Start to finish, baby. Critic Te Ārohi set off to review Southern Sounds from 2pm to 10pm – the full ride. This review was collated from a series of voice memos, videos, photos, and interviews with the few punters we convinced to speak to us.
“Buckle up Dunners,” warns Audiology Touring and Distorted. “The biggest outdoor festie of the year is back.”
The day begins at 10am when the Critic Te Ārohi crew drop off our couch for interviews later in the day. The staff are more than friendly, and I remark to the rest of the group that I’m really enjoying the cyber-purple aesthetic they’re using across the stages. Things are looking great: the sun is shining and we have a fantastic day ahead of us. A certified Dave – the kind where it would be rude not to day drink.
As most festival-goers take advantage of the rays and follow the advice of Th’ Dudes – drinking themselves more bliss, forgetting about the last one and getting themselves another – I rope my friends into arriving at the venue bang on time. Situated in Logan Park, we can’t have been the only ones getting flashbacks to Baseline Festival as we walk across the green.
Necking back the last of our drinks, I say that if I had one word to describe the festival looming ahead of us it would be “scary”. “It’s kinda a crazy level of loud,” I explain, listening to the blend of operatic singing from local band Ivy from one stage mixed with the DnB of another. “It feels way too early in the day to be listening to things at this volume.”
Entry into the festival is pretty cruisy given that at this point it’s just us and a handful of other students, a hippie-looking older guy dancing by himself, and other artists there to soak up the vibes before their own sets. Security are welcoming but undergo bag and outfit checks with a Border Patrol level of scrutiny. Several people reluctantly toss mini Smirnoff vodka or are told to either pour out or finish liquids being taken in (there’s a water station inside). One of us even has our TNT lollies taken – security is taking no risks.
Southern Sounds is ambitious, with a spread of talent across three different stages: a smaller techno/DnB stage (flanked by a giant pink inflatable duck that says, “I am a fake duck… fuck,” and a goat saying, “Don’t touch me I’m horny”), a main stage for the larger acts including the likes of Cruze Control and Hot Sauce Club, and a George FM ‘silent disco’ stage for house music boasting 200 headphone sets. We wonder if the headphones will be “impractical”. Time will tell.
Meanwhile, the Critic couch is popping off at the silent disco. In-between turf wars over the couch between staff and sticky-fingered festival-goers who attempt moving it into the disco tent, the crew secures exclusive interviews with Ivy, Cruze Control and Hot Sauce Club. Other than our fave pint-night bands, UK acts Notion and Metrik are scheduled to headline later in the evening with the support of smaller acts such as Radio One DJ contest winner Roo.
While my peers park up on the couch and ask everyone what their favourite fruit burst flavour is, I continue on. Mine’s orange, thanks for asking. It’s 4:36pm, two and a half hours into the festival and it seems people are taking “fashionably late” to heart. We’re still able to walk around without brushing shoulders with anyone and the bacon buttie truck doesn’t have a line – no complaints there. Perhaps this is the issue with three stages: spreading people across that much space runs the risk of not creating that hype-dance environment that comes with a packed crowd. But as the sun begins to dip, there’s sure to be a crowd coming. We agree on getting some more drinks to really get the party buzz going.
As we get increasingly drunk and the sky begins to darken, we ditch our cover of girl-next-door beezies and start yapping to everyone for a quote: “We’re from Critic. Can we interview you?” Despite being rudely rejected by the first couple of people, we get a rapport going with festival-goers Roz and Emma. On how they reckon Southern Sounds shapes up against older brother Baseline, they say with belated diplomacy: “Southern Sounds is so much better. I love Baseline and Southern Sounds.” In the middle of the mosh, Zach tells us that Southern Sounds is “way better” and a bunch of other inaudible gibberish. His friend Dixie comments, “So far, I’ve found the vibes have already been better. [...] The vibes are up. I love it here – I love it here. You’ll see me here next year and the year after.” She swans off, presumably to tell her mates how much she loves them, too.
We inevitably have to elbow our way out of the crowd on a porta-loo mish. Despite my original support for them over the inclusion of a larger disabled loo, the enthusiasm dampens when we’re forced to queue ten minutes for a piss. But luckily there’s nothing girls on the piss love more than a bathroom yap – and that’s exactly what we do. A girl in the line, Molly, echoes our complaints: “It is an absolute disaster. Everybody is yelling at each other about banging on doors. Nobody is happy. There is not enough porta-loos for everyone here.”
Whispers along the line of punters looking to break the seal report that it extends far past the entry railings. Seems like the loos themselves aren’t the only thing that's backed up. Some also complain of waiting in the main entrance line for about an hour (though we all know time gets a little weird when you’re drunk and/or on other things). Emma, a keen mosher, tells us that someone shouted “dominoes!” at one point causing half the main stage crowd to fall over. Even the line to the sneaker-squeaking silent disco seemed to be pumping at this point. Perhaps the headphones aren't as impractical as we’d originally thought.
We begin to tire at about 8:30pm and look for a place to rest. To our new friend Molly’s complete horror: “There is nowhere to sit, unless you want to sit on the muddy ground.” The grass beneath the iconic Red Bull festival tent that had provided a shady spot to sit during the day has turned into a complete mud pit. Between a lack of picnic tables for seating, no coat check and no drug testing (despite a sea of heavily dilated pupils) Southern Sounds seemed, at this point, to be fighting an uphill battle. The mosh is becoming incredibly pushy, with those more scantily dressed relying on close proximity to others for heat.
All in all, Southern Sounds was a whole lot of fun. Featuring a similar amount of gear to Bunnings, Mitre 10, and Hunting & Fishing combined, people seemed to really rate it. Despite being a little bit muddy and making me feel pretty old as a third-year (there was definitely a high fresher presence) it was a great way to spend a sunny Saturday and immerse ourselves in everything Dunedin student culture has to offer. Catch you next year, Southern Sounds.