By Uday Duggal

Two years ago, Kings of Convenience opened Laneway as quietly as they could, hushed vocals trickling over delicate guitars. Then, in 2014, Vance Joy’s ukulele gently ushered in festivalgoers, all of The Meadow basking in the sweet warmth of his voice.

This year set a blazing fire to that trend of tranquility. Opening band Enterprise stomped across the causeway, bringing rumbling basslines and brazen, nimble synthesizers to Laneway’s earliest attendees. By the second song a small crowd had gathered before the stage, happy to oblige as the band demanded to see dancing. Already bopping to an irresistible groove, it felt like Laneway itself had decided to celebrate. And, well, why shouldn’t it? It was, after all, the festival’s 5th anniversary here, featuring arguably the best line-up to date, and – most importantly – 13,000 people were showing up. The festival had completely, massively sold out after just four editions on these shores, and if that didn’t call for a celebration, well, what did?

Photo: Alvin Ho

The scuzzy post-punk of the Eagulls made it Laneway’s loudest one-two opening punch in memory, and by the time singer George Mitchell (practically a young Liam Gallagher, all sunglasses and floppy hair; body mostly bent to one side with an arm tucked behind his back) thanked the crowd and stalked offstage, hundreds of picnic mats were in place, prime spots on the grassy slopes were claimed, and the crowd were cheering for more.

George Mitchell of the Eagulls. Photo: Reuven Tan

Laneway 2015 had begun.

Rain And A Reunion (With Danny Rogers)

Photo: Aloysius Lim

Lurking in the background of the party, however, was an ominous weather forecast; rain was expected at some point. The cosmos displayed a wonderful sense of humour by unleashing the torrents during the set of the amazing, and aptly named, Australian psychedelic group Pond. This sparked a flurry of ponchos (thoughtfully provided at the entrance, free of charge) opening up, and a simultaneous flurry of bad jokes about ‘ponding’, none of which are worth repeating here. Looking out at the wet chaos, the band responded with glee, playing a twinkly interlude as the rain intensified, almost as if they felt the raindrops might need a soundtrack. Then they rammed back into the hypnotic, tingling riffs of ‘Giant Tortoise’ and thousands of newly ponchoed bodies began to bounce with renewed enthusiasm.

Surveying the whole spectacle with pride was Danny Rogers, co-founder of the festival, whom we’ve had the pleasure of speaking to previously. Delighted with the proceedings as he was, it’s worth noting that he was already mulling over how the next Laneway might be.

“It’s so competitive these days,” he explained. “You have to book bands fast, get them early if you want them to come and play.”

Probably sounding like a child spoilt beyond belief, I inquired if there actually had been any unbooked bands that might’ve made the lineup even better. Danny sighed, and there was a tinge of wistfulness about the reply.

“We almost had The War on Drugs. They had to pull out at the last minute.”

I winced. Then we both looked up at the line-up flashing on the giant screens beside the stage (where Mac DeMarco’s sunny, gap-toothed grin had somehow banished the rain) and smiled again. A sensational line-up nonetheless.

Recalling that Danny had mentioned feeling that Laneway’s presence here felt ‘very Singaporean’, I asked him what had prompted him to say that.

“Well I love how locals have genuinely embraced the event. People sometimes gripe that it’s filled with expats and whatnot but all you have to do is look around. And the location, well…”

He trailed off, having convincingly made his point. The effortlessly iconic towers of Marina Bay Sands rose dramatically right behind Laneway’s stages. To be in a more identifiably Singaporean location he’d probably need to hold the festival next to the Merlion.

“We’ve been using the space better, too, as you can see,” Danny went on, gesturing to a large hilly section of The Meadow that had been somewhat underutilised the year before. The area was now playing host to an incredible array of food and drink stalls, and, thanking Danny, I wandered off to have a closer look.

Beyond The Music

The longest queue for food belonged to Yellow Submarines’, festivalgoers displaying a fondness for subs and fries drizzled with cheese. Festival staples like hot dogs (The Brat) and burgers (cow-patterned van The Travelling C.O.W., Bochinche, Hard Rock Café, etc.) were as popular as expected. It was fantastic to also see good meat-free options represented this year with Real Food’s stall whipping up beet burgers and salads, while those looking for seafood had fresh oysters at Greenwood Fish Market to look forward to.

