Following MUSIC FEED’s recent coverage on the festival fuckwit, it’s appropriate to transcend word limits and traditional attention spans by bringing you another insight into his festival-filled fuckwit life. MALCOLM GURNPULL regrettably brings you up to date on his final adventures.
New festivals have sprung up left, right, and centre this year, much like fly-by-night gypsies and con men – they come and they go. A decent festival requires an unmistakable mix of decent acts, a place to shit in peace and a pacified crowd of misfits. Enter the festival fuckwit – the abuser of all of these facets of an otherwise solid day out. His job is to seemingly destroy any possibility of a good time – that’s his job. His CV often reads like a mini-rap sheet of drug cautions, public urination and glassing people in the Cross. No matter what the event – from the Cronulla riots to Field Day – he’ll be there.
1st January – The Domain:
Santogold, Roger Sanchez, Digitalism (live), Jamie Lidell (live), Boyz Noise, Trentemoller, Switch, A-Trak, Busy P, DJ Mehdi + more.
Following a night of perpetual chemical bliss, vomit, and loose women, the festival fuckwit embarks upon his New Year’s Resolution: get as wasted as possible in a heritage listed park in order to pick up several orange-coloured tarts. He might even use this ‘new’ outlook on life to catch a few douche bag local DJs along the way. The fuckwit’s day in chronological order reads like a Facebook wall post: DJ Mehdi, photos with random westie chicks, and a kick on (with subsequently munted photo shoot). On his journey he’ll manage to catch five minutes of every act – enough to spread his post-General Pants AIDS around faster than a Thai hooker.
DAYS LIKE THIS
4th January –
Fat Freddy’s Drop, Public Enemy, Morcheeba, Atmosphere feat Brother Ali, South Rakkas Crew, Katalyst, Flying Lotus, Platinum Pied Pipers + more.
Despite posing one of the most surprisingly credible line ups for any ‘viber’ festival this year, Days Like This is unfortunately sure to reel in a few festival fuckwits. Seeing its set at the Moore Park Entertainment Quarter, it’s likely the festival fuckwit may confuse the event for We Love Sounds or Gurnlife…or whatever these things are called. To a rude shock, he realises Days Like This is not only filled with substance abuse, but is also bursting to the brim with musical substance.
What should be a sweet afternoon joint at Flying Lotus can quickly turn sour. Confused by Lotus’ introduction of the track ‘Gang Bang’, the festival fuckwit presumes he is suddenly in the presence of the first black member of the Bang Gang crew of Douche Jockeys.
Atmosphere and Brother Ali pour their emotional and intelligent brand of underground hip hop all over an all adoring crowd (minus the festival fuckwit, whose inability to be a human leaves him on the verge of nervous breakdown). As the blurry mist of chronic encapsulates front man Slug, the festival fuckwit lingers over the barricade in order to vomit over the burly Lebanese security guard all too eager to get out of his way.
Platinum Pied Pipers are laying down some sensuous audio-pornography to a crowd who’s fallen in love with their smooth styles. Public Enemy drop a monstrous set of revolution starting shit to a 90% white middle-class suburban audience, who eat it up like lunchtime’s Dagwood Dog.
ALL TOMORROW’S PARTIES
17th & 18th January –
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, The Saints, Spiritualized, Fuck Buttons, Silver Apples, Michael Gira, The Necks, Bridezilla, Harmonia + more.
As the new indie kid on the block, All Tomorrow’s Parties will deem a new breed of festival fuckwit. Emerging from the 2AM hipster Oxford Street club lockouts, the indie festival fuckwit requires four things: a dim attitude on life, a pair of dark Ray Bans, a ‘crucially’ vintage band shirt, and a dumb Pete Doherty knockoff hat. He may also be packing a longneck in that brown-paper bag that seems to form but an extension of his pale and skinny arms. Eager to check out what’s been hyped by the indie medial, he decides to check out the Silver Apples, only to find out they’re not at all like the similarly named pill he’s just eaten.
Spiritualized sends him into a state of suspended animation, as psychedelic trippers are fading fast. Falling into a monster of a K hole, the festival fuckwit finds himself struggling to replicate the mind-boggling effects the band has on people. Ex-Swans’ leader Michael Gira sends the festival fuckwit into comedown-town, as Gira’s tales of depression, alcohol and prostitutes are all too much for him.
Seeing that by now your interest is as faded as the festival fuckwit’s jorts, and your attention slumped as low as his IQ, it’s time to wish you all good luck and safe tidings this summer… You know, just in case you make his acquaintance along the way…