Words and Photos by Tarah Westblade
As a festival freelancer, I’ve dealt with my fair share of wayward non-ticket holders, jumping the scrim in a standard wristband-free fashion. Yet in a complete, ‘do as I say, not as I do’ manner, I myself have hopped the metaphorical scrim from operations to attendance for ‘The 33rd Annual Meredith’.
Shockingly, having grown up just down the road, I was late to Meredith, a festival that bills itself as, ‘rarefied reverie for the midland massive’. After thirty-three successful years, its reputation needs no explanation. Ballot-bound hopefuls mark release dates to the calendar as an annual event unto itself. As a freelancer, I am curious. The perception of festival management is all fun, surely the product of gallery images shared to socials is the evidential proof. In truth, the unexpected surprises (good and bad), the late nights, the very-human bonding that keeps us coming back to work. I’m curious if ticketed attendance can provide that same connection.
The difficulty of pulling back on operations is usually adamant and obvious – yet, with Meredith the challenge of unintentionally observing perpetual festival challenges such as bar and toilet lines, overflowing bins and security response is quickly nullified. Pre-show ticket collection from the Meredith Memorial Hall is simple Name. Wristband. QR code for phone delivered directions. Multi-lane vehicle processing. Tick, tick, tick, tick. Traffic is swiftly guided, under 5km of course, to one of many campsites.
Having set up tents, the crowd descends from campgrounds to amphitheatre with eskies and couches in tow. Meredith’s aptly named Supernatural Amphitheatre is both atmospheric and subduing, somehow instilling simultaneous calm and electric. Perhaps this is most keenly observed with the official Welcome to Country. A respectful thrum of silence as Uncle Barry welcomes both the audience and a new bub to ‘gum leaf country’. The enthusiasm is intensified when Uncle Barry says, ‘You make me cry when I feel that energy back’. It’s a moment of shared community and storytelling, a theme which will continue into campsites.
Aunty Meredith, the omnipresent persona of the festival, keeps the intimacy and community focus comfortable with an admittance of no more than 12,500. The diversification of ambient sounds would suggest otherwise. Dr Sure’s Unusual Practice starts strong, wanting to abolish the police, Free Palestine and ensure no kids in jail. Drifting Clouds officially commence the good time vibes with the sexy sax of Bawuypawuy. Folk Bitch Trio soothes the audience with dulcet, crooned harmonies and fluttering guitar. Perfume Genius performs phenomenal flexibility both vocally and while on a revolving platform that has anyone over the age of 30 both impressed and reminded that a yoga mat is no longer a sleeping option while camping.
The electricity of attendees dancing their unique styles in disjointed rhythm, screaming favoured lyrics and smiling at strangers in shared experience is a special kind of magic that powers the Supernatural element of the Amphitheatre. Even the general level of people taking photos has seemingly been neglected, phones often left behind in tents. A lesson perhaps in ‘love it or lose it’ all too keenly learnt in a diminishing festival environment. We are here to live in the moment. It is the connection that reminds us we are human. It reminds us that we are a community.
Saturday only ups the joviality. The City of Ballarat Municipal Brass Band opens with disco favourites. While woken with thunderstorm warnings and smatterings of rain, Omar Souleyman dried out revellers with a frolic of contagious dabke that rallied bush-doof movement to full flux. Mouseatouille brings a nostalgic image of the adored high school band from youth, while Chet Faker brings the same nostalgia but from radio fame. Radio Free Alice brings the punk. RONA. tells us to Raise It and that, we do. Atarashii Gakko! are the J-Pop Demon Hunters of our dreams, creating a Meredith “Honmoon”. Super sweet harmonies give way to screaming energy and cutting choreography. The Meredith Sky Show brings an awed silence.
Driven to musical distraction, freelancer-me only casually notes the toilets being cleaned with a task force team. Between loo vacancies, volunteers pounce with military precision. One with mop, one with paper, one with spray. It is well known in festival world that an event cannot run without volunteers. Crunch the numbers – it’s not feasible. But these vollies may be the happiest witnessed. Aligned to the same energy of the vollies empowering communities through the fundraising in the Tucker Tent, or checking vehicles at entry, the community spirit is consistent from dancefloor to dunny drop.
Walking amongst the crowd, silly traditions play out, always respecting the, ‘No Dickhead’ policy engrained with general repeat returners and the newly initiated. A cob loaf is kicked hacky-sack style with friends, the masses cheer loudly for the sunset, strangers bond over talks of river diversity and sustainability improvements, costumed aliens from Toy Story introduce themselves to new friends with their own manually-operated Claw doof-stick, friends run excitedly hand-in-hand to their favourite artist. In a time where it often feels everyone is the main character, Meredith kindly pulls us back to the essence of humanity: community.
As many an air mattress has breathed the last exhausted exhale on Sunday, the dedicated make their way to Master Song Tai Chi. Others grumble at the 9:00 AM daily education on the emergency warning sounds (just in case), having wrapped up their night with WAX’O PARADISO at 7:00 AM. Soul-felt harmonies of the Central Australian Aboriginal Women’s Choir have the masses in tears. Meredith is a place of raw beauty, not just a reference to the natural environment but also in the form of the other race that stops a nation, The Meredith Gift. The annual (nude) run, hilariously commentated by drag queen, Lazy Susan.
In truth, the unexpected surprises, the late nights, the very-human bonding are not all that different from behind-the-scenes operations. Meredith is a delectable delicacy that is emphasised as, ‘come as you are, not what you’re expected to be’. In that, Aunty Meredith was correct in her ‘rarefied’ definition. The event is distant from the lives and concerns of ordinary people; it is esoteric. More so than that, the landscape fosters the time we rarely have to share, the communications we don’t always voice and the connection we are all so often seeking. My curiosity is informed, though I would hazard a guess and suggest not satiated. Meredith, see you at 34th!
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Tarah Westblade is a multi-decaded festival freelancer who has in recent years has dabbled more frequently in the attendance of festivals rather than behind-the-scenes operations.
