Deep inside Altona North’s industrial area, disguised by signs advertising rock climbing and indoor sports, All Tomorrow’s Parties music festival was taking place. Swarms of music connoisseurs made their way inside the venue, their foreheads trickling with sweat, dedicated to the unbelievable line-up they were promised. Outside, the food stalls were serving greasy burgers and chips, while lager was being handed out inside. This was to be a promising day, filled with undeniably good acts curated by The Drones.
1:30pm- 2:15pm- Cam Butler and The Shadows of Love
It began with Cam Butler and his newly formed band, The Shadows of Love. The line-up included electric and acoustic guitar, drums, bass, but the violin and cello were the driving force.
The first track was sloppy, and the multitude of instruments on stage seemed to come together in a big mess, making it hard to appreciate them individually. However, that was soon fixed by the sound guys, and more people flocked to the stage like gulls to a bin.
The show was a beautiful euphonic journey of instrumental folk-rock full of Irish/ Celtic influence. While there was little-to- no showmanship from the band, it suited their melodic, passive music, and made for a captivating show.
3:15pm- 4:00pm- Dan Kelly’s Dream Band
Dan Kelly’s Dream Band was definitely
among the highlights of the day. They played a brilliant, high-voltage, noisy rock show; at times psychedelic, with spacey, delayed and reverbed guitar, and at other times more folky, with Dan Kelly performing an acoustic version of ‘Apocalypse Jam Under The Sea’ (which reeked of Sufjan Stevens influence).
The variety of songs meant that every track offered something new; a guest musician played harmonica on ‘Dan Kelly’s Dream’ (which was sadly overpowered and inaudible) and the back-up singers utilised some sort of wind instrument (maybe a tin-whistle).
David Williams and Kiernan Box, from Augie March, are perfect additions to the band, with Box’s keyboard riffs so sharp and penetrating that they bring back memories of Yes’ Roundabout.
The bass and drums complemented
each other so well that they sent shockwaves through the audience, and the warm lights shone through the fog and engulfed the musicians, giving them personal auras. The general feel-good mood provided by Dan Kelly’s rock fusion resonated in everyone long after the last song, ‘The Catholic Leader’.
5:15pm- 6:30pm- The Drones
Seeing these Aussie rock gods was the highlight of the festival. Fans crammed into the pit like sardines, drenched in sweat instead of oil. The sour stench of mixing body odour, as well as the dying urge to piss, was only made tolerable by the mind-blowing show.
Gareth Liddiard, armed at the knees with his red Fender Jaguar, exploded out from the stage like Jesus would, had his dad not forbid him to play rock music. The Drones’ dirty garage rock crashed onto the audience like a wave, sparking uninterrupted stares of admiration.
They played a vast array of songs, including ‘Shark Fin Blues’, ‘Sitting on the Edge of the Bed Crying’, and ‘Jezebel’ (a personal favourite). Liddiard’s solo seemed to possess him as he stumbled across the stage and nearly crashed into Kitschin. His Jaguar came alive, suddenly leaping behind his head and off his shoulder, only to be caught moments before hitting the floor. As a guitarist and performer, Liddiard is in a league of his own and controls the stage with his huge musical and lyrical force.
The Drones exploded off-stage one last time with ‘I Don’t Ever Want to Change’, before they thanked everyone and disappeared backstage, leaving the crowd with unmatched hope for an encore.
7:00pm- 8:15pm- Pere Ubu
Grounded by more beer, cigarettes and service station steak and pepper pies, it was time to catch the next show.
Regardless, it took some time to appreciate Pere Ubu’s unique sound.
At first, front-man David Thomas seemed overwhelming, due to his striking resemblance to a leprechaun. His fire-hydrant-red suspenders and belly-button high pants, with compulsory waistband, did little to redeem the fucked-up vibe at this stage.
Unemotional, pure white light prevailed throughout the show, pouring onto the stage like moonlight and reflecting off Thomas’
bald head. Adding to the confusion was the overwhelming underground experimental prog-rock bombarding the audience like a catapult. Nobody seemed to recognise any
of the songs, except for a few old hippies smoking dope, bucketing down beers and rocking hysterically back and forth nearby. Yet, strangely, everybody’s eyes were glued to the stage, attempting to make sense of the mess leaking out of the speakers.
