Golden Plains LineUp
Ballot closing soon
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GOLDEN PLAINS
MARCH 7, 8 & 9 2020
MEREDITH SUPERNATURAL AMPHITHEATRE
The LineUp for Golden Plains Fourteen is OUT, and in detail below.
The best way to get tickets is via the Ticket Ballot. It is open to all comers now.
Enter via goldenplains.com.au before 10:14pm Tuesday 22 October 2019
Still BYO everywhere, still independent, with no commercial sponsors, free range camping, all on the one stage, all on the same page. Fourteen will be Golden. There’s only one type of ticket – everyone flies First Class.
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Who’s Playing?
The sound of now, then and forever, hand-stitched to seamlessly fit the evolving atmospherics of the Supernatural Amphitheatre. Mother Nature on the lights.
Manifold highlights, any time of day or night – some directed, most unexpected.
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PIXIES
A crowning moment in Supernatural history.
There is a wait so long
(so long, so long)
You’ll never wait so long
Pixies in The Sup’. This Aunty’s gone to heaven.
Here Comes Your Man, Debaser, Where Is My Mind, Monkey Gone To Heaven, Wave of Mutilation, Hey…
Pick any of those iconic songs and imagine being enveloped by the melodic roar as it fills the Amphitheatre.
Gigantic.
Pixies were punk distilled. Outsiders on the inside. They didn’t look like a band. They didn’t act like a band. And they sure as hell didn’t sound like any other band. Perfect pop melodies dissolving into visceral squalls, biblical ruminations mutating into lascivious eroticisms. Four self-confessed weirdos, their creations bristling with the very real, very raw tension that coalesced between each individual. Post-punk, pre-grunge, perfectly-Pixies.
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Back in 1986, Joey Santiago and Charles Michael Kittridge Thompson IV were college room mates in Boston, going to punk shows and occasionally jamming together. They posted an ad in the local rag:
Wanted: musicians to join a Husker Du/Peter, Paul and Mary band.
Charles, usurped by Black Francis – cherubic choirboy one moment, furious intergalactic evangelist the next – yelped absurd tales over guitar lines bent way outta shape by Joey, glued together by Kim’s sweet-as-pie BVs and sprung-out bass, balancing precariously over Dave’s muscly rumble.
Loud QUIET Loud is how it went.
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Surfer Rosa. Doolittle. Bossanova. Trompe Le Monde. Four of indie rock’s greatest records in the space of four years. Each weirder and wilder than the last. Eventually the band imploded but, from the detritus, their legacy brewed. They were omnipresent in absentia.
A decade on from their resurrection, Pixies are playing some of the best shows of their lives. With Paz Lenchantin stepping in for Kim, their sets are alive and brimming with “thrillingly unhinged, brilliantly twisted noise”.
Sunday night. Performing old and new songs from the back catalogue, alongside tracks from their latest album, Beneath the Eyrie.
A big, big love.
Pixies. In the Supernatural Amphitheatre.
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Hot Chip
Twenty years of effervescent, exultant, emotional bangers.
And now a prime-time set full of them on Night Two of Fourteen.
Hot Chip are one of the most consistently brilliant party bands of the 21st century. Five Brits with a penchant for loud shirts, scintillating synth and the enduring pursuit of pop perfection.
Hits with heart. Multi-coloured musical emotion, made for moving.
Over and Over, Boy From School, Melody of Love, Hungry Child, The Warning, Spell, Flutes, Huarache Lights, No Fit State, Ready For The Floor.
“Hot Chip takes the communal spirit of house and splices it with the DNA of pop: music as a conduit of hope.”
Over and over and over and over and over
The joy of repetition really is in you
They completely eclipsed the mid-00s indie-dance cohort from which they first erupted. From 2004’s breakout debut, Coming on Strong, through to their most recent compulsively listenable album, Alexis, Joe, Al, Owen and Felix have maintained a bold commitment to reaching a little higher, sweating a little brighter.
Under and under and under and under and under
The smell of repetition really is on you
And when you look this way I really am with you
Been hoping that this would happen for ages. Fourteen is officially ready for the floor. Get a bath full at Let-It-All-Go-O’Clock.
Y-o-u
M-e
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Stereolab
A reformation for the ages. A ten year hiatus ends.
