Report: Harvest Sydney 2011

The transportation concerns in Melbourne faded into obscurity at Harvest Sydney, where attendees simply floated in. Words by AARON CURRAN. Photos by NIK THORUP.

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.]

Parramatta is at the heart of Sydney, geographically speaking. It’s smack dab in the centre of the city’s suburban sprawl, some 23 kilometres west of the CBD. Despite its propinquity though, Parramatta is a much less common location for music festivals than the parks and streets out east. However, recent years have seen a shift; many exclusive events in the 2012 Sydney Festival will take place here, and Parramatta will even have its own “Festival First Night” street party on January 14.

Launching the inaugural Harvest in Parramatta – instead of the eastern suburbs or CBD – was undoubtedly an economic and perhaps political decision as much as a statement of intent. Still, there’s no denying that Harvest’s location at Parramatta Park is a more picturesque and relaxing spot than the majority of festival sites closer to the city. The park’s proximity to public transport and parking makes it user-friendly too. Many Harvest attendees simply sailed up the river on the River Cat ferry from Circular Quay, which has to be one of the more pleasant transport options available for a music festival in this country.

The sense of ease extended to the festival entrance, too. Gaining access was an overwhelmingly painless experience, despite Harvest’s pre-event press releases conjuring images of massed hordes of police, sniffer dogs, and intrusive bag search queues. There were also stern proclamations as to the amount of sandwiches (one) and fruit (none) ticket-buyers were allowed to take in. None of that potential angst was in attendance, just polite staff making cursory checks, then handing out maps and timetables for the day. Near the entrance gates were some of the smaller stages and shady rest areas, along with art installations, bars and food stalls. The Secret Garden was a relaxing beer garden with DJ sounds (I heard Can’s ‘Vitamin C’, Trojan reggae, and some dubstep), as well as costumed actors and circus performers.

The one downside to Harvest’s schedule of quality acts was there was less time to amble around, hang out, and soak up the burlesque ambience of Le Boudoir tent, or watch some comedy at the Campfire Stage. Still, a nearby bandstand had been filled with bean bags, which was a popular spot for punters sneaking in some afternoon shut-eye, and the Cope Street Parade’s old time jazz and blues performance on top of the La Toosh crepe stand was very entertaining.

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.]

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.]

The festival layout worked well for the most part, but, there was a lot of sound bleed between the main stage on the Great Lawn and the nearby Big Red Tractor Stage. This was a particular problem for the first couple of hours, so perhaps Portishead’s alleged reluctance to share the airwaves had some merit after all. The brew of overlapping noise was immediately apparent when I caught the final moments of The Holidays’ set. The small crowd gathered seemed to be enjoying themselves and the Sydney quartet played with energy but aurally they failed to hold their own against Hypnotic Brass Ensemble’s testosterone-fuelled jazz/hip hop seeping in from the main stage.

Last here for Vivid 2011, the horn-parping ensemble (most of whom are sons of Sun Ra/AACM main man Phil Cohran) play the kind of feel-good festival fare that appeals to those prone to throwing their hands in the air like they just don’t care. But, while their verbal patter veers to cliche on occasion, the instrumental prowess of this Chicago-based outfit is unquestionable.

On the Windmill Stage at the south-east edge of the site, This Town Needs Guns offered math rock with a bit of metal muscle. Frantic drums and busy bass backed sinewy guitars, but the vocals tended, at times, towards the tentative. New singer Henry Tremain apologised at one point saying, “This is only my second time singing with the band so please excuse my messing up a bit.” Such candour is admirable but the band looked and sounded a little out of place on a larger stage so early in the day. In a pub, they’d probably be great.

Dappled Cities played just before PVT. I hadn’t seen the former since they dropped the “Fly” from their band name and the latter since their loss of vowels. Both acts have markedly improved their live performance across the years, with Dappled Cities’ return from a hiatus proving a particular hit with the crowd. Battling through the grey daytime glare, the stage lights looked like falling neon rain, an apt visual metaphor for the band’s shimmering guitar pop. Standouts included opener ‘Peach’, ‘Vision Bell’, and a new song from their as-yet-unrecorded “fuckin’ awesome” new album (according to guitarist Tim Derricourt anyway). PVT’s intricate amalgam of electronics and experimental rock is more subtle but no less enthralling, and the three-piece made real efforts to connect with those watching; always a challenge for a laptop-dependent band.

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.]

After seeing them at Laneway a few years back, today’s three-song glance at The Walkmen reinforced a few assumptions: that their soulful indie rock can be a little over-earnest; that few tracks in their repertoire match the quality of their hit-that-never-was, ‘The Rat’; and that they deserve sartorial commendations nonetheless, with frontman Hamilton Leithauser easily a candidate for best-dressed of the day. Back at the Great Lawn, funk superstars The Family Stone stepped up the pace with a show that had most smiling and dancing. Sure, they’re all older and they miss some key personnel from their original act – uber-bassist Larry Graham and the inimitable (but undependable) Sly Stone himself – but much of it was worthy. Sixty-five-year-old trumpeter Cynthia Robinson made a crack about how Melbourne hadn’t been too kind to them the previous day, but Sydney was appreciative and the set list was stellar. They dedicated ‘Everyday People’ to the Occupy movement.

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.]

