St Jerome's Laneway Festival

Andy J Ryan Apr 06, 2023

St Jerome’s Laneway Festival – Phillip Park, March 2, 2008

The annual music festival which grew out of a small Melbourne bar’s back lane, once again took over Circular Quay.

Summer music festivals have grown bigger and better in recent years, and the Laneway Festival – the boutique music event of the season - is no exception, spreading its wings from Melbourne’s back lanes to this year encompass Brisbane, Adelaide and lastly, Sydney.

The early afternoon bands played in hazy sun giving a cruisy Sunday markets feel to early proceedings. Little Red tried to snap us out of it with their bass and tom blasting set. Okkervil River filled Reiby Place with the equally devoted and curious. The band played a great bulk of their new album Stage Names, a record which has helped the world catch on to how important a group they really are. Will Sheff writhes fragilely through his potent lyrics up front while the border-line loon drummer Travis Nelsen keeps the rhythmic shackles barely a touch above shambolic as the outcast orchestra comprising the rest of the band spread their deep textured noise behind. They soundtrack a view of the world that strikes a fine middle ground between the extremes of overly-literal bookish and misanthropic melancholy while dwelling in neither. They end with a bit too sincere ‘we love you’ and the soaring grand splendour of the murderous ‘Westfall’.

In late afternoon what can best be described as the ‘Canadian Bracket’ commenced in the Park Stage. First up were Stars with their sweet as maple shared male/female vocals and pleasant pop, chips off the old block of the brilliant beard-led musically mesmerising ensemble Broken Social Scene. Building on their side-show earlier in the week, this was announced to be the collective’s ‘farewell tour’. As such it was an all-hands on deck no holds barred menagerie of musical magnificence, with guest ‘Stars’ aplenty and Feist and brass-section injections in equal measures.

Electro-lunatic Dan Deacon played in Bulletin Place, the only area suitably boundless for his hyped-up musical explosions. Deacon proved you just need a power point and some people for a party to break out and even commanded a back-street full of folks to serenade two lucky staff of a second floor restaurant above.

While the North American talent reigned outdoors, inside the Basement the home grown talent flourished. Darren Hanlon roped in a string section and the dueting duties of the ever-talented Pikelet to help fill his musical boots as the trod the Basement stage. The emerging grandeur of Bridezilla also filled the room with bodies and sounds. This is part of the great appeal of the Laneway festival, something new, great or just plain different awaits around every corner. Whether it be a critically adored yet criminally underselling artist playing a few feet from your face in a back street, a sublime open-air set in a park from which our very settlement sprang or some local soon-to-be’s punching above their weight playing a venue they may not ever otherwise play – Laneway Festival is all about boundary-pushing music in unique settings.

Playing as the sun set, Feist was just commanding. Despite only coyly making her way on stage with the aid of a hand-held lantern, she owned the night from her very first note. She was brimming with engaging energy and possessed such a commanding vocal presence she pretty much stopped the whole festival in its tracks. It was simply the right person at the exact right time. Throw in some stark silhouetted visuals as backdrop and the full effect of the lightshow kicking in and the set was bordering on transcendent, plus it had the community service aspect of teaching readers of The Brag how to count to four.

Simultaneously singing in the lane was the Andy Capp-capped Owen Ainsworth-led Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, who seemed to be playing a word-of-mouth private party. There were sparklers shining and everybody singing along amidst the devoted crowd, a testament to the band’s self-made, slow burning success.

So while most people were contemplating a trip to Whistler, New Zealand’s Brunettes opened with the utterly saccharine chant of B-A-B-Y – I should call you sugar. Their super sweet innocent pop was an utterly delicious end to the festival, except perhaps for diabetics.