The supreme innovators will be in Postcode 3333 this Autumn.
Avant-pop rarely reaches the masses. Only the most gifted pull that off. Stereolab achieve the feat through the sheer quality of the extraordinary music they’ve made together. Under the guiding energies of Laetitia Sadier and Tim Gane, they are intrepid sonic cosmonauts, boundless in their vision. Poetic, political, philosophical.
It’s said human existence is pointless
As acts of rebellious solidarity can bring sense in this world
La Resistance!
Stereolab confect the familiar into kaleidoscopic cacophonies, expertly percolated but always, always, always delightful to the ears.
Difficult to make. Easy to enjoy.
Have a soak in Lo Boob Oscillator, or Metronomic Underground, or Brakhage, or Miss Modular. In fact, dip an ear in anywhere.
Before they split we were gifted ten albums over two decades. Emperor Tomato Ketchup, Transient Random-Noise Bursts with Announcements, Chemical Chords et al. Slow-burning classics each of them. Today they still sound ahead of their time, their influence heard in the work of everyone from Deerhunter to Tyler, The Creator.
After nine years adrift in the cosmos, they are back. Pack Yr Romantic Mind. Pull up your Neon Beanbag. And get ready for the Reverie. The Disko awaits.
Saturday Night will be departure time for this sensory adventure of bossa nova, kraut rock, French groove, jazzy futurism, Muzak, psychedelia, punk and Whatever.
Come with.
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Sampa The Great
The Return.
Never underestimate your highness
Dripped in melanin, Galaxy’s finest
Put a bit of pressure on the spirit of the highest
Sampa literally stopped traffic when she launched her album at Melbourne’s Northside Records last month. Such is the power of Greatness.
Her set at Meredith 2018 was a triumph and Sampa’s star has only risen higher since she last graced our place.
Final Form. OMG. Huge tunes. Two of her best ever. Her writing, ideas, flow – sharp. Elevation and revelation.
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Her new album, The Return, is Sampa’s most personal work to date. She “delves deep into themes of home, heritage, displacement and freedom. Amid its viscous swirl of Afrobeat, R&B and neo-soul is Sampa’s taut and assured rapping.”
Home is my home is my self… I will reside in myself
The rest of the world is getting on board her powerful, spiritual, redemptive musical quest. And, with new music this compelling, we knew we had to invite her back.
For the second time at Golden Plains and the third time in The Sup’ – Sampa The Great.
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Evelyn Champagne King
+ Mondo Freaks
Queen of the disco. Denizen of the dancefloor. Aunty is tickled pink to be rolling out the shag pile for Miss Evelyn “Champagne” King.
Legend has it she was discovered at age 14. Soul producer, T. Life, overheard Evelyn singing A Change Is Gonna Come as she helped her mum vacuum the hallways of Philadelphia International Records. Next minute, she had signed a deal and was in the studio making her debut, Smooth Talk.
She’s been groovin’ ever since, penning some of the biggest tunes in boogie: Love Come Down, Shame, I’m In Love, Your Personal Touch, I Don’t Know If It’s Right. Moving millions of records and millions more feet through five decades of disco decadence, King got the nod as one of the first inductees into the Dance Music Hall of Fame. She’s been sampled by everyone from Janet Jackson to Ice Cube to Lil’ Kim. Twelve studio albums deep into her career, she remains a digger’s delight. Her following is cult, her live show a certified good time party.
And of course, at the centre of it all, that voice.
Backed by Mondo Freaks, pop the corks and dress to impress for a fuuuuuuunky Sunday evening.
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Bill Callahan
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One of the greatest songwriters of our generation.
“Bill Callahan doesn’t just write songs, he sings poems.”
For thirty years he has been masterfully telling us stories about what it means to be human.
First as Smog and then as Bill, his calm, dense baritone has ruminated on the big themes of life; turning them over like a lump of clay, shaping something extraordinary from the ordinary. Amusing us while he’s at it too.
I’m a bit like the peephole
That falls in love with all the eyes
That look through
Watching major things unfold
From minor flaws
For some other cause
Have Mercy
His latest, Shepherd in a Sheepskin Vest, may just be his best yet. A left turn for the Lone Wolf, Callahan has found beauty in marriage and fatherhood. All you need is love, as it turns out.