Suddenly, it was over. Thomas had spat something about “getting to ‘the modern dance’ whenever we fucking feel like getting to the modern dance,” what seemed only minutes ago, and suddenly tottered off stage.
What happened between the beginning and end of the show seemed still a mystery to everyone but those stoned hippies, who were still shouting for an encore.
9:45pm- 10:45pm- Don Walker and the Sauve Fucks
The Suave Fucks armed themselves upon a bright stage: drums, electric guitar, electric upright bass, baritone double-neck guitar, and peddle steel. A ‘backing band’ is no way to describe these guys, but ‘fucking brilliant’ is.
Whether you take to the penetrating rhythm of the drums; the face-melting guitar solos; the deep, circulation-boosting bass lines or the smooth, edgy, peddle steel; there is no way of denying these guys their brilliance.
And onto the stage crept the suavest fuck of all: Don Walker.
Gazing down into the souls of each and every speechless admirer below him, his whiskey-soaked yet elegant voice rumbled across the room as if God himself were speaking. Walker was imposing his dark, witty commentary on the crowd, and they were absorbing it like housewives absorb Today Tonight.
Playing tracks including ‘Sitting in a Bar’, ‘Yakuza Girls’, ‘Harry was a Bad Bugger’, ‘Johnny’s Gone’ and ‘We’re All Gunna Die’, Walker mesmerised the relatively small audience from start to finish; they were dancing, cheering, laughing and screaming.
Walker also had humour on his side. He explained the song ‘Hq454 Monroe’ as
“a philosophy song as old as man, about the eternal triangle of a man’s love for a woman, and a man’s love for his car. The ancient Sumerians referred to it, on their clay tablets, as the ‘fat tires, big tits conundrum’.”
The golden lights illuminated the figures on stage, giving the set a seedy atmosphere, similar to that of a strip-bar. Nevertheless, it suited the verbose, debonair nature of Walker and the Suave Fucks and made for a brilliant show, making many late for Einstürzende Neubauten.
10:15pm- 11:30pm- Einstürzende Neubauten
With over 30 years of mind-blowing musical madness behind them, it came as no surprise that Neubauten put on a life changing show.
Liddiard warned that seeing them is more like going to a circus than going to a rock show. Still, everyone in the room was underprepared.
Out of the steady white lights came a sound so foreign it was a struggle to define. A guy was bashing a concoction of metal pipes with more metal pipes, providing the rhythm for the song. The bass was fuzzy and invigorating, plowing through the bodies of the audience like a semitrailer.
Frontman, and former member of The Bad Seeds, Blixa Bargeld (whose last name translates to ‘cash money’), oozed a dark and sinister vibe, wearing a three-piece black suit, and slick, middle-parted hair.
The rest of the industrialists were mostly hidden behind towering metal machinery, such as a huge drum kit forged from different types of sheet metal, and a workbench on which another member viciously bashed a tin can.
At some point, Bargeld let out a huge, ear-piercingly-high-pitched scream which tore through the venue like a cry let out by the victim of an exorcism.
The show seemed endless and full of surprises, as the end of every song saw more custom instruments carried on stage: 4 metre long concrete irrigation pipes that were beaten with metal sticks to provide a weird, semi- electronic drum beat; a bucket full of steel pipes which was slowly emptied onto the floor from head-height to produce a sound similar to chimes for the outro of a song; a tin can which was banged and rolled atop a piece of sheet metal.
Every song received huge applause, though nobody seemed to know what it was that forced them to like it.
Maybe it was the art of experimentalism: the willingness and dedication these artists must possess in order to invent these instruments and produce these wicked, alien sounds. Regardless, Einstürzende Neubauten were remarkable.
Suddenly it was all over. The audience awoke from their unfathomable trance and bumbled out of the building. Little was said, but by looking into the ocean of eyes, it
was easy to see the cogs turning, still trying to unravel the puzzling show they had just witnessed.
