By James Adams
Laneway marks the annual migration of "The Hot Crew" pulling themselves away from their own pouting and clenching reflections, syncing outfits, and watching the very bands that dictate their look. It’s like bands are playing to an army of their adoring clones. God forbid anyone plays too well and the crowd break character and dances, it’d be enough momentum to convince the clone army to form a revolution against... Whatever PC stance is getting heat at the time.
It’s easy for me to talk shit, but the fact of the matter is that I’m standing there with them. I’ve pulled myself away from my gorgeous reflection just like everyone else, probably due to Laneway's faultless reputation for showing people what they will soon be adding to their playlists and what musicians will be in their faces all year. Laneway draws a crowd of music fans that seem to want to see the future and who doesn’t want to take a peek. Here is what it looked like and some delirious after thoughts.
I’m at the Brisbane airport, it’s 6.30am the morning after Brisbane’s Laneway. Needless to say, I wish I were sleeping but that being said I feel surprisingly ok. What is this feeling? I know my stomach isn’t thrilled with me. My eyes aren’t either, but I’m alert, I’m awake and I’m happy. I think what I’m feeling is the residual high from yesterday. I do this shit all the time and I usually feel like a pile right about now. I know I probably smell like the Jameson seeping out of my pours and my mascara is a little smudged but this morning I’m high on yesterday.
It’d be foolish to credit my state of being purely to yesterday with the knowledge that I’m about to do it all again today. Maybe it’s half residual high, half anticipation high.
Either way, it’s 6:30am, Brisbane airport. And I’m fucking high.
Our girl Sophie Marsh wearing our new Surplus Short (dropping soon).
Spotted: Zar from Israeli Chicks.
Everyone's favourite front man -Sniff from Pist Idiots.
Shop our Festival Edit now.