“Love is the answer to pretty much everything. If we can just love each other’s complete and utter humanness, that’s what everything boils down to, really.”
But, of course, Callahan is still grappling with the Big Stuff. Pondering connection, life and all of its wonders, his exceptional power as a songwriter and storyteller seems to only intensify with age. A wonder to behold.
Yeah, you can call me anything
Just as long as I can sing
I sing for answers
I sing for good listeners
And tired dancers
Magic O’Clock. Like listening to a river flow. Pull up a seat with a modern master.
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DJ Sprinkles
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Terre Thaemlitz (1968) is an iconic producer, writer, public speaker, educator, audio remixer, DJ and owner of the Comatonse Recordings label.
DJ Sprinkles is the deep house DJ persona of Terre Thaemlitz. The album Midtown 120 Blues is a landmark release of the genre, musically taking shape from the experience of being a resident DJ in the New York transsexual sex worker club, Sally’s II, back in the early 90s.
Fans have described his sets as being akin to a religious experience. She has described her music as non spiritual and anti-religious. Aunty can say the Sprinkles set she witnessed was one of the most profoundly beautiful and unsettling musical experiences imaginable.
“House wasn’t so much a sound but a situation”
“Let’s keep sight of the things you’re trying to momentarily escape from”
We couldn’t have asked for a better situation than to have DJ Sprinkles close Golden Plains 2020.
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Sleaford Mods
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The Mods are coming.
The realest of the real.
Iggy Pop called them the “greatest rock ’n’ roll band in the world.”
Birthed out of the East Midlands, brimming with poetic vitriol directed squarely and swearily at the other half: the rule-makers and money-shakers. For over a decade Jason Williamson and Andrew Fearn have been running a crass but clever commentary on The People’s discontent, their albums a kind of pre-Boris crystal ball of impending doom.
Jobseeker!
Can of Strongbow, I’m a mess
Desperately clutching onto a leaflet on depression
Supplied to me by the NHS
It’s anyone’s guess how I got here
Anyone’s guess how I’ll go
I suck on a roll-up, pull your jeans up
F–k off, I’m going home
Dissatisfaction has never sounded so sharp.
With wit and wile, they dissect life in the UK, picking apart the pricks over “pugilistic post-punk-style bass; functional but unprepossessing beats; occasional cheap keyboard riffs and listless wafts of guitar… as if all the psychic and physical effluent abjected by Cameron’s Britain can no longer be contained, and it’s bursting upwards, exploding through all the deodorised digital commercial propaganda, the pretences that we’re all in this together and everything’s going to be alright.” – Mark Fisher
Their latest, Eton Alive, is their most vital, nihilistic and musically expansive to date. More than just sounding loud notes of warning, Sleaford Mods are narrating a UK in disrepair. And what a joy it is to shout along with them.
For the first time.
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Floorplan
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Oh Lordy. Getting shivers just thinking about this.
A late night Sunday sermon of ecstatic gospel house.
Sing a joyful noise…
Reverend Robert Hood. Founder of Underground Resistance alongside Jeff Mills and Mad Mike Banks. A movement that went beyond music, that showed the power of techno as a social and political force in a Detroit in recession.
Hood’s thirty year legacy cements him as a stone cold Motor City legend. M-Plant label boss, head of Minimal Nation, author of some of the all-time anthems in house and techno history – and an ordained church minister.
He hits GP14 as Floorplan, in duo mode with his daughter, Lyric Hood. A family affair.
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It’s a project that may have soundtracked the rapturous peak of a night more than any producer this decade. Their tunes are simply massive. Righteous barnstormers. There’s James Brown jackin’ on Baby, Baby. Choral enlightenment on We Magnify His Name. Their latest, So Glad. Disco burner, Tell You No Lie. And the sublime, Aretha-sampling techno anthem of the decade, Never Grow Old.
“When I’m behind the turntables, I’m at a pulpit. I’m preaching a message of love – it’s just coming through electrical wires and speakers.”
Your late nite dance blueprint: Floorplan.
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Weyes Blood
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Yesssss. Weyes Blood at Fourteen. Weyes Blood anywhere!
Natalie Mering’s multitude of fans know that spending time with her music brings exquisite reward. Its buoyant beauty would be welcome at any time in history, but it arrives like sweet nectar roundabout now.
