Avica Resort, Gold Coast - Sunday April 1
On the long walk from the bus stop to the venue, rumours began to circulate that the Gold Coast leg of Richard Branson's V Festival was actually an elaborate April Fool's joke perpetrated by the man who owns copyright on the term 'flamboyant billionaire'. With helicopters hovering ominously above, a young gent - who perhaps decided that the best way to avoid drug sniffer dogs was to ingest his entire stash prior to arriving at the gate - was convinced that the 'copters were beaming footage of the aimless horde directly to Branson's secret island hideout, the V boss laughing deliriously at thousands of people paying for the opportunity to confusedly wander toward a non-existent destination.
It turns out this was not the case. The V Festival was a real event, and in a few hours The Pixies would blow the collective mind of several thousand revellers. Thankfully, there was plenty to keep us entertained whilst we waited.
Melbourne four-piece Temper Trap were on early, playing a punchy set to a decent crowd considering their early slot. Their internationalist sound - defined by the soaring vocals of Dougy - sets them apart from most local bands. European stages are beckoning. Wandering over to the main stage, we were greeted by the impossibly smooth pop of Paris-based outfit Phoenix, who combined hip-shaking indie guitars with dashes of visceral mock-metal under the afternoon sun.
New York Dolls were up next, with David Johansen instilling fear into the young crowd. The emaciated lovechild of Iggy Pop and Mick Jagger was greeted with a combination of adulation and sheer terror, before pounding through a solid set which managed to win over a small group of kids standing in front of me, all of which would have been roughly one quarter his age. Then again, he could have said "we're actually the Rolling Stones", and they would have bought it.
The it was time for the day's most annoying clash - Gnarls Barkley, Jarvis Cocker and The Rapture. I caught a bit of Gnarls, all dressed in high-school attire. 'Gone Daddy Gone' was the first true jump-around of the day, and went down better than 'Crazy', which Cee-Lo Green introduced as "the song which made me rich". His strained voice began to struggle as he implored the crowd to help him out, and the expected post-'Crazy' exodus came to fruition.
The Rapture playing off against Jarvis Cocker provided the most poignant moment of the day. The New York fashionistas played a hyperactive set to an equally hyperactive audience on the smaller of the three stages. At the same time, Cocker proved his status as one of the few true revolutionaries in pop music to a subdued crowd, pockets of which were merely hanging out for 'Common People'. The poet versus the party, and the party won out.
Groove Armada went through the motions (which is still a good thing), whilst a sickly Beck trudged through his set, giving the distinct impression that he'd rather have been curled up in bed watching daytime soaps and sipping lemon and honey tea.
Then came The Pixies. Whilst they were clearly running on auto-pilot, the constant, incredulously grinning demeanour of Kim Deal was infectious. Looking like a school mum, she gently whispered "hey, we're the Pixies" at the conclusion of 'Bone Machine'. Two songs in, the innocuous comment acted as a kind of final confirmation that the Pixies would, indeed, headline the V Festival.
Whilst the cold demeanours of Frank Black and Joey Santiago did little to endear themselves to an unblinkingly loyal fanbase, it also went to prove that showmanship should always come second to killer tunes. Musically, they exceeded expectations with the tightest of sets. Indeed, the predictability of the set (beginning with 'In Heaven / Wave of Mutilation (UK Surf)', ending with 'Gigantic', with all the likely suspects scattered in between) was its strength, resulting in a communal singalong and ten thousand grinning faces, memories of the day's ludicrous beer queues rendered insignificant.
