Monday, April 13, 2009

Are you ready to Wark?

Live at the Zoo. You've all heard the horror stories. Alleged gang-rapes, clogged toilets, 8 overdoses, band cancellations and asthma attacks from the dust. Everything that could have gone wrong went wrong. This festival has either ruined Adelaide forever, or made it.

Behold: an insider's perspective.

There was much pre-anticipated failure. The event hadn't exactly kicked off - minimal tickets were sold and hired staff were getting agitated. And what about pegging a tent into a barren desert? Running water? Band timetables?

As the Easter weekend dawned closer, ticket holders were feeling impending doom. Except for us. Hell, if we can survive being homeless in Argentina for two days, we can survive this!

Stocked eski? Check. Hidden liquor under the spare tire? Check. Rehearsed "I'm VIP, how dare you search my car" expressions? Check. With iron fists and fearless hearts, on Saturday morn we tore up the freeway to face the carnage.

Hit 2pm: We arrive to "The Dust Bowl".

It was then time to negotiate our tent. Ten minutes into it, we're struggling to keep our strong demeanors about us. Pegging a 5-man canvas to dust and rocks is fucking difficult. Not to mention the people we have had the misfortune to set up next to: a group of dirt-ridden scum sitting on dusty, half-broken deck chairs yelling "PARALOWIE REPRESENT" and "SAVE THE WHALES". It's not hard to see who the latter quote was targeted at.

I am soon turned upon due to my pink shades.

"Hey pink glasses, do youse have a boyfriend? He wants to know," one of the dust ladettes asks me, pointing to a filthy cretin behind her flashing me a three-toothed smile. I soon decide these people should have been aborted at birth.

Hit 3pm: our tent is finally erected. But not our spirits - It's vodka o'clock.

None of us have got a timetable, so we decide to check out the elusive VIP tent that apparently offers free food and beverages. We later discovered this "free food" to be vat coleslaw and three-day-old sliced beef. Salmonella risks aside, having a four-walled area to escape from airborne dirt was luxury.

While in the Media tent, I am approached by a PA assistant who asks me when I will be ready for interviews. I am puzzled, as I am far too drunk to construct intelligent conversation. I reply with a slur of "Hhsmmm... I forgot my gear." Another success story for work evasion!

Sean makes the mistake of asking me to spray him "just a bit" with a water pistol. To me this translates as "cumshot the shit out of me"

Outside of the VIP tent, pupils are dilating on a mass scale. The dust is getting worse. And this is when we meet Captain Feathersword... you should have seen his teeth.

The whole shambles of the festival is starting to become apparent by now. The staff behind the bar have no idea what to do when we show our VIP passes. In fact, they aren't even sure where the VIP tent is. To resolve the matter they throw a bunch of food and alcohol tokens in our direction. Yep, we'll take that.

Post-beer coupons:

As the sun begins to sink into the horizon, we return to the tent for more drinks. Our bag of grapes becomes acquainted with Vodka and generic-brand Cola. A "Live at the Zoo" martini.

Here we are checking out Muph & Plutonic. Or Muff and Vaginatonic'' according to Sean, who is strongly opposed to Aussie hip-hop. Unsurprisingly, given the demographic of the Live at the Zoo largely originate from Adelaide's northern suburbs, M&P draw one of the biggest crowds for the night. Lots of "get the fuck ups" ensued.

The next few hours of the night are a spectacular blur.

It involves: Me, Kat, Van She Tech and the Lost Valentinos behind the decks. Guys in lycra animal print suits. Our ravished selves dancing like ravers on the stage for 2 hours. Getting the sound guy up with us. Cigs. Chris Brown is dead. Too many Bacardi & Orange cans.

And it's no surprise to anyone that I barely remember any of this.

We finally tear ourselves away from the dj tent and learn that Cut Copy has been cancelled. Apparently the "barrier" (which was a shitty parade gate they use on Anzac Day) got pushed over and 2000 punters surged backstage. Or something.

The Cutters have left the building, and the pillheads are left dazed and confused. The night ends cramped in a band van heading back down to Adelaide with a Korg synth on my lap and a bunch of crazed, drunk musicians quoting Al Pacino movies. No se cuando, no se donde.

DAY TWO: We arrive back in the desert. All the tents are covered in even MORE dust. The toilets have completely ceased to flush. There is rubbish everywhere. I had a rummage through our eski and find no less than one roll of toilet paper, a pair of sunglasses, a half-eaten watermelon, 1/4 of a bottle of vodka and two kilograms of red dust.

I'm feeling pretty grateful that I had access to a shower this morning, as our tent buddies didn't have the same luxury. Yes, they drove to KFC in Murray Bridge to wash themselves from the disabled toilets hand basin.

We soon head to the main stage and find these babes playing, bare-foot and using their guitar pedals like a second foot. This is the Perth teenage prodigy Tame Impala.

With the dust spray in the air, the sun beating down on our backs and their psychadelic, 70's-inspired guitar licks bursting through the air, it made for an amazing show.

Followed by good-vibe bringers Van She.

The afternoon was rolling away once more, and with bands like Evermore and Augie March left on the bill, we decide hanging in our tent in our own delerium is a better option. I'd rather sit in a filthy sleeping bag in a humid tent that watch that fag in a top-hat.

Around 8pm, after we've been LOLing at the dumbest things imaginable out of tiredness (shadows, sleeping bags and techno music), we decide to get the fuck out of this god forsaken place and drive home. I feel the gravitational pull of a shower and bed calling for me. It's time to scrape the dirt out of the cracks of my feet, eat a toasted cheese and avocado sandwich and chocolate eggs.

Live at the Zoo. Absolute shambles, but damn was it fun!


Spoz said...

Toasted cheese AND avocado sandwich!? whoaaaa back the fuck up.. mind totally blown! Finally a use for avocado that I can freaking relate to!!

(yup, can you tell I've only had 4 hours sleep for the second night in a row? fuck no!)

Oh and my word verification is apparently "bulgies" and it's in green. Is blogger trying to crack the SAME joke I did on facebook? I've never been more disturbed. You're right, it must've been a sock.

Miranda said...

Mine was "mantal". hahaha.