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She is Weyes by name, and wise by nature. She sings of earthly devastation and the human condition with a canny kind of knowingness that leaves you wondering if maybe the end won’t be so bad after all.
This year’s Titanic Rising is her finest, most expansive work to date. It is immersive, beautiful music. Timeless in that classic American-songbook type of way, yet speaking from a very present time and place on planet earth.
It follows her breakout record, Front Row Seat to Earth, and psych-pop gems with Drugdealer. Weyes Blood is as comfortable writing hooks as prying into gnarliness.
Sunday afternoon. Serenity now.
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Electric Fields
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Zaachariaha and Michael make stratospheric pop. Soulful. Transcendent. Flamboyant. Electro-pop sung in both English and the languages of the Anangu Pitjantjatjara Yankunytjatjara people.
Electric Fields reveal a potent and fluid blend of musicality, culture and gender. On stage, Zaac is mesmerising and when he opens up those lungs you will feel the energy.
Live, they are a force
Saturdy night.
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Joe Camilleri and the Black Sorrows
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Australia’s original soul boy. Joe Camilleri is a musical lifer. He has been doing his uniquely groovy, catchy thing as part of the Australian music scene for over fifty years; writing, recording, gigging, producing, playing sax and guitar, fronting bands, singing his songs.
And what songs they are. Joe has written a string of hits that have jived their way into the national bloodstream for several decades. Firstly as Jo Jo Zep & The Falcons: So Young (so good that Elvis covered it), Hit And Run, Shape I’m In. Then without the Falcons: Taxi Mary. Then as the hugely successful Black Sorrows: Hold On To Me, Harley and Rose, Chained To The Wheel, Never Let Me Go, The Chosen Ones and more across nine albums now.
Like static on the dial, a look comes back in style
Harley and Rose, they just lost it for a while
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Joe Camilleri was born the third of ten children in Malta in 1948. The family migrated to Australia when he was two. Camilleri grew up in Port Melbourne and listened to rock music on the radio. His mother called him Zep and he became known as Jo Zep. He began his music career in 1964 when literally thrown onstage to sing with The Drollies.
In 1984, following the demise of Jo Jo Zep and The Falcons, he formed The Black Sorrows as an informal semi-acoustic band playing blues, R&B and zydeco. They became one of the most sophisticated ensembles in the country and have sold more than two million albums worldwide.
Like tumblin’ down the aisle, a half forgotten smile
Harley and Rose, they just lost it for a while
Wide smiles, hits hits hits, Zep in your step. Late arvo Sunday.
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Parsnip
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Sharing joy and nonsense with the world is Parsnip’s raison d’être. So is crafting the askew pop nuggets that make their debut LP, When The Tree Bears Fruit, one of the year’s most loved local releases. Named after the teachings of guru and poet Sri Chinmoy, the record is stacked with wriggly melodies and twisted nursery rhyme prose, delivered in sunny, sing-song harmonies that bubble up one sweet little sugar high at a time. It’s bright, brainy and just a little bit bonkers.
All the little sprouts
Shooting at the clouds
The sun is falling down
On the flower heads
All of which is pretty much summed up in the whimsical weirdness of their wuthering-esque Rip It Off vid. Pry out the paisley and prepare to be Parsnipped.
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Ezra Collective
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The Hottest Record in the World. That’s how the BBC’s Annie Mac premiered an instrumental jazz track this year. It had boom-bap beats and squalling sax, with traces of Dilla, Kuti, and Coltrane. Unimaginable only five years ago, Ezra Collective’s Quest For Coin was the sound of London’s underground boiling over.
Joe Armon-Jones, Femi Koleoso, TJ Koleoso, Dylan Jones and James Mollison are five of the most formidable players in the UK jazz scene. Femi, their drummer and mercurial leader – part conductor, part preacher – is the mesmerising vortex amid the milieu.
When Quincy Jones caught wind of them, he invited them to play his birthday party. Imprimatur par excellence.
They draw on Afrobeat, grime and hip-hop, but most of all, pure hard jazz. Their shows are wild. Unhinged and immersive. A supreme symbiosis.
Now we get them for Golden’s fourteenth party.
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Civic
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A chunk of gutter rock in the middle of Sunday arvo to fire the joint up. Frenzied nodding and stamping rippling across Terra Supernaturalis.
