to Blues Point, but for the most part various members of The Vandas, The Pictures, The Stems, The Cops and who knows who else smoked, drank, ate meat, went on rides and just hung out with the punters on the smokers deck.

There will apparently be a Come Together 3 in March. Go.