'Meadow Festival 2022' / Campbell Mowat [Review]
Meadow Festival 2022 Review: a broken car, cheers to Grant and a warm-hearted community formed alongside some of so-called Australia's best musical talents.
My legs and mind race through city streets towards one target: Tropical Fuck Storm’s 8.30pm set at Meadow. I had timed it to perfection. Finish work at 4, in and out of home to grab my packed bags and then off to meet my friend Walt, who was kindly lending me his car for the weekend. After years of being a passenger in Walt’s beloved Honda Accord, I knew some mechanical love and care was required to keep it chugging on the roads, but he assures me I’ll be fine “as long as there is water in the radiator it won’t overheat… but you shouldn’t have to fill it up anyway”.
Cut to: Geelong Hungry Jack’s car park. The sun paints the sky orange as I pop the bonnet and pour water into the radiator. I did have to fill it up. Don’t stress, I’m back on the road in no time and only slightly behind schedule.
A few kilometres away from the festival entrance is when I realise things may not go quite to plan. As smoke begins to rise from the engine into the crisp night, I hear Gareth Liddiard’s janky and percussive guitar tones, echoing through the dark. I was close, but various new warning signals on the dashboard indicate otherwise.
I pull over in the small town of Bambra, where the festival is being hosted. Legs and mind begin racing again, now with a new target: turn that distant echo into a nearby one. With the festival gates about to close for the night, I decide the car is tomorrow’s problem. I stick out my thumb to the last few stragglers heading towards the music. Yet it is Grant - a local going in the opposite direction - who pulls over, throws me on the tray of his ute and turns back the other way. Thank you Grant.
Once I’m in, there’s no time to waste. I rush to the main stage with my bag, tent and camera gear to the soundtrack of Tropical Fuck Storm’s gritty version of Stayin’ Alive, soaked in a signature blend of wailing feedback and roaring vocals. The uplifting message of the Bee Gee’s classic couldn’t be more poignant, and as Liddiard kneels down over his pedals to close the set with a cacophony of digital noises, I snap my first picture and the woes of my drive up are forgotten. All plans out the window. I made it. I had missed the set, but I was alive - and there was plenty more to come.
Gareth Liddiard of Tropical Fuck Storm
With time before the next act, I find my campsite and set up my trusty tent as Scorpius rises over the western horizon. It’s been a month since I’ve seen a sky with minimal light pollution and even longer since I’ve set up this small two-person tent, which has survived my tenure for many a dance in the bush preceding this one.
Meadow’s eighth iteration marked a return to large musical gatherings for many other punters and performers alike, and as I make my way back to the small natural amphitheatre it is clear the preciousness of these occasions will no longer be taken for granted. From the local surfer dads keeping guard up the back, to the young avid shakers hanging over the front rails - it becomes difficult for any of us to leave the dance floor on that first night, as a string of acts sound out a testament to the diversity of musical culture on these shores.
Cookii power through a youthful blend of hyper-pop-punk, with love songs that hit in the early-naughties-feels soon transforming into a futuristic gabber which has the crowd jumping as one.
cookii
With everyone’s legs sufficiently warmed up, 1300 serve up some proper cardio with one of the most memorial performances of the weekend. A contagious concoction of Korean and English hooks bounce over bubbly trap beats, the stylish rap group belting out a bunch of unreleased music which will now have them on many people’s radars.
1300
Moktar then proves why he is one of Australia’s most newly sought-after producers, drawing on his Egyptian heritage to deliver a belting set of Arabic-infused rhythms which come to a climax with his own release ‘Silk’ - a rich infusion of layered percussion and delicate melodies that many had been itching to hear in the wild.
Moktar
Strobe lights briefly illuminate the surrounding native trees as a waning crescent moon rises. The surfer dads pack up their stations and leave those remaining to soak in the trance and breakbeat anthems of IN2STELLAR. These two have had their finger on the pulse of the Melbourne dance scene for some time now and it really shows. The catchy sliding synth melody of their closer ATB’s ‘9pm (Till I Come)’ still rings through skulls as we head towards a well-deserved rest.
Those that aren’t quite ready to call it a night are drawn towards the festival cinema - a cosy tent with a projector screening the action classic Speed (1994). I certainly wasn’t planning to unwind to a young Keanu Reeves jumping onto various high-speed moving vehicles, but it is a strangely comforting affair which allows us all to catch our breath and reflect with friends, new and old, on the highlights of the evening.
Punters around communal jam spot
An ensemble of bird calls wake me to an overcast morning and the sudden realisation that I have a broken down car to deal with. Luckily I’m in good hands. The incredibly kind and helpful Meadow crew drive me back to my troubled vehicle, right where I’d left it, in what seemed like a lifetime ago. After a quick water refill I make it back to the festival, where various staff have a look under the hood to aid my very limited mechanical knowledge. There seems to be a leak in the radiator, but we all come to the same conclusion: its tomorrow’s problem.
I return to the stage where picnic rugs and camp chairs are spread out on the grass for the morning’s recovery. The soulful tones of Izy and Don Glori sit right in the pocket of intricate casualness, clearing the clouds overhead and the worst of last night’s brain fog.
Warrigo of Izy
Maple Glider makes the most of performing to her “first seated crowd”, entrancing us all with stripped-back honest songwriting and endearing anecdotal conversations in between.
Everyone is up on their feet by the time Placement hit the stage. Noisey surf rock meets one of the coolest clarinet performances I’ve ever seen, the woodwind instrument pushed to its limits with a plethora of delays, reverb and feedback.
Local Elder Uncle Barry then provides an incredibly powerful Welcome to Country, followed up a few hours later at sunset, where the crowd migrates to the rolling hills on the festival perimeter to hear stories of the land and heart-wrenching poetic accounts of colonisation.
“We’re singing back the land with our words here,” Barry says, “bringing us all together so no one feels alone.”
Uncle Barry providing a Welcome to Country during sunset
The rest of day two has too many highlights to recount in full. Mo’Ju’s bold vulnerability soaring over futuristic soul and R&B. Sunburnt skin thrashing to the shoegaze punk of CLAMM. Local legends Camp Cope playing their first gig back in a year, merging classics with a bunch of new classics from their day-old album.
Mo’ju
With concern for my transport home I unfortunately had to miss most of Sunday’s music, deciding to pack up my things and hit the road early in the morning. I make it as far as Winchelsea, the next town over, before it becomes evident that the leaking radiator wasn’t going to last the journey. After a few calls, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a tow truck headed back to the city, reflecting on the chaos of the weekend. Despite many logistical mishaps, I can’t escape an overwhelming gratitude to have experienced such an impressive display of Australian talent and community.
Thank you Meadow. I’ll be back. With a better car next time.
Camp Cope
Words and images by Campbell Mowat (@kidqualm)
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