The following is an inside view into Australia’s biggest festival. It is a spin on gonzo journalism that takes you inside the chaos that is Splendour in the Grass. There will be four parts to the article, covered over the next week. Enjoy!
Chris Sutton
PART 1 – http://www.culturemad.com/2014/07/30/splendour-2014-part-1-grounds-chaos/
PART 2 – http://www.culturemad.com/2014/08/01/splendour-wild-sets/
PART 3
You’re part of this now.
You’re not an onlooker or a person reporting the chaos. You are the chaos, roaming in the fields of mayhem.
How did this ever seem out of the ordinary?
The anarchic sets of DJ’s to the vocals of the popular artists; they are the conductors and you follow their every request without doubt.
Soon people forget about the girl carted away with the broken leg, as Childish Gambino continues to unleash insanely creative lyrics. You pump out every word with him.
He calls out other rappers, names himself king, and you believe him.
Fact and fiction blur in the midst of the craze.
Each set is a drug; the high is incredible, the come down is harsh. You seek the next buzz.
Luckily for those of Splendour, Outkast are next. The undoubted main event of the festival. You make the trek through the parklands with your 20,000 new friends, ants reporting to the queen, transfixed on repeating the dosage and forgetting completely about the norms of work, university, family and friends. Right now your bedroom would seem foreign, your pets would resemble strays and any reminder of everyday life would appear dull. Home is where the mind forgets.
The stalls are familiar, your access to necessity. The workers share that friendly smile, a secret only you know. You scurry under darkness towards the Amphitheatre, aware that everyone marches in the same direction. The hill feels conquerable when wedged within your new army, as the dirt kicks up like a fog screening reality. Mouths exhale a visible white mist, ghosts to the party.
You reach the summit and once again look down into the Amphitheatre, only this time there’s no sunshine radiating the slopes. All you see is people; thousands upon thousands of heads covering grass and litter. And it’s as though the green blades never existed.
Outkast build momentum, the speakers echoing words and the beams shooting lights.
And then the duo arrive on stage, a well known track of energy that creates a sight of sobering clarity; everyone is jumping, fists pumping, screaming. The ground shakes, not just a registered hum but a movement of foundations. You snap out of the relapse and join the action, absorbed into the organism and moving in unison.
It doesn’t let up. This same pace continues, song through song, and even though every part of the body is numb and the sting of alcohol circulates nothing else matters apart from the antics on the stage and off it. Someone lights a flare to your right, a blinding red stick sending smoke into the sky, an S.O.S that doesn’t seek help, but explains power.
You are part of an unstoppable movement. You aren’t holding the flare but you feel the intoxication of its usage. Outkast unleash their first and last live show in Australian, a reason to saviour each second. They call out to the crowd for some young ladies to grace the stage during their title track. The first girl embraces Andre 3000, doesn’t want to let go, and when he turns around she curtsies in a bid to show off. This angers the mob.
‘Booooooooo’ they chant.
You’re not here to self promote, to gloat, to get your own name in the headlines. This is a team environment. She’s lost to the cause.
And then the music stops. The performers leave the stage. The lights dim. It’s midnight on the first night of Splendour, but you’re not ready to leave. Reason and logic begin to return. Tiredness sets in, as does the freezing cold and the throb in your feet. Heads drop. Twelve hours of partying wasn’t enough.
Fog machines create mystery in the distance, a circle of constructed tepees surrounding the space. Curiosity enhances as you move towards the unknown, music rises and voices filter. Some guy puts his arm around you, leads you into the craze, the smell of weed stronger than it has ever been.
People sit, stoned, inside the tepees. The energy evaporated when Outkast left the stage. Others prance around in the thick smoke, eyes threatening to spin out of sockets, sweat glistening in the low florescent tint. You’re offered substances familiar and unfamiliar, and politely decline. Colourful pills, thick cigarettes, chunky powders and diced mushrooms. Grins are replaced by thin lines. This is a sanctuary for people who can’t let go, who need the party to be continuous, and who’ll do anything to bring about day 2 without a break
You need a rest.
Escaping the clutches of the generous folk you blend in to the movement yet again, voices discussing the highlights of the day and the aspects of the next day that take the fancy. The walk outside the grounds is depressing but you know you’ll be back in less than twelve hours. Rocks seem sharper, mud feels thicker.
You break out of the forest into a semi-circle of separate crowds. Already the segregation has begun. Signposts reveal different camp destinations. Yours has the biggest queue.
The air outside the parklands is ten degrees cooler. The shiver ensures the high of an hour earlier is diminished.
Everyone feels the same, with eyes half closed, hugged up against partners or friends, praying a bus will hurry up and take them back to their area. The hard ground and thin walls of your tent promise a less than comforting sleep, but it’s all you want. Finally you get on a bus and sit next to a stranger. No conversation is had.
Your mood is perked by the few who still have the energy of Splendour pulsating. They crack jokes at the bus driver, make outlandish comments about the things they saw and draw back the memories of the day passed. You laugh freely, along with everyone else, and the sense of being a part of something returns with new vigour.
Your stop is next. You high-five the seated smiles as you leave the vehicle, along with a handful of others also staying at your caravan park.
You walk into the site with your people and shake hands as you depart for your tent. The small blue room is a welcome mat, as you pile on the warmest and most comfortable clothes available.
You put your phone on charge, your head on the chilled pillow and position your back away from the lumps in the ground.
When the birds sing, the sun shines and the clatter of glass outside stops the slumber, you know you’re ready to do it all again.
This life can be sustained. This mayhem can last.
Chris Sutton
Coming soon: Part 4 – Ode to Anarchy
