I have actively chosen not to attend Big Day Out since 2011 for fear of ruining the greatest musical experience of my short life. I was 19, naïve and one hundred percent floored at sharing a stage with Iggy and the Stooges. Surely there is some sort of law against loving a man leathery enough to be a jacket? Whatever, I really didn’t care as the crowd stormed the stage during Lust for Life.

Three years later and I find my feet under new turf with the move from the Gold Coast Parklands to Metricon Stadium totally paying off. The layout was straight forward and the only glitch I had was wandering into a tent I assumed was the press lounge and coming face to face with a bearded dude that was either from Grouplove or Tame Impala (who knows, they all look like Charles Manson to me)

Local presence was strong with DZ Deathrays, The Belligerents and The Jungle Giants playing to a hometown crowd. Due to a slight hiccup (i.e. my poor navigation skills) I missed all three but sources tell me the early birds were young, fervent and down to dance at the headspace stage for local lads The Belligerents.

With the mercury rising, I hit Metricon Stadium aka ‘The Met’ (you know how it is, gotta keep up with the kids slang) and started off the day by catching the end of a boogie worthy set from chillwave mastermind Toro Y Moi (real name Chaz Bundick) and his four piece who I think were a little under appreciated and played way too early in the day!

My next priority was obviously fuel in the form of cider and from the bar I heard the familiar vocals of that band from the radio. A much older and clearly trendier lady told me they were naked and famous? Wait no; she said they were THE Naked and Famous. With vocals as clear as day and a tight and technical set by the Auckland based five-piece, they pretty much sounded like they were playing on the radio.

As the crowd was flooded by a mass of rainbow prints and engulfed in a cloud of smoke, the nonchalant dudes of Tame Impala took to the stage. Opening with Mind Mischief, the psychedelic rockers had the audience in a daze during stoner rhythm classics like Half Full and Desire Be and drove them wild during their latest hit, Elephant. Despite the blistering sun, lead man Kevin Parker led Impala in playing one the best sets I’ve seen from them yet.

Over at Grouplove, I manage to catch the beginning of crowd pleaser ‘Itchin on a Photograph’. I had never really warmed to their tunes but after a surprising set, it seems that they pretty much embody all the traits of a great festival band – catchy tunes, good vibes and positive crowd banter, with the added bonus of them asking everyone to put down their phones down. (Watching a great performance through the tiny screen of the idiots phone in front of you is not what I call a good day out)

Unfortunately for me, I decided to stick around for Mac Miller who I’d thought was pretty funny once on some MTV skate show. Don’t always trust your first instincts. I missed his grand entrance while on a loo break and came back to ten minutes worth of mockery from his sexist hype man before I realised it was Mr Miller himself attempting some form of auto tune spoken word hip hop – maybe a new genre I haven’t caught on to yet…

A surprising set came next in the form of The Hives, with lead vocalist Pelle Almqvist entertaining the crowd with what you could call a cocky Scandinavian charm. Almqvist’ devotion to entertaining the masses saw him sweating his 3-piece suit through before quoting a line from “Famous American poet Nelly” by declaring “It’s getting hot in here” before launching into their most well known song ‘Hate to Say I Told You So’.

I bounced from The Lumineers, who seemed to have just missed the end of the roots revival of the past few years and played to a strong yet quiet tent, onto CSS, who with leading lady Lovefoxxx, did not disappoint. Alas, I made a heart wrenching decision and left ten minutes into their set, missing my favourite tune ‘Lets Make Love and Listen to Death From Above’. I made the dash across the grounds and found the perfect spot in a surprisingly empty stadium as the sun began to set.

Enter Arcade Fire. It was my first AF experience and hopefully my last, as like Pop and the Stooges, I feel as if it can never be outdone. Playing a full set with well over an hour’s worth of new and old tunes (including new hit Refkletor and old favourites ‘Rebellion (Lies) and Wake Up) lead singer Win Butler and his too-many-to-count piece band gave all they had and it was all over too fast, in a blur of hypnotic mirrors, Kenzo eye print pants (fashionistas ammirite?) and glowing confetti,

I was completely and utterly ready to collapse in the surprisingly comfortable stadium seats (kudos ‘The Met’) before I realised I’m a twenty something PYT on my annual night on the town and I’m ready to partay so I hit the aptly named Boiler Room.

When Flume (aka wunderkind Harley Streten) drops the bass, you know he’s droppin’ panties too. The only thing more over whelming than his ‘sick beats’ were the amount of young sweaty girls using the tent poles as what I like to call personal dancing sticks for fear of being distasteful. I left before my weird cat-motherly instincts kicked in and restrained myself from snapping their legs closed on the way out.

Every cat lady needs a DoggyDogg in her life and my moment had come when King Snoop hit the stage. How does a Dogg (or rather Lion) who is notorious for degrading women make me feel more empowered than an afternoon with Kathleen Hanna? He knocked out most of the classics, including Gin and Juice and Drop It Like It’s Hot, squeezed in an ode to Biggie and Tupac and had me grinding on air, according to my pal who watched on, frozen in horror. A change of scene was definitely due so we bounced back to the main stage where true 90s rock had crawled out of hibernation for the legend that is Pearl Jam.

I’ve always thought of myself as a pretty knowledgeable gal when it comes to pre noughties music but my parents would probably disown me if they knew that I could honestly not name a single Pearl Jam song. Maybe it would impress them if they knew I could sing in broken lyrics to that song where they’re still alive or something?

Despite the fact that I was surrounded by loyal Jam fans (including champion surfer Mick Fanning) and they pretty much loathed me for trying to sing along, there was a mutual appreciation amongst all for the personal performance that Vedder gave as a musician, one that gave a bit of perspective on a pretty wild and wonderful day.

As much as I banter on about seas of fake tan, butt cleavage and general underage anarchy, I can happily declare that Big Day Out is once again back on the cards, prompted by the sliver of euphoria inducing confetti that fell out of my dress as I was crawling in to bed.

Photography by Tom Oliver

Words by Leila Amirparviz