More photos after the jump
More photos after the jump
Palms and Gooch Palms have more in common besides naming rights to subtropical plants. Leroy from the Gooch Palms was previously Palms’ bassist. Both outfits have featured on the previous Nuggets Compilation, have contributed to each other’s albums and recently set out during March for ‘Palmarama’ tour; violating personal space and every major Australian monument in their path (giant Cottlesloe goon bag below).
Words and photos by Palms.
Approaching the tour, Brendan was too excited by Palmarama to practice Palms’ songs. He was moved to express himself with art.
These were our touring buddies: Leroy MacQueen of the Gooch Palms…
And Kat Friend of the Gooch Palms.
Together, Palms and the Goochies played some of Australia’s premier live music venues…
By day, we would visit important monuments to Australian culture.
And by night we would practice dance moves that are currently very popular.
Over four weeks both bands grew to know one another very intimately.
And the temptation was there to form an inevitably world famous supergroup, and tour together forever – but the Gooch Palms are committed to the charms of their home town, Newcastle.
So for now, us Sydney boys will stick with what we know best —which is hugging and kissing in bed.
Words: Ed Gorwell
Photos: Bec Capp
When you lose someone, all of a sudden you have to speak about them in the past tense. It feels weird. This was the eighth, and final Camp A Low Hum. Redolent of 2008‘s ‘Muddy Meredith’, constant rain hung over this year’s Camp A Low Hum, dubbed ‘Camp A No Sun’. Although festival founder and curator Ian ‘Blink’ Jorgensen lamented and apologised for the shit weather, I thought the rain worked to evoke a camaraderie and defiance in the punters.
Camp A Low Hum is one of those rare festivals that is as much about community it is about music. It’s staged in an old scout camp near Wellington. There’s no backstage. No media pit. It’s BYO and the line-up isn’t announced until gates open. While Camp A Low Hum features a spattering of international bands during it’s eight year run, the main focus is on New Zealand and Australian talent.
An on-the-fly wet weather timetable this year saw some of the stages close, while many bands were relocated and rescheduled. The ‘Renegade Room’, a do-it-yourself stage equipped with amps and instruments where budding musicians could give their tunes a burl, doubled as a sleepover zone for campers whose tents had flooded.Though I was disappointed that I never got to check out the mythic ‘Journey’ stage (set somewhere high in the hills beyond a river crossing), the impromptu timetable seemed to fit the event’s DIY ethos.
A drizzly forest show among the pine trees suited Seagull. Back to back sets from Collarbones, Guerre, Rainbow Chan and Black Vanilla had campers grooving at the lagoon stage on Saturday, where a few people went swimming because they were wet anyway. Mesa Cosa, with some vicious tambourine accompaniment from Scotdrakula’s Dove and Matt, had campers actually swinging from the rafters in the ‘Noisy Room’. A guy kept offering me beers too. That was nice of him.
When Kangaroo Skull brought a strobe light to the forest. When Bare Grillz were really good even though Matthew had a fractured wrist and had to play one-handed synth instead of two-handed guitar. Seeing Day Ravies at the after-party even though we missed them at the festival. They made my hangover go away. The crowd amassing in a spontaneous group-hug during Kirin J Callinan and Liam Finn’s collaborative rendition of ‘Total Eclipse of The Heart’. Magic stuff.
So much more happened and I documented the whole thing on film. A few weeks later, robbers broke into our car and stole the bag that had all my film from the festival in it. Our water-resistant photographer, Bec Capp was on a lucky streak though.These are her pictures from the final Camp A Low Hum.
For those of you unacquainted, Castlemaine is a country centre that’s about an hour’s drive west of Melbourne. Situated between Ballarat and the Victorian capital, it once was a town fuelled by gold, then left to fend for itself after the hordes of new money left.In 2014 it still remains as a country centre, but it’s evaded the plastic re-hash of most urban centres. It isn’t mall-i-fied, and nor does it rely upon an antiquated mirage of ‘colonial heritage’ to get tourist dollars in. It is this town that now lays claim to DD Dumbo (aka. Oliver Hugh Perry).
Photos by Lucy Spartalis