‘Tis the season to flare up your grass allergies and piss on a tree! Summer in Australia is a time of oppressive heat, guzzling tinnies and avoiding emails well into the new year, so why not do it all at one of our many music festivals? Whether it’s one of the majors (Falls, Beyond The Valley, Lost Paradise) or a smaller-type event, you’re bound to be thrown in with people of all sorts whether you like it/them or not. Here’s a few predictions on the kind of convos you’ll hearken unto.
“Who’s This Band? Who? They’re Shit.”
You’re definitely going to hear some butthole complaining about a band they’re not listening to. They’ll compare them to another famous band, perhaps (“They just sound like Modest Mouse”), while half-listening from a kilometre away. Presumably they’ll elucidate on who they thought the festival organisers should have booked instead, given you have seemingly chanced to wander past the fount of good musical taste and knowledge at this packed festival. Good for you!
“I’m Near The Burger Thing. The Van Thing. I’m, Like…..Sort Of To The Left Of The Main Stage. I’m Holding A Beer…Look….Look For Me, I’m Waving”
The bigger the festival, the more souls will be wandering around the space trying to find their mates, a toilet or somewhere with good phone reception. You’ll certainly hear people on the phone trying to synchronise their location with a friend, giving terrible directions and seemingly deliberately meeting in vague spots. You might as well call someone and say, “Yeah, I’m in the vast and empty expanse of desert with no identifiable landmarks….no, the one near the dunny.”
“Oh My God, The Line For The Toilets Was Crazy!”
I’ve never been to a festival that had a genius-level bathroom solution. What’s there to do? You’ve got hundreds or thousands of people in one space, drinking all day, trying to time their bowel movements for in between the bands…there’s no good way to organise such a spectacle. As humans attending large-scale events at which there is a premium on space for loos, we have to accept our fate: join the queue, or piss in the bushes.
“Got Any Nangs?”
I always feel 1000 years old at a festival, mainly thanks to ever-changing drug slang. I never partake of the stuff myself, so as well as requests for various hallucinogens, you’ll also overhear people like me naively ask things like, “What’s a goom?”. People tend to pat you on the head a lot when you ask questions like that.
“My Tent Or Yours?”
Variants of this will be commonplace. Festival hookups can be great fun, dependent on a variety of factors: how far into the festival you are, how hot it’s been, and whether you or not you have your own tent. Discussions will abound, once you’ve nabbed a potential paramour, as to where it’s best to undertake the proceedings (I’m a very sexy person, can’t you tell?): at a camping festival, you’re likely to be sharing tent space with others, unless you’re some sort of millionaire, so what to do? Fuck in the bushes? Grind on one another against a vegan food truck? Get a handy shandy on the ferris wheel? If you’re at a day festival in the city, you might be lucky enough to find some bathroom space, otherwise you’re going to have to Macgyver it, young lovers.
Image source: Splendour in the Grass