Don't Believe the Hype - A Splendour Review [Part 2]

Penfold Krackerbarral continues to bring you the real events that made up 2010's Splendour in the Grass festival. If you missed yesterday's madness, you can read it by clicking here.

SATURDAY
After the awesomeness of yesterday, I wake at the suitable time of 12 noon and roll out of my tent to see that someone has used the side of my tent as a urinal during the night. As the waft of urine makes its way through my nasal passage, I raise my fist to the sky and curse Ben Harper’s name. I know he probably didn’t do it, but still, I feel justified in blaming him. I take a belt of whiskey from my hip flask and set off towards the stages once again.

I wander past the Triple J enclosure. I note the Doctor parading around in a three-piece suit interviewing celebrities. I liked this guy better when he was in Frenzal Rhomb.

McFly are playing a set. An hour long set. Who in the hell invited these pituitary retards to this ‘music’ festival? I note one Rio Lobotomy follows their set, and I pray to almighty Jesus that this is some kind of live brain removal operation on the members of McFly. Failing that, I think I might have to get one if I am forced to sit through a McFly set.

Thankfully, I’m not, and exercising my rational judgement chooses to go see the latest flash in the pan, Two Door Cinema Club. These guys are from Northern Ireland, and when not making music that features a bit too much keyboards, they’re thinking up snazzy band names like the aforementioned ‘Two Door Cinema Club’ or ‘Four Door Electric Hatchback’ or ‘Eight Legged Mechanical Esky’. They play a song called ‘I Can Talk’ which is funny because they cannot sing, nor play instruments. Perhaps that's the only thing they can do?


The Philadelphia Grand Jury take their jobs very seriously.

Philadelphia Grand Jury arrive on the amphitheatre. This time they’ve brought the entire bench of the Philadelphia Supreme Court, and instead of playing their hit songs which are ever so popular, they decide to court-marshal Julia Stone live on stage, charging her with manslaughter over the “accidental” shooting death of Andrew Stockdale from the previous day. She gets off lightly, sentenced to 100 hours of community service and a mandatory “emu parade” at the end of the festival. Philadelphia Grand Jury are harsh…but fair.

Lunchtime again. Today I opt for the Dagwood dog, which only costs me $20 plus my first-born child. I laugh inwardly – don’t those carnie merchants know that Ben Harper’s music has rendered me sterile? The joke is on them.

Tame Impala are here to wow the crowd with their psychedelia. Halfway through ‘Lucidity’, I have a lucid moment combined with an existential crisis Why did I come to this festival? Am I simply dreaming? Why don’t I look more like Leonardo diCaprio? My mind wanders for what seems like 16 weeks but is actually only about 2 seconds. Still, I can’t really remember how the Tame Impala ended. Weird.

Wolfmother had to cancel. Understandable considering their bandleader was killed the previous day. Instead, the organisers opt to put on a Black Sabbath record and everyone seems pleased.

Well, well well. Guess who is next - yup! It's Art V Science. These guys have a song called ‘Parlez Vous Francais’, probably one of the most annoying songs ever created. You can imagine some French band getting huge in France by simply singing a song in English that goes ‘Do You Speak English?”. It sounds pretty stupid to us, doesn’t it?

It always strikes me as humourous asking someone if they speak French…in French…I mean, it just won’t work out if they don’t, will it? Really they should be asking ‘Do you speak just enough French to realise that I’m asking you if you understand what I’m saying?” Anyway, Art V Science finishes with yet again no conclusive evidence as to which discipline has triumphed over the other.


Florence + the Machine want this dog TO DIE!!!

Florence + the Machine is some kind of equation. I do notice bad algebra when I see it – where is the resultant expression? Let me solve it for you. Florence + the Machine = shithouse. They play a song about how the dog’s days are numbered or over or something, which is presumably about euthanizing dogs. Get the RSPCA on the line! Not only are they pro-killing canines, but also they have the audacity to write popular music about it.

Band of Horses are a misnomer. I arrive at the GW McLennan stage expectant to see this group of talented equines, but it turns out that they are actually humans. No horse can be seen anywhere. I’m pretty peeved and find it hard to concentrate. When I pay $500 to see a band of talented horses, I expect a fucking band of horses! At least wear some kind of horse head costume! Even a camel suit like in Jonathan Richman’s 'Egyptian Reggae' clip would have sufficed.

More Camel Needed from Band of Horses

Julian Casablancas has the coolest name in the history of names. His band, the Strokes, play popular garage rock music, the type of music that spawned such awesome groups as Jet. During the middle of ‘New York City Cop’s Julian dives horizontally across the stage, Raiden-from- Mortal-Kombat style, and giving Albert Hammond Jr a fatality. Apparently they haven’t been getting along that well lately. The set ends abruptly and people return to their tents to scratch their heads over the antics they had seen this day.

Come back tomorrow for details of the final day! It will be gangbusters!