LIVE REVIEW: GOLDEN PLAINS EIGHTEEN MARCH 2026
Author: Laney Morgan
Photo Credit: Steve Benn
In his 2007 memoir Love is a Mix Tape, a homage to love, loss, and good fucking music, long-time music journalist Rob Sheffield speaks on the art of making a mix tape – or playlist, in our modern parlance.
He believes that when ‘you’re making a mix, you’re making history’, and that the best mix tapes do not have a cohesive theme or link, but instead present a melting pot of often contradictory genres and vibes and tones.
“You ransack the vaults, you haul off all the junk you can carry, and you rewire all your ill-gotten loot into something new,” Sheffield offers on the process of compiling a mixed tape.
A bubble and squeak in playlist form, if you will.
Songs that seem ill-suited together: that’s what makes a playlist shine and endure. Steely Dan followed by MF Doom, Wings next to The Tom Tom Club, Whitney Houston and Tool, or Herb Albert and the Tijuana Brass alongside The Durutti Column, Madonna next to Cameron Winter, served with a dollop of Yo La Tengo.
“A mix tape steals moments from all over the musical cosmos and splices them into a whole new groove,” Sheffield tells us.
“Every mix tape tells a story. Put them together, and they add up to the story of a life.”
This philosophy of music consumption is what I believe to be the magic of Golden Plains, and its aestival sister, Meredith.
We were served up a piping hot multi-genre smorgasbord at Golden Plains Eighteen; Basement Jaxx’s cacophony of early 2000s sound and energy next to Marlon William’s swoon-worthy croon plucked from a bygone epoch, and Smerz, the sultans of sultry and suave, offered as an a entree to the eventual nightcap of Frost Children, Skrillex-esque with a smattering of indie-emo sleaze. And this is just naming a few.
The Sup’s beloved Interstitial DJ also champions this approach to music consumption, and this year we were treated to the likes of Roxy Music, The The, Janet Jackson, and The Joubert Singers.
It’s almost as if each act and track that comes over the speakers represents a different festival patron, wherever they may hail from.
Saturday
The Smoking Ceremony and Welcome to Country that starts every festival in the Sup was predictably emotional and solemn, with speakers tearing up alongside patrons and many prescribing love, community and inclusivity as a coping method for consistently turbulent and unsettling times.
This connection to Country continued the following morning with Uncle Barry, who told the story of the Seven Sisters; “strong women and mountains we can move…our minds are not controlled by our bodies.” Uncle Barry peppered his storytelling with self-effacing quips, and the crowd was entertained, quiet and moved.
Smash-cutting back to Saturday, I unfortunately missed Nolesy’s Long Blink as I had to procure a beverage and my DIY mic.
Public Figures, fronted by Evie Vlah and Gigi Argiro, who you may know from the psychedelic groovers Sunfruits, kicked off just shy of 2pm as a welcome cool change drifted through the amphitheatre. Public Figures requested ‘queer freaks and people of colour to the front’ and left us with another strong emphasis on the importance of kindness and community.
Avant-garde champion Georgia Knight took to the stage, with yours truly happy to report that her rumoured significant other, Mr Marlon Williams, was watching on about 30 metres in front of me.
Donned in chic office-siren attire with a Joni Mitchell do framing her face, Georgia Knight respectfully shredded on an autoharp. With her vocals at times accompanied only by the autoharp and soft maracas, her movements were slow and considered giving an ethereal floating effect. Her whispering and soft lilt as she prefaced one song as ‘illegal, but lovely’ evoked similarities to Björk.
Georgia Knight’s set was a masterclass in fusing tech hardware from different eras and possibly one of the most captivating approaches to performing I have ever seen.
At one point, one of her band members fiddled with a radio to emit sound waves as a backdrop for her performance. As she approached her last song, Georgia brimmed with gratitude to the crowd and the festival, thrilled to be in love and be with us. She then sang via what seemed to be a circa 1970s landline that she rested between her neck and shoulder while continuing to serenade us on the autoharp. This gave the effect that she was one of our friends calling for a yarn about a crush on a school night; the final tune was dripping in happiness and hope, a similar quiet yet uplifting sound to Cat Power’s ‘Sea of Love.’
I was told upcoming rap underground star Sidney Philips was a smash, succeeded by a brief ‘Housekeeping’ allotment that made me realise Golden Plains’ status as an exemplar of event management; everything is accounted for and considered. Aunty would make a great bed and breakfast host.
