Why bring flags when you can just sell drugs - Big Day Out 07 Part 1
It’s at least one and a half hours after the fact now. There is a serious premise to this story, namely that of one man’s Big Day Out. There were about 60,000 other people who will have their own completely unique stories. Some stories will be similar, many will not. Some will share parts of the story that is my story and some played a unique role in ensuring this story.
Right now, I’m completely overwhelmed with the task at hand – documenting the 12 hour mayhem that is the carnage of the BDO. I have to admit, I’m feeling extremely negative about this project and part of that has to do with the quality of my note-taking during the day.
My pages of notes range from meaningless to indecipherable. Quality of handwriting, detail and general note-taking is completely dependent on a number of factors, including
1) my general state of mind at the time,
2) my environment, which was often squashed mosh-pits, and
3) general surroundings, which included the people I was writing about.
Combining points 1) and 3) and giving an example from the day, let’s imagine that I wanted to document the grotesque couple standing next to me who were clearly experimenting with mind altering drugs and who were consequently doing what is known in the trade as “getting onto each other”, clearly a sickening, disgusting act. Now, bearing in mind that my brain was in a marijuana-induced paranoia frenzy and that for all intents and purposes in my head, they were reading every word that I was writing as well as the unwritten ones. You can imagine, my note-taking became slightly less accurate.
Wait a minute, note taking? How did that happen?
I’ve been meaning to document a BDO for quite some time now. The sheer volume of people of all shapes and sizes, the colour exploding in conjunction with a cacophony of noise… the parts of the day that pictures and film cannot possibly begin to capture. The dark corners of a back-street that few will ever wander down.
This story starts at the International Human Rights tent.
Well, not really. My note-taking started at the International Human Rights tent. I think it’s fair to say that a BDO is one of few occasions that I will converse with people who actively work for International Human Rights. The rest of us, myself included, are content to do our bit by generally not breaching any Human Rights. Only a few will actually go so far as to become active in such an organisation. Why is this? Are the majority deluded into thinking it’s not important? Are the minority deluded into thinking that they’re actually making a difference?
Who could say?
The point is, I needed a pen and paper if I was to go about documenting my day. Some authors would say you don’t need even that. I know of stories where a writer only had a pen and ended up scribbling his notes all over his body. Every limb was covered – arms, legs, torso, nether regions.
But I digress, yet again. I feel like this won’t be the last time I do that.
The point is, for a gold coin donation, I managed to obtain a pen from the International Human Rights tent. I further managed to avoid signing their petition. I’m happy to support International Human Rights, but apparently not so much as to put my name towards them. Who knows what dodgy schemes I’d be petitioning in favour of?
My notes were written on any piece of paper I could gather my hands on. As I sit here trying to decipher my illegible handwriting, I count no less than 7 sheets of paper – 1 concert programme, 2 notepad sheets ripped out of a notebook, 1 pink post-it note, 1 restaurant pad, 1 raffle ticket and the receipt to my BDO ticket. Not to mention the text messages I sent myself when I ran out of paper.
The worst sheet to write on was actually the largest sheet of paper, mostly because it happened to also be the copy of the programme. Not a smart idea, taking notes on a programme. Especially when people are constantly asking to borrow the programme so they can see what band’s up next. You never know where your notes will end up. All you can guarantee is that the sheet will have crease marks over words that are key to the structure and meaning of the sentences that you have jotted down, scrapping any message or story you wanted to capture and condemning them to the pits of writing hell.
Evermore – Main Stage – about 2:30pm
My first sight at the BDO could not have been more symbolic or appropriate.
A teenage girl, probably about 16, although maybe I’m being generous. Barely clad in an Australian flag bikini, with a matching temporary tattoo on her stomach. She was heavily armed, with a UDL in one hand and her mobile phone flailing about in the other as she attempted to sing the words of her current favourite song to an unfortunate friend who either didn’t have enough money or didn’t get their act together quickly enough to attend the day.
BDO is a mecca for many people, no doubt the highlight of the year. For some reason, the music festival scene has over the last few years been attracting young, generic tourists – people intent on capturing the moment on behalf of others, at the cost of what would seemingly be their own personal enjoyment. Except, enjoyment is clearly obtained by the mere presence at a festival such as BDO. Experiencing the moment is secondary, the main priority being establishing one’s presence at the enent.
