Pyramid Rock Festival

Silverchair, The Living End, Ugly Ducking and more!

2006 was the worst year of my life. I won't go into why, because that's irrelevant, highly personal and – for you – very dull, but I will say that I should have known. I should have known because NYE 2005 was really fucking ordinary. Pyramid Rock Festival was in its second year, and the promoters didn't seem to appreciate the magnitude of the festival they were putting on. I – along with thousands of others - spent 9 hours in line in a car in 40 degree heat. When we finally arrived, it was to mass delirium. As I walked into the main stage area for the first time, I saw a guy get slapped in the face by another guy who, judging by his expression and the burly security guard hauling him along, was having a really bad trip. I spent midnight December 31 watching Grinspoon and wondering where the fuck my boyfriend had disappeared to, and unfortunately the year only got worse from that point onwards. So that, my friends, is why I'm so pleased that this year at Pyramid Rock Festival was infinitely better.

The festival began Friday, although only half of the total ticket allotment was valid for Friday entry. Instead of bands, punters watched movies like Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas on an enormous screen. What a lovely warm-up! Thanks to arrivals being split over two days, getting into the festival was a painless experience: the first sign that Pyramid's promoters had learned from last year's mistakes. The second sign was the sheer abundance of toilets, which doesn't seem like a big deal, but sometimes it's 3am and you've been dancing for hours and oh god how much beer have I had a need to piss now and this line isn't moving at all and I think I'm going to piss all over my feet if I don't get to a toilet RIGHT NOW. But that's quite enough about my bladder - you're here to read about music! (However, if you do want to read more about my bladder, contact The Dwarf and I'll send you a copy of my screenplay.)

My adventures began at the main stage, where The Casanovas woke up the crowd after The Josh Owen Band's sleepy set. Faker were so fucking bland that I got a little bit sad about how stupid people apparently are. If anyone knows what Faker's redeeming features are, please contact the Dwarf and tell me. You'll get a copy of my screenplay in return.

A few joints later in the Pharaoh's Annex, Rob Sawyer played an awesome set that left smiles on faces far and wide. You know when you go to see a band and they try real hard to look like they're having heaps of fun but you can tell they'd rather be at home on the couch? Rob Sawyer is the opposite of that. Armed with the voice of a blues n roots angel and one of the best rhythm sections Australia's got to offer, Rob rocked, reggaed, dubbed and then rocked a little more. By all accounts, one of the hits of the festival.

Back at the main stage, Lior played a beautiful, soothing set that less hardened listeners might have found inspiring. End of Fashion followed with a pretty pedestrian set, watched mostly by dudes in tank tops. If that was my band, I'd be like, "Look at all those tank tops. Perhaps we are doing something wrong." Basically, they sound better on the radio, and that's not really saying much, is it?

That One Guy played two sets in the Pharaoh's Annex, which indicated to me that he was probably something special and not to be missed. I love being right. He played Saturday's show with a 10-piece band, and holy shit, was it fun! Dirty dub courted funk, and they danced for a little while before reggae stepped in with some trumpets and rasta styles: I saw them all together later, making out in the corner of the tent.

The highly anticipated Silverchair were, to be mild, highly fucking disappointing. Was it my imagination, or was Johns coked up to the eyeballs? Put your arrogance away and get your charm out! Stop shouting "yeah, baby" every thirty fucking seconds and just move me, you jerk! Opener Emotion Sickness was the only part of the set worth catching; the rest could be accurately re-enacted with sock puppets and a sieve over a lightbulb. They even played Anthem for the Year 2000, and if you suffered any delusions that that song would age well, I'm here to crush them. The show was lifeless, the bass was completely washed out, and Paul Mac was there. Nobody likes Paul Mac. Except Daniel Johns.