A random passerby who spoke to my friend referred to Golden Plains as ‘the Punter’s Pitch Festival.’ Not only does the festival boast a cornucopia of food options for our gluten-free, Vegan, and FODMAP friends, and a Helper Hut HQ with every amenity you didn’t even realise you needed, but the commitment to sustainable waste management is the cherry on top. The festival is also anchored by a volunteer force equipped to help you with whatever you need, from bathroom locations to where to find a lost ID (author guilty).
Brooklyn duo Water from Your Eyes – one part of Sunday afternoon act This Is Lorelei – ascended to the stage looking like your cool high school classmates in a band. They were slick and powerful and punchy, criticising American foreign policy andcombining genres: the opening riff of ‘Life Signs’ bears similarities to Dead Kennedys’ ‘California Uber Alles,’ whereas ‘Playing Classics’ sounds like the soundtrack to strutting down a catwalk.
Obongjayar – Afrobeat, hip hop and funk extraordinaire – welcomed us to the evening, followed by the glittery and shimmering Norwegian duo Smerz. Dripping in cool and bathed in lurid red light, with a wind machine adding another layer of cinema, Smerz brought Big City Life to regional Australia.
Both Henriette and Catharina possessed siren qualities, enhanced by their whispery and breathy vocals, which meant at times I feared the crowd may have fallen into a sleepy trance. Although ‘Roll the dice’, ‘Feisty’, and ‘You got time and I got money’ received raucous applause, I was not as electrified by Smerz as I hoped to be. That being said, another charming aspect of Golden Plains and Meredith is that different patrons get different experiences based on the timing of acts, and while I am still a Smerz stan, they were perhaps too mellow for me from the rear of the Sup and at that time of day.
‘You got time and I got money’ is a beautiful love letter to courting and intimacy, detailing the gooeyness of wanting to share your world with someone for life or just one night, paired with a constant baseline and drums and sprinkled with a string interlude. ‘When I'm with you, I feel so patient / I wanna take you on vacation / Baby, can I see you naked?’
The reason I rushed headfirst armed with nothing but beer and tzatziki to Golden Plains came in the next act.
Marlon Williams has a voice like a glassy ocean surface. Alongside The Yarra Benders and Ngā Mātai Pūrua, he delivered one of the best live performances I have ever seen, a fever dream of colour and vibrancy and unwavering grins. Emerging long and lithe in a 1980s-era white Adidas tracksuit, Marlon was immediately both calm and joyous, informing us that it was hard to ‘sing about loneliness with you guys…at the best festival in the world.’ He performed ‘My Boy,’ ‘Party Boy’ and ‘Nobody Gets What They Want Anymore,’ before singing in Te reo Māori for the remainder of the set.
Marlon’s critically acclaimed album Te Whare Tīwekaweka, translating as ‘The Messy House’ in English, was released at a politically heavy time for Te reo Māori. Only last week, the right-wing populist party New Zealand First, who claim English as a language is under threat of obsolescence, amped up their campaign to pass the English Language Bill.
I was reminded of commentary from Kneecap’s eponymous film: “Every word of Irish spoken is a bullet fired for Irish freedom.” It was a pleasure to be in the Sup for Marlon Williams and an even greater honour to see Ngā Mātai Pūrua perform the Haka.
I decided to end my night on a high and hit the hay. I was told BadBadNotGood and Cut Copy nurtured the Sup’s collective appetite for nostalgia, while DJRum endured into the wee hours of the morning.
Sunday
I am glad I braved the 9am shower lines to catch Way Dynamic. Lead singer Dylan Young was joined by a six-person band and a person tucked away at the back of the stage cooking sausages on a portable camp stove. It has been a big year for Way Dynamic, touring with Waxachatee and MJ Lenderman and The Wind and riding the wave of Massive Shoe’srelease in August.
To me, Dylan’s voice is indistinguishable from Nick Drake’s, and he carries himself in a similar way: calm, considered and intentional with an almost storytelling manner of singing slightly nonsensical yet warm lyrics. ‘Love is the answer, or is it despair / Even those in prison get to plan their days / I see us flying to space in a massive shoe.’ ‘Ibiza’ turned the crowd bouncy and boppy; the cowbell-esque drumming and guitar of this track, paired with Dylan’s soft vocals, reminded me of ‘Psycho Killer’ by Talking Heads.
