Jackson kindly asked me to post my little Facebook Laneway summary, so here it is.
We arrived at about 1.30pm after a lengthy parking odyssey which wound up with us in the casual lot of a megachurch. The house of the Lord charges more per hour than I imagine its patron would be comfortable with. Still, on with the show!
Angel Olsen - appealing country-goth, probably on the wrong stage in the wrong time slot. Loved the female bassist, who clearly did not give one single fuck.
Courtney Barnett - Speaking of women who don't give a fuck, this was unexpectedly badass! Fun songs with a reasonably grunty band. She kinda reminded me of Liz Phair, which can only be a good thing.
Mac DeMarco - I found this band quite hard to place: they were clearly influenced by a lot of disparate things and I couldn't work out if the "summer jamz" vibe was totally enjoyable or had looped all the way around to 90s "brah". I was also kinda distracted by the fact that one of them looked a bit like Wooderson in Dazed and Confused.
Royal Blood - ROCKIN' power duo, boiling down bogan ridiculousness into its finest essence. Clearly heavily influenced by QotSA (and then back to Zep). I laughed out loud with delight several times during their set, so (oddly enough) this was in my top few acts of the day.
Jungle - I wanted to like this band. I really wanted to like this band. I only lasted four songs before realising that they clearly thought they were much funkier than they actually were. Once my husband said they reminded him of Level 42 it was all over rover.
Jon Hopkins - I have a pleasant feeling about this but it may have been associated with moving to the much smaller, cooler, harbourside Cactus Cat stage and eating an ice cream. I give him props for such heavy bass that he vibrated my sunhat right off my head.
(Eagulls) - I place this band in brackets because I saw one song before realising that a) I had to sit down for a minute and b) they were boring me. Loudly.
Future Islands - This was a fun way to pass the time from the crush in front of the Belle & Sebastian stage. Lead dude does, indeed, give it his all, even if I couldn't see very much from my shorty shortass vantage point. I noticed enough to realise that he looks kinda like Kevin Spacey (if Kevin Spacey was the middle manager at your office job and was a sweaty raver at karaoke parties).
Belle & Sebastian - 19 years without a NZ tour, ever, and we had to make do with 45 minutes. Tantalisingly brief (8 songs?) but really great. I could probably have done without their "people dancing on stage" bit, although the woman who tried to hump Stuart Murdoch gets props for Most Pointless Act of the Festival.
(FKA Twigs) - I heard and saw a bit of this from where I was nursing my horribly sore feet at the back of the crowd. She looked amazing but I was left cold. Possibly thanks to my feet.
St. Vincent - I am very, very glad I broke on through to the other side and made the effort to see this, because more women who don't give a fuck are key to my feminist satisfaction at music festivals! She is extraordinarily compelling and composed, and I loved her material live. I was, oddly, reminded of Prince (has the Purple One ever worn a leather cheongsam?). At the time I tweeted "OH DAMN SON" and I see no reason to take back that assessment. Fantastic way to end the day.
I’m happy enough with iTunes for managing my music
I'm sorry, everything you said after that was drowned out by an enormous NOPE.
The New York Times reports that classic hip-hop is taking over the radio dial. I can relate.
The station that started this whole thing, Boom 92 in Houston, has been a staple streamer in our household since it started (my husband, being from Houston, heard about it from his friends there on the first day). Family dance party to “Big Pimpin’”? Don’t mind if I do! Uh, ignore the lyrics, kids.
NZ On Screen has just posted the long-unseen NZBC documentary on the 1970 Redwood festival in Auckland, which is remembered chiefly for the hostile reception accorded to the unfortunate headliner, Robin Gibb.
This showed on Heartland’s Saturday compilation of music-festival related programming a few weeks ago. And it was out in deepest darkest west Auckland! I was hugely amused to think of Robin Gibb driving wanly through Ranui.
ETA: fuck iTunes. I will never not take the opportunity to say that. :)
Um, someone let me borrow Watch You Bleed: The Saga of Guns N' Roses by Stephen Davis. It wasn't *good*, but it was awesomely trashy. And now I know that Axl Rose's real name is Bill Bailey, which I find hilarious.
You can dance, if you want to.
God damn you, Russell.
(And yes, I'm a 1991 bfm Hard News listener. I was sixteen!)
For a mere $200 (eep).
Well done to the Marxist Intellectual!
You forgot cycling. We need to cycle the leg of lamb to the hidden renovated bathroom, have a quick short black, and get back to hating on the Herald.
Finished? By whom? How?
Of course he won't be, and no amount of wishful thinking makes it so.
Seriously. If he gave a soupçon of a shit about his government being corrupt he would have done the mea culpa months ago. He doesn't care AT ALL and there's no one actually capable of holding him properly to account. Failing a real popular uprising (which, let's face it, is about as likely as me becoming a fan of Rush), we're stuck with him.
Giving shit to west Auckland is so 90s, you guys. ;)
I have raised three children to adulthood who don’t routinely watch television.