I fear for concertgoers of the future. Rock and roll is dead. Not the music – that’s alive and well, but the attitude that came with rock and roll. The lifestyle. People tend to forget the reason why music takes on so much significance – that is, the relevance of various forms of music to the social surroundings of the day. Rock and roll embodied a lifestyle that began with rebellion. Modern day rock and roll encourages conformity and is continually blighted by thousands of youngsters who have lost the rebellious streak and come to a rock concert to … behave.
I feel like I’ve started to lose the plot here a bit. I had several points I wanted to make in that last paragraph and they’ve all jumbled together. I’ve also just noticed that the “last paragraph” I’m referring to was actually 3 paragraphs ago. I’m rambling.
OK, I’ll start with my first point. The overwhelming presence of Australian flags.
I really have to congratulate Ken West on this one. Paris Hilton wearing an Aussie flag would not have created the fuss that the BDO organisers managed to, ensuring that the number one worn item of the day was some form of Australian flag.
I could never have written this story without at least paying mention to the controversy that unrolled over this BDO. It’s funny to think how the fashion statement of the day stemmed from a race-oriented brawl at a beach in Cronulla in December 2005.
It’s true, at last year’s BDO, there were racial tensions between Aussies (white people) and Men of Middle Eastern Appearance (MOMEAs). For this reason, the organisers decided that they didn’t want people appearing with Australian flags, because they were said to incite racial violence. The theory being – ban the flag, prevent the incitement.
Incitement, which was small in comparison to the nationalistic fervour incited when news of the ban arose.
The stupidity was mind numbing. Surely, the organisers weren’t attempting to control the behaviours of an alternative, rock and roll audience, which, although it has lost its rebellious streak, is still cheeky enough to treat any orders with the disrespect they deserve.
I wonder if the organisers of the BDO bought shares in a flag production company before kicking off the controversy. Australian flags dominated the day, appearing in every form imaginable. T-shirts, tattoos, headbands, bikinis, ‘We’re number 1’ giant inflatable hands, there must have been more flags than people at the BDO.
Before yesterday, the Australian flag at the BDO was a fledgling tradition. Now, it’s an institution. It’s gone mainstream.
Flags aren’t the only thing to have gone mainstream. The mandatory tennis team has arrived in uniform and I’m sure they won’t be alone today. Forget attempting to stand out as an individual – this festival is full of freaks. The only way to truly stand out is to make it a team effort and the tennis team has not disappointed. White headbands, white polo shirts, each one 1 size too small, which shorts matching in both size and colour, calf length white socks and white tennis sneakers. Are they enjoying the music? I can’t tell for sure, but I can guarantee that they’re enjoying their experience.
Let’s get back to the music. Evermore are belting out a cover of “Stand By Me”, a brave move for any band looking to establish itself as one of credibility. They seem to be doing OK, with their unique brand of slightly whiney Urban pop-rock. It makes for easy listening and at worst is inoffensive. At best, they have the potential to grab an audience and hold on to them for dear life.
Scribe – Main Stage –2:45pm
TRANSITION!
A massive human wave brushes past me. Exodus, as far as the eye can see. The design of the main stage is key to this flow of bodies, mostly because the main stage is not one stage, but two. Bands alternate from stage to stage and the resulting changes throughout the day create a ripple effect that seems more like the largest tennis match in history, with the mass of thousands of people playing the role of the ball flying back and forth.
Hip-hop largely originated from the poorer suburbs of New York, where poverty and an oppressed lifestyle, coupled with the relative affordability (when compared to musical instruments and amplifiers) of turntables (formerly known as record players) and records, bred and nurtured a generation of inspired people who improvised over pre-existing songs with spoken word.
Scribe has launched into his set of New Zealand brand hip-hop. White Australian kids throb from side to side, making gangsta symbols with their hands.
Truly, this crowd is the globalised generation.
Wishing to explore further, I undergo the difficult process of untangling myself from the web of people and extracting myself from the stadium that encompasses the main stage arena.
JESUS!! A giant monsterous contraption appears out of nowhere, spurting forth indecipherable phrases. Why is this thing here? Is its sole purpose to freak out the stoners? Did someone plan in advance to have obstacles dotted throughout the event grounds to slow the stoners down? Or is this just more paranoid thought?
