Ahhh, it’s back in all its sweat reeking, dirty snotted, drink-ticket buying, toilet queuing glory. It’s that special time of year when 60,000 ‘kids’‚ cram into the Gold Coast Parklands for one day in January and witness live some of the world’s best bands. At the centre of this sea of peroxide blonde and unnaturally tanned coastal chicks alongside Southern Cross tattooed, sunburnt shouldered, singlet wearing coastal dudes, lies a music festival that is soon to notch up 100 shows - a 17 year musical history of mud and mayhem. Big Day Out.
Some friends and I joined the throng of ‘sun-stroked coastal crazies’‚ to welcome musicians and bands from every corner of the globe to this classic Aussie festival
Despite forking out $150 for this shock and awe fest I have secret feelings about the Big Day Out, not often revealed until it rolls around again each new year........... I actually hate the thing. I generally love music festivals, but the Big Day Out is different. It is hot, crowded and bustling beast with the stench of piss, sweat and stale beer thick in the air. It behaves like an untamed dog at the end of a long leash, it thrashes about seeking to streak forth into the night if you inadvertently relinquish your grip.
In the past the BDO organisers were prone to cramming far too many people into the relatively modest grounds, with a distinct shortage of toilets, bars, places to chill and things to eat, whilst gouging this captive audience for dollars at every turn.
So, you may rightly ask, why do I go?
Simple
The BDO attracts the best bands from across the globe and gets them to play a stone’s throw away from where I live.
Enough said.
This year was very different, though, the beast had evolved. For starters, they only served half strength drinks and as much as many blog readers may wish to deny it, let’s face facts, this was a stroke of genius. It reduced exponentially the number of young men observed staggering, red faced, desperately searching for a fight, to the point that I could count these gorilla sightings on one hand. In previous years the numbers would be so high that one was genuinely afraid of looking the wrong way for fear you would catch the animal’s eye and the gorilla would unleash their drunken wrath upon you.
The beasts’ cage was thankfully expanded this year too, creating more room to move and easier access to amenities than previous incarnations. But the stand out difference in 2010 was the organisation of BDO staff. The army of fluoro vest wearing helpers were out in force, on the ready to help us ‘hopped up’ youth avoid frustrations and confrontations. Everything ran like clockwork. With the headline act finishing 5 minutes early (!) and a spot-on police presence who focused their energy on ensuring people arrive and leave the festival safely, rather than a pre-Fitzgerald enquiry heavy handed ‘management’ of patrons once inside.
For me, it is all about the music. I avoided the superficial drunken interactions I had in previous years by playing the part of designated driver and staying well below that 0.05 limit. Boring, yes, but you have to make sacrifices to see your favourite bands these days, and the music was anything but boring.
Even when one is trying to avoid such an experience it seems that one of those ‘special Big Day Out moments’ always manages to find its way to you. I found myself in conversation with a 26-year-old bloke discussing Muse, the band rockin’ out at the time. He asked me if I had taken any drugs ‘today’‚ (as if the smile on my face could be caused by nothing else) and I said no, I had a beer or two earlier but was driving back to Brissy once the festival was over. His face swiftly fell into regret and he remorsefully spouted, “I’m weak. I just have to have the drugs; it’s a real problem. I’m really weak, man. How do you guys stay so level headed?”
Only at Big Day Out could I have such an intimate conversation with a complete stranger who clearly deeply regrets his destructive choices, yet the only reason he can reveal this is because he is high as a kite! The regret soaked moment passed, as did he, into the night, not wanting to linger with anyone so boring not to be wrapped up in the ongoing conundrum of addiction and excess.
So I salute you Big Day Out, for throwing people together from all walks of life, ensuring the sun beats down on us as we run about like mad folk catching those must see bands, and for then spitting us out the other side with stiff shoulders from head banging, the prerequisite tinge of regret (especially those drug takers) and most likely a sore head to boot.
Until next year.
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