Queenslander Kee’Ahn was the perfect soulful soundtrack to the morning’s task of acquiring a coffee and a burrito and sitting on damp grass. The Gnomes, hailing from Frankston, AKA FunkyTown, generated a loyal band of merry followers donning red garden gnome hats. The Victorian locals were fun and energetic, throwing early Clash and rockabilly vibes.
This is Lorelei exuded Modern Baseball sounds, with Bring Back My Dog moving shoulders and hips alike; all fast drumming and a Bagdasarian Effect voice over (the effect used on the voice recordings of Alvin and the Chipmunks). Upchuck followed with a chest-thumping bass as the antidote to the mid-afternoon slump.
Derya Yildirim & Grup Şimşek delivered soulful and moody Anatolian psychedelic folk right when we needed it. Lead singer and bağlama (a seven-stringed Turkish lute) player Derya celebrated the ‘special light in the air’ at the festival. Derya admitted that although her offering to the Sup was technically a contemporary interpretation of Anatolian folk, she implored us to identify with the music no matter where we may be from. ‘It’s more than just Turkish music,’ she told us, revealing her rich heritage born in Hamburg to Turkish parents yet failing to connect to a German identity and way of life.
I missed Devaura for some necessary re-fuelling, yet arrived back in time to see a new favourite in Francois K. It was packed and hot, yet his mix, featuring James Brown’s ‘Soul Power,’ Hillbilly Afrika’s ‘The Bayara Citizens’, Talking Heads’ ‘Once in a Lifetime’, Wham!’s ‘Everything She Wants’ and Kate Bush’s ‘Running Up that Hill’ to name a few, was brilliant and perfectly timed.
All bodies moved, a jig did not go un-jigged, many hips didn’t lie, and a sway was not unswayed. It was a magical part of the weekend, complete with the sun emerging from behind the clouds and a hefty amount of soapy bubbles, which are fascinating no matter how old you are.
Jalen Ngonda conquered the Sup with the epitome of a soaring silky voice. I could listen to him read aloud a shopping list; even when speaking he had perfect pitch. We were also lucky enough to hear a track he released on Tuesday called ‘Doctorate of Love.’
The prolific cross-country genre Ty Segall followed Jalen, a tough act I am sure, yet the veteran rock star who boasts almost 20 albums was up to the task. His discography stretches genres to Pluto and back; from the heavy to the chill, with elements of early Led Zeppelin, The Black Keys, and a faraway 1970s prog rock sound also seen in the likes of Dick Stusso.
His immense talent as a guitarist was unmatched, and his consistency to have minimal breaks between songs was impressive; however, his set was an onslaught of relentless thrashing and bashing, albeit skilled, which slightly stunted the energy of the Sup. I left near the end of his set to seek refuge at The Pink Flamingo and in the energising powers of an espresso martini. Disappointingly, Ty did not play many tracks from Freedom’s Goblin, including ‘My Lady’s on Fire’ or his cover of Hot Chocolate’s ‘Everyone’s a Winner’.
Basement Jaxx has adorned house parties and movie soundtracks alike, from the timeless Bend it Like Beckham to Nickelodeon’s underrated animated classic Barnyard. Each ascend and drop unlocks a moment in adolescence, whether at a school disco or hungrily watching the aforementioned Bend it like Beckham and lamenting the fact that you do not possesseven a skerrick of athletic skill.
Basement Jaxx emerged from a 10 year hiatus into the loving arms of those in the Sup, and they were exactly how you wouldexpect. I was transported to a night club in Berlin in the mid 2000s via a riot of colour and light and a precisely executed production complete with ballerinas and acrobats. Shoes flew in the air and doof sticks rattled.
Crazy P followed, cloaked in purple light, and I am sure they were honouring the late and great Danielle Moore, former front-woman, who tragically died in 2024. Someone I spoke to in the Sup revealed that a Crazy P set they caught with Danielle before she died was one of the best live performances they had ever seen.
Sally C and OK Williams did not look out into the crowd and spot me, as I took to sleep in the middle of Crazy P when the effects of caffeine wore thin and my eyelids grew heavy with satisfaction. And the rest was silence, to paraphrase the Bard.
And that is a wrap for another year. Golden Plains’ 18th birthday party, like many turn-of-adulthood shindigs, featured tepid beer, drunken sways, reunions, existentialism, outfit crises, and a Father Figure reminding us to take care of each other, take care of ourselves, and keep a rain jacket handy, even if the forecast says otherwise.