Mercury Rev don’t seem to like the sunlight much, all covered from head to foot in black. Jonathan Donohue used the same shtick to begin their performance as he did in Melbourne, thanking us for coming to listen to his “late night songs on a sunny afternoon”. While it was a little incongruous to hear tunes like ‘Endlessly’ and ‘Opus 40’ in the light of day – perhaps the reason many in the audience wandered away as the set progressed – the band played well, with Grasshopper’s elaborate guitar lines a particular highlight. ‘Holes’ sounded fantastic. Its closing line, “Bands, those funny little plans/That never work quite right”, perfectly sums up the unpredictability of the rock’n’roll life.

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.]

Just ask TV on the Radio, whose brilliant bassist/keyboardist Gerard Smith died tragically earlier this year. The revised line-up played like they had something to prove and their driven prog-funk excursions proved the first real highlight of the day. Kyp Malone, in a black three-piece suit playing a red Epiphone guitar, exuded intensity, and with multi-instrumentalist Jaleel Bunton now on bass they sounded fantastic on tracks like ‘Red Dress’, ‘Repetition’ and ‘Staring at the Sun’. (Bunton also looked pretty cool in his grey Prince t-shirt.) This was apparently the outfit du jour, with at least two other cotton-clad chests in the crowd proclaiming love for the Purple One. Singer Tunde Adebimpe paced the stage with determination, seemingly pushing and shaking the sound out of his body, embodying the lyrics of their set closer ‘Wolf Like Me’. The audience went nuts.

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.]

The National played to a similarly rapt crowd. But despite the new brass arrangements on ‘Mistaken for Strangers’ and a setlist full of favourites (‘Anyone’s Ghost’, ‘Bloodbuzz Ohio’), the energy levels and musicianship didn’t quite reach the same heights. Perhaps sensing things were a little restrained, singer Matt Berninger swigged from a hipflask and screamed his way through some lyrics before jumping offstage and running through the crowd during closer, ‘Terrible Love’.

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.]

Phosphorescent’s Matthew Houck is an excellent songwriter and expressive performer, but credit must go to his outstanding band. These four cohorts contribute a fair swag of brilliance to his cosmic American music (think Flying Burrito Brothers, Crazy Horse, and Viva Last Blues-era Palace). Highlights included a tribute to Willie Nelson, the yearning ‘The Mermaid Parade’ and ‘Los Angeles’, with the memorable refrain, “I ain't came to Los Angeles just to die."

It sounds like Melbourne caught a rougher break than Sydney. For the most part, however, operations ran smoothly and queues were minimal, with coupon-free cash bars and plenty of amenities. The only real disappointment was the much-delayed start of the two headliners. The Flaming Lips went on 45 minutes behind schedule, while Portishead were “merely” 30 minutes late. Petty as that sounds, that meant over an hour passed without any music – well, except for the between-band mixtape throwing out dub classics from Augustus Pablo, Keith Hudson and King Tubby. After incongruously wussy AOR stuff like Sting, U2, Coldplay, and even more Sting filling the gaps, this was blessed relief. AJ Maddah, have a stern word with your sound engineers.

At dusk, the majority of the 10,000 strong-crowd poured towards the Windmill Stage for The Flaming Lips, creating a major bottleneck and the day’s only real instance of overcrowding and discomfort. This irritation was compounded by the delays in getting the band onstage, seemingly arising from technical problems with their complex production. (Is it true the foldback ended up being their only amplification?)

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.]

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.]

Perhaps the Lips deserve a break given their set-up is so much more convoluted than their peers, but watching Wayne Coyne pace side of stage, he too seemed to grow more and more frustrated, just like the punters squashed in beside me. I’d heard pre-gig rumours of Black Sabbath covers (‘Sweet Leaf’ was played in Melbourne) and extended versions of ‘She Don’t Use Jelly’ and ‘Do You Realize??’ but after three quarters of an hour milling with the pissed-off masses and desperate for musical distraction, I headed past the pounding psych-tronica of Holy Fuck at the Big Red Tractor stage, hoping to get a good spot for Portishead.

Portishead’s performance felt intimate and true. The quality of their musicianship was equal to the crowd’s collective hopes and memories. A suspected reliance on sampling and keys proved unfounded, with each of the six musicians nailing their roles with economy and precision (the jazz-fuelled snare-spatter of the drummer deserves particular praise).

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.]

Beth Gibbon’s voice didn’t falter once, and neither did Adrian Utley’s spectral guitar playing, while co-founder Geoff Barrow moved across instruments with ease. An evocative highlight was a stripped-down ‘Wandering Star’ with just the three of them – Barrow on bass guitar – though frankly, the whole set was a wonder. ‘Silence’ and ‘Threads’, from their most recent album, sounded much stronger in the flesh, while old hits like ‘Sour Times’ and ‘Glory Box’ had the crowd singing as one, accompanied by the rattle and the pale glow of the occasional passing train. Despite the late hour, the crowd seemed grateful that the set went over schedule, with the band returning for a magisterial encore of ‘Roads’ and ‘We Carry On’.

+

The next Harvest takes place at City Gardens in Brisbane’s CBD this Saturday (November 19). Tickets and more info here.

FULL GALLERY: Harvest Sydney 2011.

REPORT: Harvest Melbourne 2011.