Move, move, gotta keep moving. There are people everywhere, massive queues of people lining up. To my right, I see a massive queue lined up next to the dance arena, or the Boiler Room as it is so appropriately named. What are all of these tortured souls lining up for? Access to music? Hopefully not. At a music festival, the one thing that should be accessible at all times to all folks is music. Queuing up for music at a music festival must be a sign of the end of our society as we know it.
I walk past the queue in despair, knowing that when I get to the front, an abrupt U-turn will shortly follow. As I get to the front, I quickly realise that the queue was for absolutely nothing. Incredible! An exercise in conformity, an imaginary bucket of gold at the end of a fool’s rainbow.
Wait a minute! Where are my friends?
This is probably a good point to introduce Boogie and Diana. My partners in crime for the morning and early part of the day, Boogie and Diana are built for this festival. Boogie is full of insight as we walk through this thronging mass and his efforts from the morning are largely responsible for my current state of mind. Diana, meanwhile, is highly personable and excitable at all times. Her most striking features are surely her big brown eyes, which constantly take in the world around her in awe. Certainly, I have been blessed for the day with this choice of accomplices.
Crowds are captivating, that much is certain. Cafes in Europe place all of their seats facing the street, with none facing towards the restaurant. This makes absolute sense – the highlight of going our in Europe is seeing what everyone else is up to. People are beautiful and dress sense is eccentric.
Even an amateur people-watcher such as myself, or perhaps due to my amateurish people-watching skills, I’m constantly distracted as I walk through the mob. Chaos rules supreme, with people of every flavour moving in every possible direction. Focus is an expensive commodity and mine trails at the best of times.
Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, I lost Boogie and Diana at this point. I thought for a minute that they were standing next to me. Then I realised that I’d actually lost them. Then I thought I saw someone who looked like Diana, so I started chasing after her on what turned out to be a wild goose chase. I looked left, no sign of her signature green t-shirt, or Boogie’s black and white stripes for that matter. Nor behind me. And I was sure that they hadn’t gotten that far ahead of me. At least, I thought I was sure.
A thought which was soon proven correct, as I noticed the pair of them standing just to my right, scouring the crowd for me. The throng of the Big Day Out human traffic cannot be described in a word other than carnage.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Right now, I’m completely overwhelmed with the task at hand – documenting the 12 hour mayhem that is the carnage of the BDO. I have to admit, I’m feeling extremely negative about this project and part of that has to do with the quality of my note-taking during the day.
My pages of notes range from meaningless to indecipherable. Quality of handwriting, detail and general note-taking is completely dependent on a number of factors, including
1) my general state of mind at the time,
2) my environment, which was often squashed mosh-pits, and
3) general surroundings, which included the people I was writing about.
Combining points 1) and 3) and giving an example from the day, let’s imagine that I wanted to document the grotesque couple standing next to me who were clearly experimenting with mind altering drugs and who were consequently doing what is known in the trade as “getting onto each other”, clearly a sickening, disgusting act. Now, bearing in mind that my brain was in a marijuana-induced paranoia frenzy and that for all intents and purposes in my head, they were reading every word that I was writing as well as the unwritten ones. You can imagine, my note-taking became slightly less accurate.
Wait a minute, note taking? How did that happen?
I’ve been meaning to document a BDO for quite some time now. The sheer volume of people of all shapes and sizes, the colour exploding in conjunction with a cacophony of noise… the parts of the day that pictures and film cannot possibly begin to capture. The dark corners of a back-street that few will ever wander down.
This story starts at the International Human Rights tent.
Well, not really. My note-taking started at the International Human Rights tent. I think it’s fair to say that a BDO is one of few occasions that I will converse with people who actively work for International Human Rights. The rest of us, myself included, are content to do our bit by generally not breaching any Human Rights. Only a few will actually go so far as to become active in such an organisation. Why is this? Are the majority deluded into thinking it’s not important? Are the minority deluded into thinking that they’re actually making a difference?
Who could say?
The point is, I needed a pen and paper if I was to go about documenting my day. Some authors would say you don’t need even that. I know of stories where a writer only had a pen and ended up scribbling his notes all over his body. Every limb was covered – arms, legs, torso, nether regions.
