Sunset Sounds (2011)

Set in the gorgeous surrounds of Brisbane's Botanical Gardens, Sunset Sounds features the best of the Falls line-up over two afternoons. Braving the torrential downpour, Soulshine was on ground to catch all the action.

Queensland, December 5th, 9:30pm
I’m standing in ankle deep water in disbelief. I walk in shell-shocked abandon, looking for a shelter that doesn’t come. Alongside me are thousands of others all in the same situation, all soaked to the core by torrential downpour, all dealing with the same conditions that are sapping the very livelihood from my soul. Yet, they actually seem to be enjoying it.

I’m not in the heart of the Rockhampton floods, I’m watching Interpol in the rain…and they are fucking dismal. Thunderous bass booms across the Riverstage amphitheatre, swamping any contradictory sound present in the mix. It’s all kick drum and in-tandem bass; whines, moans and moody atmosphere. Front-man Paul Banks has the stage presence of a desk chair, standing behind his guitar for that signature high-throated moan, all while his band dwells around behind him; stationary and dull, empty and unfulfilling. I try very hard to enjoy this, I try to find what it is that I’m not feeling…and all I feel is a band with no range outside of their downbeat mood-rock; and I’m getting wet as all hell for the right to hear it.

Before the clouds had let out though, Brisbane’s Sunset Sounds festival was significantly less like the scene from a natural disaster. Charlie Parr plays through the monotonous sound-bleed from Hot Hot Heat’s adjacent set to deliver his own brand of finger-picked Blues storytelling, struggling to engage with a crowd with one eye on the clouds and another on the timetable. Soon later, a stroll to qualify the hype of Sleigh Bells finds one of the most overwhelmingly awful sets of hollow drum-machine driven indie-pop seen in recent memory. Thankfully, it’s the retro knee-slapping of Kitty, Daisy and Lewis that finally deliver the excitement. As the sky darkens, they fill the assembled masses with disproportional optimism, pulsating through a set of pre-rock'n'roll that induces a strange instinctive dancing of the twist. Then the gloom comes, wherein the hype of The National drags me away from the delivery of Kitty, Daisy and Lewis.

The National are this year’s non-headlining draw-card. With last year’s High Violet soaring to the top of the end of year lists, they’re the band that’s on everyone’s to-do; a few songs in, you begin to understand why. Giant walls of sound surge through the gardens, floating over the endless throng of rabid fans who test the capacity of the strangely small stage they were allotted. It’s the unmistakable nu-Johnny Cash baritone of Matt Berninger which has proved so hypnotic on all of The National’s recordings, and while it’s no less booming at Sunset Sounds, each lyric is half-spat out of the bottom of his mouth like its being rejected rather than projected. To an extent, the sound desk lets them down as it all gets lost amongst the difficult acoustics of an open air stage, but from this far back, there’s just nothing to grab the attention. Even when they start playing personal favourite ‘Slow Show’ from the quintessential album Boxer, I’m clocking off and thinking of heading elsewhere: the very moment that the curiosity of Public Enemy takes me away from the dull moans of the Garden stage.

In typical Public Enemy fashion, the New York natives completely ignore their billing which has them penciled in to play Fear of a Black Planet in its entirety, opting instead to do whatever the fuck they want. With Flava Flav’s signature clock necklace flailing with his bounce across the stage alongside Chuck D, they’re equal parts ridiculous as they are fucking amazing. The energy that they deliver and we receive is electric, the crowd pulsing underneath the scant cover offered by the Riverstage rooftop to create one of the liveliest audiences on show at Sunset Sounds. Their set may be flawed, slightly ludicrous and void of direction, but fuck it, I get to yell ‘turn it up, bring the noise’ at a guy wearing a clock…to which he does.

Perhaps the personification of the lows that the music industry can reach, the Peaches DJ set is just about the most bamboozling experience I see. Wearing what can only be described as a titty vest, she sits behind her DJ booth lining up tracks before strutting around on stage as it plays in the background. As a few thousand revelers scream their approval, she climbs onto the booth and whirls, shakes and spins in place like a dancer in an epileptic music box. Meanwhile, her substanceless synth-driven beats play away on their own accord and somehow, the positive reception is entirely disproportionate to the look of bewilderment that my face carries. Peaches instills the nonchalant anarchist attitude that was once the hallmark of punk; thriving, sexualizing and simplifying every move she makes. While it may be interesting to see her in the light of the evolution of that aesthetic, the music's just not any good. Thankfully, that same espoused attitude is done properly by a surprisingly stunning looking 52 year old Joan Jett.

Punk is dead right? If that’s so, then how the fuck can Joan Jett & The Blackhearts pull off thrashing 3-minute bursts of four-chord tunes and not only get away with it, but rock themselves into the list of Sunset Sounds highlights? She opens with possibly her most recognizable hit for the age-bracket she’s playing to in Bad Reputation, performing with enough pace and feeling to completely warrant dropping the hits early; which makes it all the more difficult to tear yourself away from it all for Australia’s most recently celebrated songsmith in Paul Kelly.

Paul Kelly has never been reticent to venture into the unexpected. From the folk pigeon-hole he’s perhaps best known for in tracks like From Little Things Big Things Grow to the Aussie rock pacer Sweet Guy, his set is varied, powerful and near-perfect. Kelly and his band know exactly what a festival crowd wants to hear and they have it down to an impeccably performed tee. While you do miss some of the ventures to the more obscure tracks in his discography, you still get those tingles down your spine for Everything’s Turning to White, the tears still well during the build of Deeper Water and To Her Door still makes you feel distinctly and wholesomely Australian. You can’t fault what he does, and while it’s definitely time for that band to start work on something new, I’m certainly not one to turn down a nostalgic bent.  

With the epic, dramatic and overdone sounds of Klaxons closing out the night, the city of Brisbane plays host to a few thousand muddied and waterlogged souls making their way to Fortitude Valley. As the disappointments and highlights of the festival are pondered over a few loud beers, Sunset Sounds is unequivocally proven and agreed to be a staple on the Queensland festival calendar. While I did spend half the time feeling like someone should be offering me blankets and tinned food, it’s this kind of disastrous weather that makes events like this memorable…and when I finally get around to unpacking all those moistened clothes on arrival back in Sydney, I’ll know that without a shadow of a doubt that I’d been there for Sunset Sounds 2011. If anything, it'll be the mould that attests to that.