Plying urban decay romantics, dead boy balladry and modern Australian underground hustle, Civic crawled up out of the muggy mess of Melbourne’s back rooms to become local favourites. Their debut 12”, New Vietnam, was a glam-hardcore mutant beast, the charming delinquent of the Anti-Fade fam. Un-boxable, limit-pushing punks, their latest EP is a fatalistic slab of power pop; Its Eno cover, Needle In the Camel’s Eye, a veritable hometown classic.
A communal commotion for the Civic-minded.
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Moonchild Sanelly
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A South African shake up under the Saturday Moon.
Riding sweaty rhythms with liberating mantras is the Moonchild way.
Growing up around her family of kwaito dancers, rappers, and her mum’s jazz tavern, her style crystallised while living in Durban as gqom broke out.
She calls it Future Ghetto Funk. In a hybrid of Xhosa and English, Moonchild spits over DJ Lag, skewers f—boys, and gets stuck in your head. She’s shared the stage with Gorillaz, Diplo, and featured on new Beyoncé.
Cranked and ready to pop.
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Injury Reserve
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This Phoenix rap trio recorded their debut mixtape live from a dentist’s surgery.
A fitting introduction to the Injury Reserve experience. You know you’ll come out fresher, but you might lose a tooth along the way.
Three mixtapes and a studio debut later, they rep a new generation of suburban weirdo American rap, seesawing (or hacksawing) between smooth and agitated, pop and noise, tradition and innovation.
“I say this ain’t jazz-rap… this that raised-by-the-internet, ain’t-had-no-dad rap”
The group formed when Stepa J. Groggs was working at a shoe store run by Ritchie With a T’s mum. The two MCs teamed up with ingenious producer Parker Corey, a young swim team captain who only got into beat-making when an injury kept him from competing, and whose introduction to rap was My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. Without a hip hop scene in Phoenix, they played house parties with punk bands.
Fertile ground for no-limits rap.
Jailbreak the Tesla and turn left onto Meredith-Mt Mercer Rd.
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Prequel
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Last GP, just a little before Four Tet took to the stage, a large circle had formed in the front-left of The Sup’. In the centre, a dance-off was well and truly heating up, each round more aerobic than the last.
As a group death drop thrilled onlookers, we looked up to the interstitial DJ booth. You couldn’t see it behind his surgical mask, but Prequel was surely beaming.
We knew we had to get him back, centre stage, for the sequel.
As a DJ, Prequel’s love of sharing carefully researched music is matched only by his ever-present enthusiasm. That passion runs through his radio stints and productions in equal measure. He is Rhythm Section’s ambassador down under, and his latest popped up on Lobster Theremin-affiliate, Distant Hawaii.
Gilles Peterson, on Freedom Jazz Dance: “F–king Killer”.
Playing music from the heart, right across the spectrum of the soulful and the funky. His influence-checking track, Saints, gives you a sense of what he’s about.
Melbourne’s biggest Seinfeld fan. Sunday night, before Floorplan.
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Bananagun
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Plenty to dig about Bananagun. A sweet treat amongst the golden banquet.
They have an ear for weird, free-loving, freeform grooves that dip into psychedelic jazz fuzz and wide-eyed Afro beat. And it’s all served up with a wondrous, wigged-out energy.
If you merged the proto-garage rhythmic fury of The Monks with the tropicália grooves of Os Mutantes, you might start to get a sense of the sound this Melbourne quintet have forged.
“Do Yeah is a simmering slice of pop that’s pulled like paisley taffy through the decades, leaving a whiff of incense and silk on the breeze.” Raven Sings The Blues
Do Yeah. Correct.
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Simona Castricum
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Singer-drummer, big-beat-bringer. Simona Castricum’s performances are cardio-electronic percussive events of shared catharsis and self-confrontation.
Through the drums, smoke haze and laser beams, she has been pushing the boundaries of her emotionally textured technopop for two decades.
“The Half Light is an instant pop anthem. You know that feeling you get when you finish watching The Breakfast Club and you’re sitting quietly, letting the sounds of Simple Minds’ Don’t You Forget About Me wash over you?”
Six albums and two EPs in, Castricum traverses synth-wave, high-octane house and yearning club ballads, tied together by narratives of non-conformity, queer cities, gender and relationships.
