Just as you think you’re about ready to start wrapping up the Summer season blowouts, the inner-city festival that we all now know and love, St. Jerome’s Laneway Festival swoops into the first week of February’s calendar only to further divert you away from achieving any New Years resolutions and hope of getting your shit together after the silly season.
Laneway is a discipled circle of goodness in every avenue. Creating the perfect festival formula to assure you that no matter what festival trajectory you take, it will be loaded with half remembered, blissful moments and impressions that come to make it one of Perth’s most prized boutique festivals of the year.
While we can all argue about which festival books the best artists until we’re blue in the face, it’d be hard to argue that there’s another event out there that has packed together a lineup as perfect as Laneway has.
This years Laneway was an interesting one, its atmosphere almost as exciting as the lineup. The performances conjured up a sexual haze that drifted over the crowd like a toxic gas, creating a vibe that was erotic and erratic to say the least. I witnessed the boys from Whitney snogging each other while performing “No Woman”, questioned my own sexuality after being serenaded by Tash Sultana and had a fella ask me to hold his donga whilst he chucked a piss in front of one of the Strongbow tents. A succession of bizarre and ridiculous moments that sums up a pretty standard festival experience for someone like me.
King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard was a real game changer for my Laneway extravaganza. To sum it up quiet nicely, we fucked up there on. If I had already encountered some outlandish experiences, then the rest of the night was a downwards, spiralling slippery slide. Notoriously known for their mad moshpits, King Gizz lived up and beyond expectations. And like a well oiled machine they did their thing, encouraging the crowd to rub up against each other with their sweaty arm pits and blindly kick people in the head whilst crowd surfing. I gained a black eye during the process, whilst my friend lost both her RM William boots along with the rest of the crowds marbles.
On what was a sweltering Sunday, I bounced between stages like a flaming idiot. Proudly flashing around my black eye and P.I.P (particularly important person) wristband like the Dunning-Kruger effect. Taking these new assets to my advantage, I used them as a means of pushing my way through the crowd so I could awkwardly groove and gawk at the stellar set performed by Glass Animals.
At the time, I thought I was absolutely killing it and it was not until walking out of the gates that I realised I had foolishly, or more so drunkenly missed out on Camp Cove, Aurora and Nick Murphy. But at least I had a bar of free booze waiting for me at the after party. I strutted into the Esplanade hotel, walking with perhaps a little too much conviction towards the bar in order to drown and forget my Laneway misadventures. And it wasn’t until I was about to down my first glass of champagne that I was sternly told from security my P.I.P band does not mean “particularly important person” but stands for “pretty important person” and that I was to leave immediately.
So there we go- my entire Laneway experience from start to finish. Although built upon a succession of failures rather than triumphs, it was by far one of the best Sabbath days I’ve had to date.
“I truly believe this is Australia’s best festival”, Tame Impala’s Kevin Parker announced during his set at the festival. And he’s bloody right.
So thank you Laneway for another banging weekend.
Long live the festival season and any hope of getting our shit together.