One stall certainly piqued my interest more than the rest though. South East Sliders were serving up a fascinating interpretation of the standard slider, with flaky pastry pockets replacing the usual buns. The sliders, created by chef Damian D’Silva, were filled with familiar flavours from the South East, including beef rendang and chicken debal. “We wanted to put the spotlight back on this part of Asia,” explained co-founder Sean Lawlor, “back on our own amazing heritage foods.” Delicious. Sean explained that they’re presently hunting for a suitable restaurant location, and, ladies and gentlemen, let’s all hope they find one soon.

Source

All things considered, the vastly increased number of food options this year meant less festivalgoers were getting stuck in long queues, a noticeable improvement over last year. The only quibble? Tiong Bahru bakery ran out of their sensational Kouign Amanns, but you can’t always get what you want.

Of course, drinks were in full flow, too, with ice-cold cans of Stella Artois being guzzled to brace for the proposed alcohol consumption bill. Stoli offered inventive vodka-laced cocktails, while Jose Cuervo’s ice-cold ‘mexitos’ and margaritas were ready for Laneway’s many, many parched throats. Compared to the food queues, lines for drinks remained quite long throughout most of the day, but entertainment was never too far away for those waiting. Some watering holes made it a special point to host games and activities bundled in with their beverages, and none did so with more ingenuity than Sailor Jerry’s. Those buying two Sailor Jerry Spiced Drinks could opt for a haircut at the Sailor Jerry barbershop (‘till barbers last’) or even a (permanent!) tattoo at the Sailor Jerry tattoo parlour. I made inquiries and was told that both hit the maximum number of customers possible, and that a whopping 30 people walked out of Laneway with fresh ink. Festival t-shirts just don’t cut it as souvenirs for some folks, eh?

Plenty of other fascinating booths and sponsor activations were drawing in the crowds; H&M and Samsung both offered prizes and goodies for posing at booths and uploading photos, while Monster Energy brought in a large truck where festivalgoers could charge their phones. Doc Martens, not satisfied with being the near-default festival footwear choice among savvy souls and hipsterfolk, brought in a large vending machine filled with treats imported from the UK.

And So On

We return to Mac DeMarco, who kept the crowd in stitches and handled technical difficulties with aplomb, playing a cheeky, not-altogether sincere cover of Coldplay’s ‘Yellow’ to pass the time. Following an earnest attempt to convince the crowd that Celine Dion would be on next, DeMarco ended the set unforgettably when he clambered up the barricade at the very edge of the crowd, grinned, and dove in.

Mac DeMarco makes friends with the crowd. Photo: Alvin Ho

The afternoon’s highs kept coming. Australian siblings Angus and Julia Stone arrived to charm the crowd with warm, blues-tinged folk numbers, with the latter often the very picture of a festival free spirit, whirling, dancing and clattering a tambourine against her thigh. Just minutes later, Laneway was in a different realm altogether when Royal Blood strode onstage and proceeded to scorch everything in their path. The duo roused a ferocious mosh pit into being, snarling basslines and thunderous drumming having conspired to awake something fiercely primal. In the thicket of flailing limbs and shoving arms, though, there was a curious sense of kinship and mutual understanding; anyone who stumbled was immediately helped upright, those who wanted to leave or were sucked in by accident were often rapidly shielded. That’s not to say the pit didn’t draw its share of blood; halfway through the set I saw someone leaving with a gashed elbow, and by the end of it all there were multiple murmurs of a man having lost a tooth.

All About The Bass: Mike Kerr of Royal Blood. Photo: Alvin Ho.

But all that mattered little. Near the end of a blistering set, drummer Ben Thatcher abruptly flung his stool halfway across the stage, stood up, and then proceeded to absolutely massacre his kit. Frontman Mike Kerr gambolled over and the two played inches from each other, features equally contorted with aggression, joy, and release. They ended with Kerr’s bass hurled to the ground, both completely spent, a baying crowd roaring their approval. Madness.

