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Covering an event like Sasquatch! requires a certain approach – given that it’s four days long, pacing for the sake of endurance is incredibly important. So, with two days of dense to-and-fro scheduling behind me, a conscious decision was made to slow down and give myself the time to truly absorb what day three had to offer.
Chicago-based Smith Westerns were our starter band of choice, taking to the main stage with their variation of the indie-garage-pop theme. Whilst there was the occasional slip into the dreaded all-too-familiar territory, it was for the most part a pleasing set – they played with heart, and more than anything I found myself drawn to the vocals of lead man Cullen Omori.
Another double-header at the comedy tent ushered in the early afternoon. Hari Kondablou played the race card a little too liberally but still managed to reap some pleasing laughs, and was soon followed the only (and unexpected) performer of the weekend to represent our fair Australia, Tim Minchin. With a set of self-penned piano ballads about gingers and all sorts of ill-offending minorities, and a whole lot of banter in between, Minchin proved himself a home-grown talent worthy of applause, garnering much comparison (both visually and theatrically) to eccentric Brit humorist Russell Brand. It was enjoyable set to say the least.
Tokyo Police Club swooned to a sizeable crowd back at the main stage, proving that their appeal extends well beyond the Canadian masses who, especially for this one, ramped up their flag-waving and (at times obnoxious) national chant laden affections. While knocking out some of their greater tracks including ‘Elephant Shell’ and the audience-aided clapping of ‘Tessellate’, the most iconic moment was when they handed the stage over to a friend who in turn proposed to his girlfriend. Lovely stuff.
For such a short career to date, pop duo Beach House invoked a greatly enthused turn out for their set that ranged from tear about dance beats to more subdued, supple ballads, occasionally intermitted by Victoria Legrand’s strange but amusing commentary. I can’t imagine it would be easy for a relatively low-key two-piece to perform in the shadow of The Flaming Lips elaborate (yet lifeless) stage pieces, but they worked it best of their abilities and they didn’t disappoint. To paraphrase Legrand herself, “Good job, human beings.”
With a new album in the bag, Cold War Kids took to the stage with a great amount of gusto and accomplished not only kicking things up a notch, but preparing the audience for what was to follow. Infectious and high-energy, Nathan Willett’s slightly off-kilter vocals propelled their pop-rock style into an intriguing place, and the crowds’ response was more than favourable – dancing and singing wherever they could, whenever it was called for.
A pre-emptive decision to enter the inner circle of the pit a set early to get a prime spot for the last two acts of the night saw us endure the shit-storm of moshing gone wrong that Irish punk band Flogging Molly whipped up. We had clearly underestimated the devotion of their following; as the band tore up the riot act on that very stage, the crowd before them responded with an intense tenacity, centred on thrashing by and on each other. Heads, arms and ribs (amongst other areas) quickly became both weapon and weak point, and while it’s hard to judge a set when you spend the majority of it protecting your every exposed surface, the collective response would indicate that the band lived up to a bizarre yet unison set of expectations.
As the sun shed it’s last licks of light for the day, The Flaming Lips made their much anticipated appearance on stage – Wayne Coyne, before the flashing eye of Big Brother, came to life in his infamous inflatable balloon and went for a stroll/roll over the much enthused crowd. While this element of their show has long been a staple for the band, this particular performance was going to offer something very different, even by their standards – a rare and (almost) full run through of their 1999 album ‘The Soft Bulletin’.
What proceeded was a bewildering experience – a largely euphoric celebration that sported balloons and confetti and all spectrums of image and light available at such a time and place, while other moments were far more tender (‘The Spiderbite Song’ and ‘Waiting For A Superman’) and touched on a side of the band that Coyne admitted they rarely celebrated in public. Collectively, the set was perhaps all too short but what it lacked in time was made up for with substance. If the set were to be summed up by any one moment, it was the look of rapture that soaked one particular fan from skin to soul, celebrating as he was showered in cake by Wayne Coyne himself (during a mid-set rendition of Happy Birthday in honour of the festivals tenth anniversary). Existing fans relished the hour and new fans born; you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who didn’t walk away from that performance with some sort of appreciation for The Flaming Lips.
The night, however, wasn’t quite over. With the near-capacity amphitheatre riding a day of bar-raising expectations, the members of Modest Mouse positioned themselves on stage quietly and shroud in darkness, and the cheering and chanting died down before the static silence was finally broken; exploding into the opening lines of ‘Shit Luck’ was just the beginning of the nights final delights – with no album to promote, Isaac Brock and company were free to explore every which corner of their discography, and that they did.
The majority of the set was framed around tracks from the first three albums, whilst two new songs were thrown into the mix and some more recent favourites were added for good measure. ‘Cowboy Dan’, not so much a rarity as it is just something to revere, was an extremely solid performance, whilst the canyon heaved under the weight of ‘The View’ as if any manner of living matter beyond the darkness of the stage were being dared to respond. All too soon, a golden trifecta closed out the encore; a simmering rendition of ‘The World At Large’ and the creeping, horn-laiden ‘This Devil’s Workday’ paved the way for the final bow – the bone-breaking crescendo of ‘Spitting Venom’ that was as intense as it was indulgent.
With our minds still trying to process the day that was, we were sent on the long, winding walk back to camp, brains muddied with one final day ahead.
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