So long

I finished my new grad year yesterday. I thought I would be high fiving every man and his dog, yet I felt melancholy that it was all over.

To cheer myself up I scrolled through my playlist and stumbled across Soko.

A couple of years back I saw Soko playing at Sunset sounds, “I’ll Kill her” had been on high rotation on triple J for the last 6 months – after hearing it thirty odd times I started to hate the song with a passion.

Given there was nothing else of note playing during her festival time slot I decided to give Soko a shot. A petite French girl with a cheeky demeanour hit the stage – after one song I was intrigued. By three songs in I was a fan. By five songs I was filing it away as one of the top 10 gigs I been.

Then her voice turned gravelly and a tear trickled down her face, suddenly it built up into a torrent of tears. Yet she kept singing about dandy cowboys, baby cats and wet dreams. The crowd started to call out, asking her what was wrong, people offered hugs, speculation that someone she knew passed away or that she had a broken heart ran rampant. Yet she kept battling through the songs. Finally with one song to go she announced in her lilting accent that she was retiring.

Gosh it’s sad when a good thing comes to an end.

Especially when you didn't realise how good it was till it was gone.

Gong Xi Fa Cai!

[images via From Me to You]

Happy Chinese New Year! People born in the year of the rabbit are meant to be kind and loving, with grace, culture and have beautiful manners.

I'm not sure how beautiful my manners will be when I call dibs on a seat at the Cinema Alley or when I dance with flamboyant dragons at the Twilight parade - but I'm sure I do it with a smidgen of grace.

1920's

Mish and I both scored the day off work, so we hit the highway for the ramblin' Mountains.

With tree lined streets and flowers blossoming over picket fences, it's no wonder that Leura is known as the Garden Village.

Though we're both broke, we both managed to convince ourselves that we needed to buy a dress - Mish nabbed a lovely 1950's summer dress and I bought 1970's maxi dress (it's a practical travel piece...right?).

After lunch we hot footed it out of Leura before we spent any more moola. In Wentworth Falls we spotted these gorgeous art deco tiles.

A couple of posters advertising the upcoming 1920's festival also caught our attention. To say I'm peachy keen is a bit of an understatement. I've been dreaming about flapping about the place since seeing The Sartorialist's pictures of New York's Jazz-Age Lawn Party.

Raindrops are swell

[Rain Dance]

There's always a risk of wild weather crashing an outdoor shindig. At some festivals you take this into account despite "reliable" weather reports - always pack the gumboots for Splendour, 30+ sunscreen for Homebake and an extra jumper for Falls in Marion Bay.

But beautiful Brisbane, which prides itself for it's weather being "beautiful one day, perfect the next", threw a curve ball.

Jiving to sweet sounds whilst the sun sets between tropical rainforest canopies is absolute bliss - even when Brisbane receives record breaking amounts of rain.

Would Woodstock be as awe inspiring if Yasgur's farm didn't turn into a sea of muck and mud?

[Woodstock]

Sometimes a slick production is overrated, who could have planned for:

- The skies opening up and drenching the crowd just as Cold War Kids started singing "Hang me up to dry"

- The impromptu Slip N' Slide in front of the main stage

- The stage lights illuminating the sea of glistening ponchos during "Bloodbuzz Ohio" by The National

- Punters sinking down low and getting loose in the mud whilst doing The Twist with the Yacht Club DJ's

- A rousing rendition of "Rain drops are falling on my head" by the foxy Washington

- The fashions on the field: from bin liners to plastic tables to a Twister game mat - the punters became creative with their attempts of staying dry

- Feeling like we were on a sinking shipas water lapped around our bare ankles during Angus and Julia Stone

I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

[Sweet sleep]

Born Ruffians

Born Ruffians + Jinja Safari @ Oxford Art Factory, Sydney (03/01/2011)

Remember the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters? With it’s flabby, rotund belly of marshmallow that “terrifies (anyone) beyond the capacity of rational thought”.

When I saw the Born Ruffians play at Laneway two years ago, it sounded like they were playing from inside the gut of Mr. Stay Puff. The sound was so muffled it was almost impossible to make out the songs, despite having listen to the album “Red, Yellow & Blue” with somewhat overzealous vigor that summer.

Unfortunately the whole festival was marred by horrendous acoustics, with the sound engineers having to shepherd sound waves through the narrow laneways of glass and steel.*

Needless to say I was peachy keen to see the Born Ruffians in the intimate surrounds of OAF.

Up first were Sydney based band Jinja Safari, who did exactly what any warm up band is paid to do – get the crowd in the mood. The room was pulsating with their playful concoction of rhythmic jungle beats, island guitar, calypso keys, and layered vocals. The crowd returned the favor by with vigorous dancing and a chorus of animal sounds.

While their musical influences are so numerous and eclectic, each song was a tightly crafted pop gem. It’s hard to believe that they only played their first live show in May 2010 – they are definitely a band to watch out for in 2011.

The crowd stepped their energy levels up a notch when the Born Ruffians took to the stage. The dancing was so vigorous during the opening number “Foxes Mate for Life” - Mitch Derosier (bass) queried whether the crowd would be able to maintain their enthusiasm by the time song ten rolled around.

The band were left in no doubt of the stamina of Sydneysiders, as they danced manically throughout the 90minute set, which covered a tasty blend of older songs such as “Little Garcon”, “Hummingbird” and “Hedonistic Me” to newer songs “What to Say” and “Sole Brother”.

[photo via: Charlotte Zoller]