Beth Keating writes…

So. I woke up on Saturday morning feeling as close as one can to pure, rancid pus. The night before had not been kind to me – or more so, I had not been kind to myself the night before. I had one of those hangovers so paralysing, they are destined to become the stuff of legends. I’ve had more than a few of them in my time, especially over the last year or so. I remember one particular case, where I was forced to vacate my unit for a period of half an hour or so while potential landlords traipsed through the lot. It had taken me about three hours to get to the point where I was able to actually leave the premises: sixty minutes fighting the nausea and actually getting out of bed; sixty minutes sitting in the shower whilst the water ran over my crippled body, praying that it would serve as some magic cure-all; and sixty minutes sitting on the bathroom floor, naked, wishing I’d throw-up/feel better/summon the will to even get dressed. The worst part was finding something suitable to do for my half hour of mandatory absence. I did the only thing my body would let me: I dragged myself to the park around the corner and laid on a bench, like a bum, while parents watched their children playing on the swings.

Such was the venom of the hangover I had to endure on Saturday. The only difference between the situation I faced and the one previously described was this: I wasn’t just looking at half an hour of public pain, but a whole music festival’s worth. Yes. I’d bought myself a ticket to V-Festival in November – I’d been anticipating it for almost five months previous. And my whole experience was going to be tainted by irresponsible decision to get wasted the night before. Some controlling part of me seems to love the idea of self-sabotage, but that’s a completely different issue altogether.

The above is like a disclaimer for the basic and limited review of the festival I am only able to provide. I wasn’t actually able to get out of bed until about three pm, and I didn’t arrive at the Showgrounds until about 5pm, just in time to catch the Jesus and Mary Chain. I also didn’t have the stamina to enjoy any of the sets amidst a throng of people, so I sat (eventually quite content) in the grandstand towards the back. Despite the awful nausea and headache, which actually subsided soon after my arrival and something to eat, I thoroughly enjoyed the festival and feel compelled to write why. Not only were there some first-class acts, which provided excellent and entertaining sets, V-Festival was smoothly operated. In comparison, it had everything that the Melbourne Big Day Out didn’t – first and foremost, seating and grass – and in absentia was everything from the Big Day Out that ruins the event – I’m talking about the abundance of dust and the abundance of idiots.

As I sat in my comfortable spot in the grandstand, I contemplated why this might be the case. V-Festival lacks the amount of bands that an event like the Big Day Out provides, but it also means the amount of patrons required for such a show is lessened and the chaos that goes along with trying to see fifty bands in a massive space is avoided. The atmosphere on Sunday was completely relaxed. On my arrival I was shocked to see that had I possessed the physical stamina, I could have still gotten an impressive front-row position for the Jesus and Mary Chain’s set. This had changed quite a bit by the time Queens of the Stone Age started playing, but excusable in my mind considering they were the second last band to take the stage for the evening in that particular area.

The three full set’s that I watched were, in full, enjoyable. The Jesus and Mary Chain played a similar songlist to their headlining show at the Palace a few nights before. It was solid, tight and palpable. Jim Reid’s stone-straight face said more than any indulgent on-stage banter could. Particular highlights were personal favourites, Cracking Up and Reverence, as well as the few new songs thrown in. The Jesus and Mary Chain’s reformation clearly doesn’t stink of sentimentalism or dollar signs – the new material has as much edge, anger and sharpness as anything they’ve ever produced. The only longing carried on from their headlining show – I wished it was louder. I wanted more distortion, more feedback and more chaos.

The same can be said for the next band, Queens of the Stone Age. The set was extremely tight, as anyone who’s ever seen them live would expect. Perhaps it was the wind carrying the sound in the opposite direction, as outdoor stages are apt to do, but I remember saying to my companion before the band took to the stage that ‘I want it ear-bleedingly loud’. Other than the volume, Queens proved why they’re the scariest band in rock – without pretense or premeditation – they’re just genuinely scary as fuck. The set was perfect for a festival audience, a mix of highlights off Era Vulgaris (I was particularly chuffed with their launch into Misfit Love and Turnin’ on the Screw, two of my favourite tracks off the album) and popular hits. To satisfy an audience who may not be further familiar with the band’s catalogue, songs such as Feel Good Hit of the Summer and the closing No-One Knows were inclusions. Impressively though, the band abridged most of these songs with what felt like extended improvisation. Halfway through Feel Good Hit of the Summer, Homme launched into singing the Men Without Hats hit, The Safety Song. For die-hard Queens fans, these touches provided added entertainment and perhaps a point of difference.

I’m glad to be able to say that I’ve now seen the Smashing Pumpkins live. Admittedly, I’m not likely to go out and buy their latest release but the event was almost like fulfilling a prophecy to my twelve year old self (I was a huge Pumpkins fan at that point). Overall I actually enjoyed the set. I had read some less than favourable reviews from the Sydney and Gold Coast festivals and was wincing at the thought of having to sit through twenty minute metal jams, a Hendrix redo of the Star Spangled Banner and sped up versions of old classics. All of these things can certainly be said about the set the band played in Melbourne, but it wasn’t as intolerable as I had expected. Firstly, the sound the band knocked out was amazing. It was loud and it was incredibly clear. Secondly, Billy Corgan is a sight that differs completely in real life to pictures. He’s a tall, gangly giant who would probably look more awkward dressing masculinely than in his spacey, androgynous skirts and skivvy combos. Thirdly, some of the extended tangeants weren’t intolerable in the slightest. Indulgent – yes – but his interlude at one point with the current hit for Britney Spears was nothing short of classic. I was also extremely impressed by their brilliant cover of my favourite Pink Floyd song, Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun. The American national anthem borderlined on the ridiculous and they did play an awful lot off the new album. After a bit of thought though, I realised it probably wasn’t just Billy Corgan trying to piss the audience off. Like the Jesus and Mary Chain, the Pumpkins shows aren’t as simple as just a reformation tour. They are creating new music and effectively promoting a new album. I may not be a huge fan of the new material, but they’re more than entitled to perform it. Besides, this isn’t the nineties anymore and the Smashing Pumpkins certainly aren’t the same band as they were ten years ago. Perhaps it’s unfair to expect them to just rehash the past to satisfy our generational longing for nostalgia.

Overall, I have to congratulate the V-Festival organisers for renewing my waning faith and patience with music festivals. Just when I thought they had all been handed to the ignorant masses and my place within them as a spectator was limited and passing, it’s been suggested that I shouldn’t give up so easily…