But I digress, yet again. I feel like this won’t be the last time I do that.
The point is, for a gold coin donation, I managed to obtain a pen from the International Human Rights tent. I further managed to avoid signing their petition. I’m happy to support International Human Rights, but apparently not so much as to put my name towards them. Who knows what dodgy schemes I’d be petitioning in favour of?
My notes were written on any piece of paper I could gather my hands on. As I sit here trying to decipher my illegible handwriting, I count no less than 7 sheets of paper – 1 concert programme, 2 notepad sheets ripped out of a notebook, 1 pink post-it note, 1 restaurant pad, 1 raffle ticket and the receipt to my BDO ticket. Not to mention the text messages I sent myself when I ran out of paper.
The worst sheet to write on was actually the largest sheet of paper, mostly because it happened to also be the copy of the programme. Not a smart idea, taking notes on a programme. Especially when people are constantly asking to borrow the programme so they can see what band’s up next. You never know where your notes will end up. All you can guarantee is that the sheet will have crease marks over words that are key to the structure and meaning of the sentences that you have jotted down, scrapping any message or story you wanted to capture and condemning them to the pits of writing hell.
Evermore – Main Stage – about 2:30pm
My first sight at the BDO could not have been more symbolic or appropriate.
A teenage girl, probably about 16, although maybe I’m being generous. Barely clad in an Australian flag bikini, with a matching temporary tattoo on her stomach. She was heavily armed, with a UDL in one hand and her mobile phone flailing about in the other as she attempted to sing the words of her current favourite song to an unfortunate friend who either didn’t have enough money or didn’t get their act together quickly enough to attend the day.
BDO is a mecca for many people, no doubt the highlight of the year. For some reason, the music festival scene has over the last few years been attracting young, generic tourists – people intent on capturing the moment on behalf of others, at the cost of what would seemingly be their own personal enjoyment. Except, enjoyment is clearly obtained by the mere presence at a festival such as BDO. Experiencing the moment is secondary, the main priority being establishing one’s presence at the enent.
I fear for concertgoers of the future. Rock and roll is dead. Not the music – that’s alive and well, but the attitude that came with rock and roll. The lifestyle. People tend to forget the reason why music takes on so much significance – that is, the relevance of various forms of music to the social surroundings of the day. Rock and roll embodied a lifestyle that began with rebellion. Modern day rock and roll encourages conformity and is continually blighted by thousands of youngsters who have lost the rebellious streak and come to a rock concert to … behave.
I feel like I’ve started to lose the plot here a bit. I had several points I wanted to make in that last paragraph and they’ve all jumbled together. I’ve also just noticed that the “last paragraph” I’m referring to was actually 3 paragraphs ago. I’m rambling.
OK, I’ll start with my first point. The overwhelming presence of Australian flags.
I really have to congratulate Ken West on this one. Paris Hilton wearing an Aussie flag would not have created the fuss that the BDO organisers managed to, ensuring that the number one worn item of the day was some form of Australian flag.
I could never have written this story without at least paying mention to the controversy that unrolled over this BDO. It’s funny to think how the fashion statement of the day stemmed from a race-oriented brawl at a beach in Cronulla in December 2005.
It’s true, at last year’s BDO, there were racial tensions between Aussies (white people) and Men of Middle Eastern Appearance (MOMEAs). For this reason, the organisers decided that they didn’t want people appearing with Australian flags, because they were said to incite racial violence. The theory being – ban the flag, prevent the incitement.
Incitement, which was small in comparison to the nationalistic fervour incited when news of the ban arose.
The stupidity was mind numbing. Surely, the organisers weren’t attempting to control the behaviours of an alternative, rock and roll audience, which, although it has lost its rebellious streak, is still cheeky enough to treat any orders with the disrespect they deserve.
I wonder if the organisers of the BDO bought shares in a flag production company before kicking off the controversy. Australian flags dominated the day, appearing in every form imaginable. T-shirts, tattoos, headbands, bikinis, ‘We’re number 1’ giant inflatable hands, there must have been more flags than people at the BDO.
Before yesterday, the Australian flag at the BDO was a fledgling tradition. Now, it’s an institution. It’s gone mainstream.
