Sunday May 9 should have been a day of chrysanthemums and croissants, but thanks to some incredibly crafty event organisers there were hundreds of kids having to send in absent apologies to mothers and explain what “a Silverchair” was.
Groovin’ the Moo was, after all, the biggest festival Canberra’s ever seen, so it’s pretty likely that no one would have cared how it was organised, because these miraculous unknowns had brought us some of the biggest bands in the world and plonked them on our Belconnen ovals. But apart from the udderly tripe burgers beings served, everything was incredibly smooth. There were few lines for the overpriced beers, there was toilet paper in all the loos and on the soles of many a punter’s shoe for the entire day, and even the drunk 15 year olds were tolerable.
With Jonathan Boulet kicking off the interstate acts it was quite a sight to see the masses flock when the opening plucks of Community Service Announcement began. The turnout grew strong and fast over the next couple of hours, as did the black and white cow combination outfits, and the orange wristbands in the air for Kisschasy’s set.
Lisa Mitchell ho-ed and hummed her soul away just right and I’m pretty sure everyone drew incredibly tight breath when Miami Horror’s Josh Moriarty climbed to new scaffolding heights and made hot pink blazers look better than Molly Ringwald ever could.
While British India proved that the festival circuit is a great place for them, if a crowd gets more excited for your covers than it does for your original songs, it’s probably time for some rethinking.
Sadly Spoon’s set was pretty hit and miss with songs like You Got Yr Cherry Bomb smashing the dedicated away, while I Turn My Camera On not reaching anywhere near its potential.
Grinspoon was basically Phil Jameson leading a mass karaoke party and sadly when the ambulances rolled by we remembered he was finally off ice and still on stage. I was forced to regret my laziness when everyone came back from the Big Top praising Bag Raiders set and getting Fat Mike’s voice stuck in my head when two Canadian sisters appeared on stage.
Empire of the Sun need to think about releasing workout videos and/or getting some charisma, because the continual ‘I’m too good to acknowledge you’ act that Steele produces has passed its used by date and where everyone should have been dancing, there were only girls on stage in great lycra and a bewildered crowd.
I’m pretty sure that all the requested Dr Pepper and Barossa Valley goat’s cheese went straight to Vampire Weekend’s head because they came out roaring and didn’t stop until the very end. Koenig commanded the crowd like he would a classroom, and gave a show of manners that would have made all our mothers proud we were there and not slaving over a roast cut of meat for them.
Yacht Club DJs were the perfect end to the evening for people wanting to warm up or come down before the parents arrived, and even though they were one man down the set ran smoothly and they were able to prove their talents as musicians, not just another DJ set on the festival circuit. Though I will say, please, when shirtless, stand side on. The shadow under the man-boobs is not the best final vision for the night.
When the Silverchair-loving members of our party arrived back to the car all they could utter was “Fuck. Fuuuuuck, fuck that was good” and “I think I’ve lost my voice. Ah fuck it’s for Silverchair, so it’s worth it right?” Every voice and hour of memory lost and splotch of sunburn earnt it seems was worth it and apart from the OD kids in the ambulance everyone had a pretty swell day of it all, and we’d quite appreciate its return next year if you please.
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