Of 13,000 Bodies And Homegrown Heroes

Future Islands (and mesmeric, dancing frontman Samuel T. Herring) ushered in the sunset. Herring prowled and growled like a demented thespian, pounding his head and chest at emphatic moments, his deeply set eyes conveying pain, panic, and loss in a captivating, theatrical accompaniment to the music. Those initially baffled by the band’s fusion of synth-y pop with snarling were gradually won over, if for no other reason than Herring’s sheer magnetism and conviction.

Samuel T. Herring Of Future Islands. Photo: Cliff Yeo.

It was as Laneway was reaching such heights, though, that whispers of trouble began to grow. The strain of 13,000 bodies packed into The Meadow finally began to show as too many festivalgoers struggled to make their way to the third, less accommodating Cloud Stage, situated some distance away from the larger two. Australian crooner Chet Faker, playing at this more isolated, out-of-the-way stage, appeared to have more fans than anticipated, and hordes of people were attempting to cram themselves in an area never designed to hold that many. Laneway’s organisers responded swiftly, cutting off access to the Cloud Stage, all the while doing their best to control and redirect people.

Matthew Lazarus-Hall, CEO of Chugg Entertainment (Laneway’s promoter/partner) was on the ground at the time, directing festivalgoers and overseeing the restriction of access to the over-crowded Cloud Stage.

“Well, it boils down to safety, pure and simple,” he said, when asked about the decision. “This does happen all the time at big festivals, Coachella, other editions of Laneway, you name it; sometimes too many people want to be in one space at a time, and it’s just not possible. We do want people to catch all the acts they’d like to, but not at the risk of letting people get hurt.”

Crammed concertgoers resort to standing on each other’s shoulders. Photo: Alvin Ho.

Indeed, the majority of those caught in the crush were those who’d lingered (many catching some of Banks’ set at the main stage, happening concurrently) a tad too long, and Matthew pointed out that those who’d decided early to go over to catch Chet Faker weren’t disappointed.

“You do have to make a choice sometimes,” he said with a small smile. Of course, some disgruntled Faker fans might well argue that the artist should have been on the main stage. But the sheer quality of the line-up did mean that a few clashes and imperfect configurations were inevitable, and, as Matthew hinted, the choices of the artists themselves (where and when they’d prefer to play) were all factors in the scheduling process.

The Cloud stage did have other hiccups, though, including some delays and, unfortunately for local act Hanging Up The Moon, crippling technical issues that adversely affected the set. Writer-editor Dan Koh, producer of a music documentary on The Observatory (a local band that played Laneway 2014) was in attendance and weighed in on the issue, criticising the lack of time given to the band to carry out a proper soundcheck. Speaking to Mothership after the show, Sean Lam from Hanging Up The Moon agreed that time for a proper soundcheck would have been greatly appreciated, but also said: “I do not blame the organisers as I felt they did a great job in general… I do understand it is no easy task running a festival with so many on the lineup.” The band performed gracefully under pressure nonetheless, and, despite the bad sound and audible feedback, received love and appreciation from an understanding crowd.

On a brighter note, local electronica duo .gif had an extremely well-received set, drawing a sizeable crowd despite the big international acts playing a few hundred metres away. Of course, it’s lovely and heartening to see such support for both of our homegrown artists.

All Good Things End

FKA Twigs. Photo: Alvin Ho.

St. Vincent. Photo: Alvin Ho

The night ended with magic on both ends of a dazzling spectrum. At one end the fluidity and freedom of FKA Twigs, an enchanting golden whirl of constant movement across the stage, her body and voice melded into one source of awe; at the other St. Vincent firmly in digital-age character as a stiff-jointed robot, shuffling around the stage in precise, carefully timed movements, letting explicit emotion emerge only through her sublime, blazing guitar work.

And then, just like that, we were done. Danny clambered onto the stage to thank festivalgoers, and as he wished everyone goodnight my thoughts drifted back to our earlier conversation, when he’d mentioned he was already dreaming up ideas for next year’s festival. I’d shamelessly pressed him for details, and the ideas that tripped off his tongue were exciting to say the least. A massive Laneway afterparty, he suggested, or secret shows in the buildup to festival day…

“Basically, I want Laneway to take over the town,” he’d laughed.

Looking out at the the The Meadow, with thousands of chattering, ecstatic souls streaming back out into the streets, it seemed very, very much like it already had.

Top photo by Alvin Ho.

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