Lilkafest ’09: House Party In The Sticks

DOM ALESSIO reports from Saturday’s Lilkafest, a fledgling festival in rural South Australia where – for now at least – music is perfunctory at best.

Heading south-east, drive two hours from Adelaide and you’ll come to a small row of shops that run parallel to a massive inland lake, where the sun shimmers off the water like a liquid disco ball. You’ll see a local butcher that bears the epithet: “Country-Killed Meats”. Welcome to Meningie. Turn at the local pub and drive an extra 15 minutes, over dusty dirt roads, through pastures that haven’t tasted sweet rain for far too long. You’ll reach a large property seemingly in the middle of nowhere called Lilka, and once a year the site for the nascent camping festival Lilkafest.

Under cloudless skies and in 35 degree weather, Lilkafest ’09 opens its rusty farm gates to around 300 revellers. This is not so much a festival, more like crashing a house party in the middle of country South Australia. I mean, six local bands and a DJ duo doesn’t really constitute a festival, but the semantics don’t seem to bother anyone. There’s a stage, there’s a canopy that houses couches, there’s beer. We arrive to the sounds of the William Street Strikers wafting over the hill as we fumble our way through setting up our tent. It doesn’t blow away, so surely that counts as a win, right?

Quiet Child is the first band we catch and despite some grooving prog-rock riffs, the heavy quartet fail to stir the passions of those who have gathered under the scorching sun. It’s not really their fault; they just don’t fit the vibe of the festival. Despite some PA issues, Quiet Child play with aplomb but they feel too out of place. God God Dammit Dammit, however, demand attention, even if you don’t want to give it to them. As the sun sets over the horizon, this 13-piece outfit lets rip with their abrasive, but strangely captivating, brand of self-described “punk-funk-rock”. A musical salad of bleating brass, serrated vocals and guitar riffs that oscillate between Parliament Funkadelic and Black Flag, they’re undoubtedly an experience – even if the synthesis of influences often feels awkward.

Poetikool Justice is your prototypical university party band, playing ska riffs infused with Aussie hip-hop. By this time the alcohol is flowing pretty freely, so with nothing exceptional in their music, Poetikool Justice blend into the background, becoming the soundtrack rather than the focus. Having just been on tour with I Heart Hiroshima, Fire! Santa Rosa, Fire! is the well-oiled machine you’d expect, playing a collection of songs that will eventually find their way onto their debut record. They are the crowd’s favourite tonight, getting the liquored masses pressed up against the speakers.

By now, though, everyone’s too drunk to give any attention to the latter acts. They dance to nondescript beats; to songs they’ll forget when the Sunday morning heat permeates the tent city like a stifling fog. But the music is almost perfunctory in the scheme of Lilkafest 2009. This is always the challenge, though, for a new festival that doesn’t have the budget to afford the big crowd-pullers. Without these larger names, its charm therefore lies within the landscape. In the harsh light of morning, the temporary tent town dismantles itself. The hungover slouch on the back seats of cars, and the remaining crowd quickly extricates itself from Lilka, heading for the beach and the solace of cooler pastures. But there’s a sense that those who ventured to Lilkafest will be back, regardless of who’s on the bill next year.

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