Mylo closed the main stage for the night with an enjoyable but forgettable set of songs that aren't his, and then I went to bed. I was pacing myself, you see, unlike so many others there. Cunts everywhere were sunburnt and burnt out; nobody seemed to know their limits. A girl camping next to us stuck a straw into a bag of powder, snorted, then drained a glass of straight vodka. Apparently she was later sighted rolling around on the ground with her best friend, tongues in each others' mouths. I'm not really going anywhere with this, I just thought you'd enjoy the imagery.

As New Year's Eve dawned, we all shook off our hangovers, crawled out of our tents and pulled on our moonboots, ready for another day full of …stuff. Due to a timetable re-shuffle, I arrived at the Pharaoh's Annex as Mushroom Giant were winding down. The few songs I did see were awe-inspiring, hypnotic, entrancing, and a bunch of other adjectives: what it all boils down to is that stoner rock has never been so much fun to dance to. There is no good reason not to go and see Mushroom Giant.

Emerging into the main stage area, I was treated to a blast of teen-metal that could only mean one thing: Sunk Loto. They had the chops, they had the growls, they had that deeply fuzzy bottom end and the teenage girls screaming and the single from the first EP, but was there anything actually going on? No.

Right about here, I got sidetracked. I'm really sorry. We were playing make-believe in our tent. We filmed a bit of it, so to make up for missing out on some bands, if you contact The Dwarf I'll send you a copy of the video. I'll throw in a copy of my screenplay too. I'm thinking about casting Gary Sweet as me. He'd be really grateful for the work.

Speaking of all things grating, the Grates were just adorable. Vocalist, Patience is basically the cutest thing that ever existed, and even if you can't stand their music I defy you to tear your eyes away from her as she bops non-stop until hometime. I admit that if I hear 19-20-20 one more time I'm going to explode, very angrily, but the Grates' live delivery is without fault and their energy renders even their most jarring tunes enjoyable. Stop taking yourself so seriously and sing along to Sukkafish. You know you want to.

The most beautiful thing about festivals occurs when a band or entity you have either never heard of or never cared for becomes one of the highlights of your weekend. This is what happened during Xavier Rudd's set. I have never had so much fun dancing during the day! How one man produced so many good vibes I will never know – had he been saving them up all year? Did he steal them from children? Whatever, his set of acoustic pop/folk gems was just loose enough for both the hippies and the straight folk to have the time of their lives. Back in the camping grounds, an amateur boxing match was in session. Isn't it funny how the universe balances everything out?

That One Guy's second set blew my fucking mind. Today he was on his own, save for an enormous instrument made by the man himself that closely resembled a harp made out of an exhaust pipe. From this contraption, TOG somehow coaxed the most incredibly lively drum'n'bass I've ever heard. In parts, it was so good I was physically unable to stop dancing; in other parts, it was so good I had to stop dancing and look around to make sure what I'd just heard was not imagination. Back at the main stage, Ugly Duckling were busting out rhymes so fucking naturally I wondered if they had some rare condition and that was just how they talked. A girl in the front row was pulled onto stage for Pick Up Lines so that the MCs could freestyle a verse about her. That's about as old school as you can get without actually being old school.

Evermore were epically boring. I don't want to waste many words on them, so I'll leave it at that.

Now, The Living End has become a seminal Australian band. I feel quite comfortable placing them on the same pedestal as You Am I and Midnight Oil, if for no other reason than they always fucking deliver live. Say what you want about their musical direction of late; TLE are nothing if they're not honest and that makes their show so much more enjoyable – especially when compared to the previous night's headliner. Their set was a great balance of old and new; Cheney's rendition of Waltzing Matilda being the first thing 12 000 people heard in 2007. Closing the show with a wonderfully drawn-out version of West End Riot, The Living End left me feeling overwhelmingly positive about what this year brings, which means they did their job damn well.

Freestylers were amazing, absolutely fucking amazing, and much dancing and smiling ensued. I won't bore you with the details of the rest of the night. If you're really interested, there's a scene in my screenplay where I'm vacuuming underwater while reverse mermaids flog each other. It was a lot like that. So, how did you spend your NYE? Was it fun? Oh, good! Happy 2007, everybody!