Andy J Ryan Mar 26, 2023

Southern Roots Festival, Royal Hobart Showground, 7 April 2007

For a festival held on a trotting track, it was almost fitting that there were some late scratchings from the line up. The Magic Numbers and TnT wouldn’t be playing but a bundle of local acts were added to round out the bill.

Many events and concerts claim to be “Just about the music” and in the Southern Roots Festival’s case, it was because there was very little else to do. Apart from the three stages of music there was a giraffe shaped jumping castle and two rides – ‘The Hurricane’ and the curiously named ‘Gee-Whizzer’.

It was the inaugural Southern Roots Festival and the setting was quite spectacular. The plaintive acoustic shimmering lullabies of singing siblings Angus & Julia Stone went hand in hand with the early afternoon sun breaking through the sheer cloud-shrouded mountains that back-dropped the main stage. The Shitkicks belted out a few honest numbers on the “Atom Gleams Stage” up near the home turn.

‘Stage’ is being generous as it was really a few planks with a PA where the local bands spent the afternoon entertaining a few hardy souls and those lining up to buy a pie.
Iain Archer provided to be an affably accented afternoon delight. While he previously performed as part of supergroup collective Snow Patrol, he just bought himself; an acoustic and some percussion on a tape for his first ever visit to Hobart. His delicately strummed tales of Northern Ireland, one he insisted would best be explained using a survey chart, still struck a chord with the crowd a half-a-world away.

Xavier Rudd held up the ‘roots’ end of the bargain both musically and historically in his introduction involving the blessing of the traditional owners of the land.
Toni Collette has surrounded herself with some wonderfully accomplished musicians ranging from Peter Fenton, the crackingly moustached Peter Farley, formerly of Gelbison, sometime Go Between Amanda Brown and hubby David Galafassi on drums. Look, she is utterly pleasant, very nice and effusive and can sing a bit (just a bit though) but unfortunately her songs, unlike her on screen characters, take no real dramatic twists, turns of journeys. Strangely, considering the calibre of musicians involved, the songs also tend to the sparser side of things leaving Collette’s voice largely left adrift out on its own here it sometimes gets a bit out of its depth. They wind up with a silly cover of T-Rex’s Children of the Revolution which cracks a few smiles.

A band that has gone through a revolution of their own lately is The Vines. The stories surrounding the band and Craig in particular are well known and almost old hat as the band have been causing a stir on many a stage. Their first ever gig in Hobart gave the Apple Isle a virtual montage of their career thus far. Their set covered all albums and ranged from ragged profane filled garbled delivery to tight focused bursts. They dusted off the Miss Jackson cover and rounded it all off with a good ole fashioned instrument thrashing filled Fuck the World.

Midnight Juggernauts played it hot, steamy and bouncy in the Pavilion Stage and were a most welcome respite from the icy night air. As the temperature further plummeted, through the retina unfriendly blinding array of lights on the main stage you could barely make out maybe a dozen or so people bashing, strumming and wailing some dreary cacophony of noise that was apparently Gomez, thought it was far too cold to stand about to confirm it as I sought the warming glow of the Pavilion Stage where Pnau caused quite a commotion.

After a particularly exuberant introduction, by the hyped up announcer Wolfmother needed only to appear on stage to have the crowd baying as one. As the band unleashed their first big bloated monstrous riff the crowd were reduced to Nuremberg-esque unquestioning arm raising hysteria.

While they sang of monsters, unicorns and the like Evan Dando and his Lemonheads were singing about love and drugs and girls and good wholesome stuff like that. It was a stark contrast, bright ringing guitars, melodies and harmonies and everyone, especially those on stage having just a great time. Dando was wearing a dandy brown suit accessorised with a construction worker’s helmet, perfect for when the Village People decided to add a slacker stoner member of the group. The ripping set was a perfect introduction for the jewel in the Southern Roots Crown – Pixies.
Inexplicably some people left at the conclusion of Wolfmother’s set, but it was plain to see that this was the band that most everybody in attendance was there to see.

The 3,000 odd people that had been in the drinking cages all day downed their tinnies and spilled out onto the infield in a Cascade fuelled wave of mutilation. The crowd rose in anticipation for the band some have been waiting a lifetime to see and from their first appearance on stage left the crowd nothing short of rapturous. They played not merely songs but a collection of life changing moments. Pixies refreshingly don’t carry the flag for any cause, flaunt any fashions nor have the need to win us over with any banter, they just play. The legacy and potency of their songs stand on their own. While this distant festival down where you can sense the proximity to Antarctica may’ve seemed quite distant and remote for the Boston band, the feelings their songs raise are incredibly intimate and close. Everyone present reveredly gracious and thankful to be able to see live songs that played a role in or sound-tracked so many influential and important times in their lives. For most it was more than just a set of songs, it was a stirring griping occasion. Music and moments, monkeys gone to heaven, minds lost and men on their way. Then all too soon it was “Goodnight Charles, Goodnight James, Goodnight Joey, Goodnight Dave, Goodnight Kim an Goodnight Hobart.
(www.yourgigs.com.au review)