It had one of the most discerning indie rock line-ups in festival history, but also one of the most uncertain states of being in the run-up to the day (no thanks to the NSW government).
But Farmer & The Owl Festival at Wollongong’s MacCabe Park (2 March) went off without too many glitches.
Save for the occasional error with sound equipment, nestled in the heart of the coastal town it was crushed velvet, floppy hats, blunt fringes and an unofficial national no-bra day as hipsters and indie kids flocked from all over to enjoy some great music in some great weather.
All the way from Baltimore, Maryland, Snail Mail, otherwise known as 19-year-old Lindsey Jordan, executed ambient, dream-like tunes from her debut album, ‘Lush’. With their instruments hoisted beneath their armpits, it was the only way her band could apparently support Snail Mail, the bassist amusingly enough making it hard for himself and slogging it in a khaki overcoat.
Snail Mail - image © Brendan Delavere
Still, the focus remained fixed on Snail Mail; her performance setting the perfect tone for Farmer & The Owl, particularly as the sun started going down and the buzz of the beer was kicking in.
“If you want entertainment, go see Kirin,” they said. They weren’t wrong. But quite what kind of entertainment they meant remained elusive.
What to make of Kirin J Callinan? His pseudo-camp '80s vibes drew to “his stage”, as he labelled it, quite the collection of reactions.
Click here for photos from the show.
Some faces held confusion, some delight, others simply grimaced. The regency period mannerisms made modern by boardies and a crop top (removed before set’s end and the artist finishing in only pants and a feather boa), Kirin may not be the greatest singer on the bill, but he is the greatest curiosity.
Ramping it up a notch with some filthy, filthy pub punk, it was mullet madness as Amyl And The Sniffers commanded The Forest Stage.
Amyl And The Sniffers - image © Brendan Delavere
Owners of only one hairstyle congregated for the unapologetic rage of the Melbourne outfit and their take on rampant, '70s Aussie rock. Guitarist Dec Martens’ instrument cut ruthlessly through the smoke-drenched stage, while bassist Gus Romer proved gingers do indeed have souls as he put absolutely everything into really making his instrument chug.
A juxtaposition if there ever was one, Deafheaven seemed to neither fit the bill nor their own skins to some degree. An odd tranquillity graced the guttural screeches of the post-death metal San Franciscans.
Frontman George Clarke made love to his microphone (he may have had some dancing tips from Kirin), hair wind-milling double time against the soothing backdrop of the band who, in uniform black, strummed and bashed their way through unusually ambient melodies.
Deafheaven - image © Brendan Delavere
Sweat and smoke, shadow and sound, Deafheaven commanded the stage with an unexpected delicacy intertwined with their blackened shoegaze.
It was quite the anticlimactic appearance when Joyce Manor took to the stage.
Though they certainly pulled in the punters with their clean guitars and poppy punk glory (and a few glitches at the start just an endearing addition to the garage aesthetic of their sound), Joyce Manor were a bit of a disappointment.
If you turned back the clock on Weezer, you’d probably have something like Joyce Manor only never as good. The audience, curtained hair flopping, girls swaying in their rompers, soaked up the Californian vibes, bouncing in time with the hipster anthems.
Joyce Manor - image © Brendan Delavere
If you wanted to find yourself in the festival’s utopia, you needed to be in attendance when Beach House performed.
Drenched in a euphoria of their own making, a performance by Beach House whisks you away to a place of ethereal being. Of course, shrill feedback can quickly snap you out from any trance.
Nevertheless, the gentle silhouette of Beach House was presence enough for the audience to get their fill of the American dream-pop duo.
Beach House - image © Brendan Delavere
With all the character of a full band, J Mascis commanded the stage, his alt-rock balladeering a far cry from the usual output of his band, Dinosaur Jr.
It wasn’t so much a shimmy and sway kind of set as it was a be still and listen carefully one. J Mascis carried his own, taking the audience along with him on what appeared to be a very personal date with a very intimate lover – his music.
J Mascis - image © Brendan Delavere
The day’s headliners, Hockey Dad, easily drew the biggest crowd for their set, but didn’t draw the biggest reaction.
Though people got up on one another’s shoulders for the performance by Billy Fleming and Zach Stephenson, security even getting in the pit to try and stop the fun and the band calling them out for it, it was another half-hearted performance.
Of all the songs in their set, Hockey Dad’s performance of ‘Danny’, written for the Dune Rats guitarist Danny Beusa, was the most moving, even uplifting.
Hockey Dad - image © Brendan Delavere
Props to the dude who took it upon himself to crowd surf while seated in one of the bright green lawn chairs, which were available to punters for lounging purposes – that was a pretty MVP moment to behold.
In the face of potential adversity, Farmer & The Owl pulled off a remarkably chill and tune-filled day. It’s the kind of festival you go to catch-up with mates, catered more for the wine and cheese crowd who’ve raided the op-shops of Newtown.
But high risk? Stupidest thing to ever try and ascribe to this festival. The most high-risk danger there was was getting whacked in the head by your drunk mate with one of those lime-green plastic lawn chairs.
Festival goers left in much the same state of joy as they arrived, relishing a jam-packed day of sun and sounds that we can only hope returns to Wollongong next year.
