Golden Plains roundup 2016: tops and bottoms

TOPS

Listening to the Necks perform experimental jazz at 11am after spending the night before subjecting your nervous system horrible abuse. You close your eyes and, after a while, it's almost as if you can feel your synapses shifting and sparking like frayed powerlines in the wind. There are no more words. There are no more dance-floor politics. There aren't even any people nearby. And with each new passage your brain cables either spark in the wind or settle and throb harmoniously. And you're completely by yourself and you feel tears drip down from underneath your sunnies. And, in this moment, you don't know if you've ever felt so affected and peaceful in your entire life.

The old guy in the leather hat from Egypt 80 making rain with that gourd. Simply “gourd-geous” (pun credit: Kiloran Hiscock).

Sampa the Great: “I'm great, you're great, we all great”. She made us believe it too.

Built to Spill building intricate, interlacing guitar lines into a big dirty blanket of sound fabric. Then Doug Martsch kicks on the fuzz and shreds the whole thing to bits.

So in music theory there's this thing called the 'circle of fifths'. It's a representation of the relationships between the twelve tones on the chromatic scale. These words mean practically nothing to most people (including me). But, according to my friend, it turns out this circle of fifths idea helps explain why Kenji Takimi is such a sick DJ. It goes like this: certain songs are in certain keys. But different keys can sounds really jarring together – kind of like the one tone-deaf kid in the children's choir who's voice is breaking. According to this circle of fifths idea certain keys also match up and add an extra element of melody. Most DJs will cut out the melodious top parts of a records so they can mix in the bottom end. This is supposed to be the easiest way to avoid that awful sound when two songs in a mismatched key are competing for the same space. Kenji is so skilled he not only mixes bass and drums, he also sometimes reaches into his bag for records he can seamlessly key match. This means the melodies complement each other for a while before melding into a new song. That takes an incredible skill. But technical skill is one thing. The important thing is, the man only played straight bangers for two hours. Side note: apparently he was such a gent that he even returned all the knobs and dials on the decks to their original settings before leaving the stage. We love you Kenji, please come again.

No Zu with the vocoders, bongos, synths, samplers, horns. What a bloody circus. What a 'Raw Raw Vision'.

Sitting on a log sharing a steak sandwich with extra cheese. Getting each other. Lovely.

Unstable hug-moshing during Sleater-Kinney.

DJ Lachlan K in a white turtleneck dropping interstitial dad rock.

Saying to people: “are you keen to see the Buzzcocks? Or… never mind the Buzzcocks”. Then actually seeing the Buzzcocks.

Is it weird that I want to be Eddy Current Suppression Ring? I'm not saying I want to inhabit the body and mind of a specific member, that'd be a bit creepy (though I will say Brendan Huntley is very attractive and talented and humble and seems to the kind of guy you'd want to invite around for a family BBQ because he'll probably remember everyone's name and bring an almond-sprinkled salad and have an attentive, genuine conversation with your aunt). I'm talking more about the embodying the idea of Eddy Current. Because the story goes these guys got drunk at a work Christmas party and started the band as a laugh. They worked hard on their own terms and now they're the most well-loved garage rock band in the country. Most of us spend Christmas parties reluctantly flailing about to 'Gangnam Style' and boring the shit out of people we have nothing in common with. Apparently Brendan Huntley overcame crippling stage fright, now he spends entire songs riding the mosh pit spitting truth. Every new project Mikey Young touches turns to gold. Most of us are too scared to even try new things. These guys admit their faults. These guys don't let anxiety cripple them. Instead they harness the terror and belt it out into space. Then we all jump around arm-in-arm and feel way better afterwards. I want to live inside this catharsis. Or, failing that, I just want them to record another album.

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BOTTOMS

“Do you guys like to polka?” No Violent Femmes, we don't.

US Girls warping most of their songs into a soupy bass mess.

JUST MAKE THE TENT BAG BIGGER FOR FUCK'S SAKE.

Weaving through an ecstatic crowd for what turned out to be the last minute or so of Songhoy Blues.

When you ask someone to wait in a certain spot then you misremember where the spot is. For like an hour.

At like 6.30am on Sunday while the Black Madonna was closing out the festival with really fun disco and house jams this guy came down to dance floor dressed in a Bananas in Pyjamas costume. I'm thinking “here we go, this guy's dressed as a banana! What a larrikin. Wonder what he's gunna do?” And what did he do? He just kind of stood there. Watching. Let me tell you, if it's 6.30am and a banana costume isn't facilitating some kind of silly dance then the whole scenario starts to feel really ominous. Why even have a silly costume if you don't plan to be silly? Is it hiding something!? If you peeled back the banana would it reveal something rotten and bruised?