Flags aren’t the only thing to have gone mainstream. The mandatory tennis team has arrived in uniform and I’m sure they won’t be alone today. Forget attempting to stand out as an individual – this festival is full of freaks. The only way to truly stand out is to make it a team effort and the tennis team has not disappointed. White headbands, white polo shirts, each one 1 size too small, which shorts matching in both size and colour, calf length white socks and white tennis sneakers. Are they enjoying the music? I can’t tell for sure, but I can guarantee that they’re enjoying their experience.
Let’s get back to the music. Evermore are belting out a cover of “Stand By Me”, a brave move for any band looking to establish itself as one of credibility. They seem to be doing OK, with their unique brand of slightly whiney Urban pop-rock. It makes for easy listening and at worst is inoffensive. At best, they have the potential to grab an audience and hold on to them for dear life.
Scribe – Main Stage –2:45pm
TRANSITION!
A massive human wave brushes past me. Exodus, as far as the eye can see. The design of the main stage is key to this flow of bodies, mostly because the main stage is not one stage, but two. Bands alternate from stage to stage and the resulting changes throughout the day create a ripple effect that seems more like the largest tennis match in history, with the mass of thousands of people playing the role of the ball flying back and forth.
Hip-hop largely originated from the poorer suburbs of New York, where poverty and an oppressed lifestyle, coupled with the relative affordability (when compared to musical instruments and amplifiers) of turntables (formerly known as record players) and records, bred and nurtured a generation of inspired people who improvised over pre-existing songs with spoken word.
Scribe has launched into his set of New Zealand brand hip-hop. White Australian kids throb from side to side, making gangsta symbols with their hands.
Truly, this crowd is the globalised generation.
Wishing to explore further, I undergo the difficult process of untangling myself from the web of people and extracting myself from the stadium that encompasses the main stage arena.
JESUS!! A giant monsterous contraption appears out of nowhere, spurting forth indecipherable phrases. Why is this thing here? Is its sole purpose to freak out the stoners? Did someone plan in advance to have obstacles dotted throughout the event grounds to slow the stoners down? Or is this just more paranoid thought?
Move, move, gotta keep moving. There are people everywhere, massive queues of people lining up. To my right, I see a massive queue lined up next to the dance arena, or the Boiler Room as it is so appropriately named. What are all of these tortured souls lining up for? Access to music? Hopefully not. At a music festival, the one thing that should be accessible at all times to all folks is music. Queuing up for music at a music festival must be a sign of the end of our society as we know it.
I walk past the queue in despair, knowing that when I get to the front, an abrupt U-turn will shortly follow. As I get to the front, I quickly realise that the queue was for absolutely nothing. Incredible! An exercise in conformity, an imaginary bucket of gold at the end of a fool’s rainbow.
Wait a minute! Where are my friends?
This is probably a good point to introduce Boogie and Diana. My partners in crime for the morning and early part of the day, Boogie and Diana are built for this festival. Boogie is full of insight as we walk through this thronging mass and his efforts from the morning are largely responsible for my current state of mind. Diana, meanwhile, is highly personable and excitable at all times. Her most striking features are surely her big brown eyes, which constantly take in the world around her in awe. Certainly, I have been blessed for the day with this choice of accomplices.
Crowds are captivating, that much is certain. Cafes in Europe place all of their seats facing the street, with none facing towards the restaurant. This makes absolute sense – the highlight of going our in Europe is seeing what everyone else is up to. People are beautiful and dress sense is eccentric.
Even an amateur people-watcher such as myself, or perhaps due to my amateurish people-watching skills, I’m constantly distracted as I walk through the mob. Chaos rules supreme, with people of every flavour moving in every possible direction. Focus is an expensive commodity and mine trails at the best of times.
Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, I lost Boogie and Diana at this point. I thought for a minute that they were standing next to me. Then I realised that I’d actually lost them. Then I thought I saw someone who looked like Diana, so I started chasing after her on what turned out to be a wild goose chase. I looked left, no sign of her signature green t-shirt, or Boogie’s black and white stripes for that matter. Nor behind me. And I was sure that they hadn’t gotten that far ahead of me. At least, I thought I was sure.
A thought which was soon proven correct, as I noticed the pair of them standing just to my right, scouring the crowd for me. The throng of the Big Day Out human traffic cannot be described in a word other than carnage.
TO BE CONTINUED...
posted by The Groin at 4:33 pm
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