Camp 2007
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Part Three: Union of affected hipsters
By Aaron Hawkins (The Critic) http://www.critic.co.nz/about/features/3?page=7
Driving from Dunedin to a Scout Camp in Wainuiomata to set up camp at two in the morning was never going to be fun times. In a haze of codeine, half-finished singalongs, cheap beer, Christchurch, almost-lost keyboards and midnight whiskeys, it passed uneventfully. What followed was, as the poster promised, three days and nights of amazing live music. Camp A Low Hum was singly the best music festival you could never imagine. Since returning, it has been an impossible task describing this event to people, but two facts are undeniable: It was fuckin’ good. And it was fuckin’ hot.
The sets were divided between two venues – most bands playing both indoors in the scout hall and outside on the main stage. A lot had been made of the fact that Blink hadn’t announced the bands playing until we got there. He called it philosophy – in search of better crowds and expanding musical vision. Many labelled it pure wank. But, it worked. In the end, forty-eight bands (half culled from the ranks of the A Low Hum alumni) came camping, got drunk, played cricket in the sun and came swimming with gleeful hipsters allowed to wear their hipster Merit Badges with pride. At times it felt like the whole deal could break out into a music geek version of an L&P commercial. As it was, the tuck shop read like the reel from a Jeremy Wells show – Foxton Fizz, Juicies and Space Man Candy Sticks. At times it was easy to forget that it was a musical festival at all. Numerous pool parties, both real and imaginary, kayaking in the lagoon, campfire marshmallows, knucklebones, loads of tequila and a little thing called the FinickulatorTM made it rather easy to be distracted over three days and nights of delirium. It was seriously weird how many times I had to pinch myself to be sure this was in fact happening.
Noise complaints and loads of stern glances from neighbours forced earlier finishes in the evenings, meaning the timetable immediately became redundant and it became a little hit and miss at times as to whether you would be able to keep up, but this led to some of the best surprises. Drunken gothic hauntings from The Rise and Demise fit in here, as do capital city country rockers The Bonnie Scarlets and post-rockers The Deadly Deaths. Others were long-awaited live sets that turned out to be pure gold – Cortina, The Enright House, Grayson Gilmour. But even that couldn’t top the two greatest features of the whole deal.
First, beyond the twee nature and planned retro basking on the surface of the whole thing, the best part of the celebrations of the cult of Blink was the moments that were both greatly precious and completely priceless. Pumice playing in a tree, people kayaking in the lagoon to French uber-buskers Ladybird, Golden Axe playing at the campfire, Phelps and Munro playing in a mobile disco van while dozens of drunk kids clung to the doors and the roof. In fact, anything involving Phelps and Munro was gold – he is a phenomenon and a bloody nice bloke to boot. The other contender was Liam Finn’s new project ‘Lester Osbourne’. Dark waves of looped guitars, drums and vocals crashing around in the bush was a site to behold, particularly his Captain Beefheart duet with deranged genius Stefan Neville, and joining in on the tails of Phelps and Munro’s indoor showing.
The second great thrill was seeing these small-time indie musicians treated like absolute gods by throngs of adoring fans. The stage looked set to collapse under the invading hordes of fans taking in late night Disasteradio. Generally hyperactively bewildered in the first place, this was one of the best computer music sets I have ever seen. See also the Whipping Cats trashing their lodge in true rock ‘n’ roll style, and the earnest trail of fans dribbling behind Grayson Gilmour. Both artists and audience were equally overwhelmed by the whole occasion, and there is no way I could do justice to all the truly great moments. Just now I recall dancing with Thought Creature’s stuffed goblin Charlie. Prime example. If this is the result of Blink’s pals getting sick of the same boring music festival hype, then I feel indebted to their years of sub par times.
If this becomes a regular thing, do it. You’ll thank us for it later.