With her new four-piece band in tow – Simona in The Sup’.
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C.FRIM
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Her official bio consists of two words: BUCKLE UP.
It’s essential advice whenever C.FRIM is on the 1s and 2s. The freshest new selector on the Melbourne club scene. After just a year or so DJing she is playing everywhere, from rap shows to experimental techno nights to soundsystem jams.
Rhythm comes first when C.FRIM is spinning, and she likes it heavy. Tasty electro, drum-focused club cuts, low-slung rap, dancehall and pop, with plenty of room to surprise. Effortlessly thrilling, check her Ghetto! Tactics! Hope St Radio show and try to keep up.
Locked, loaded and late. Saturday night.
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J. Mcfarlane’s Reality Guest
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If you own one band tee this year, make it a Reality Guest.
Prolific hometown fave Jules McFarlane unravelled our curiosity with her JMRG debut, Ta Da. Woozy, wheezy, peeled-back pop, the record seesaws between melancholic post-punk, bubblegum hooks and jazzed-up deconstructions.
Do You Like What I’m Saying may well be the sleeper hit of the year, but the record is packed with songs that sneak up on you. Kitchen sink dramas, tragi-comic plays filtered through layers of BBC Radiophonic Workshop-style noise synths. A haunting and personal delight. Ta Da indeed.
Post-Twerps McFarlane is joined by Tamsen Hopkinson and Ela Stiles. Be their guest.
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Yirinda
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Voice and instrument. Instrument and voice.
Didgeridoo and double bass.
The stories – in Butchulla language – of Fred Leone’s ancestors, the notes from Sam Pankhurst’s double bass, and the soundscapes in between.
Yirinda is a Butchulla word and its closest translation in English is ‘now’. The music they make is grounding and immediate; a force that brings you into the present.
Here, first thing Sunday.
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Mwanjé
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Floating stars on your tippy toes
Floating through Mars on your tippy toes
Lose my breath for ya on my tippy toes
Baby roll over, roll over
Mwanjé sprung her debut single, The Divine, upon us about six months ago. Leaning into some deep neo-soul influences, her voice takes on a lucid kind of psychedelic effect as she glides through a vocal performance as stunning as the visuals that accompany it. Mercurial melisma.
With her big sister playing later the same day, it will be a delight to host Mwanjé in The Sup’.
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Slim Set
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A certified hectic sesh from the West.
There’s a whole lot brewing in Western Sydney and Slim Set are local heroes.
Uncle Kal and DJ Atro are Parramatta schoolyard pals turned turbo rap duo. Kal spars against Atro’s 140bpm dojo of 808s, sirens and brooding synths – drawing from UK grime, club music, MC culture, and life out West. Check out their EP, Feed, for a taste.
Keeping it cheeky and rowdy, things are known 2 hype up when they hit the party.
Saturday. 2 boys, 1 puffer.
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General Levy
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The Junglist anthem.
Wicked, wicked, Junglist massive
Wicked, wicked, Junglist massive
Wicked, wicked, Junglist massive
Wicked, wicked, original
North West London was where Levy found his sound; collecting dancehall tapes and soaking up the rocksteady, calypso and soul in his big brother’s record collection. At just 14 he formed the Third Dimension Sound System and quickly garnered a rep as one of the most creative emcees in the game, with a flow so unique it had its own label.
“I came with my own style, a hiccup style, which gave me my own signature, so basically I incorporated a lot of influences and put in a bit of my own flava – and that’s how I became General Levy.”
In ‘94 Incredible took jungle to the masses and changed the game forever.
“Incredible continues to top DJ lists of favourite jungle bangers, still has that ability to titillate both aged and adolescent toes on sticky, rum-splattered dancefloors…”
Golden Hour with The General. Massive. Jamlink Sound along too.
Junglists assemble, for one Incredible parteeeeee.
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That’s almost everything – couple more to come later
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Lifetime Warranty
We guarantee we will continue to listen, fix things if they don’t work, not fix them if they do, and stay Golden.
Every ticket helps more than a dozen regional organisations do great things in the district. We are grateful to the wonderful people of the region, who so graciously help host Golden Plains and elder sibling, Meredith.
I hope to see you in The Sup’.
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