Collie gets a bad rap, it really does. I lived in Bunbury for far too long, and one of the necessary beliefs to hold, along with many others for another post, is that Collie is a strange and evil place, and they hate everyone who isn’t from Collie.
That’s just untrue. I happen to have official, irrefutable evidence that only 96.79% of them hate me. Now I’ve only been back twice since then, such was the trauma, but my curiosity in seeing just how Collie would cope with triple j’s One Night Stand was too overwhelming to resist. And whatever you may feel about the people, the area itself is beautiful, especially the parts that are still native forest and not coal-fired power stations.
My trusty divvy van LPG powered its way up the Collie hill, struggling to exceed 75km/h at some points. The trip, which began late due to a seemingly endless stream of pikers delaying us, took an agonisingly long time. The distance signs (CO 20) didn’t seem to come nearly fast enough. Our sense of anticipation only increased when we were 10 kilometres out – someone had helpfully reconfigured one of the signs, so it now read COg 10. It’s not as though there was any mystery as to which band would be the local favourite before that though.
We arrived, we parked, and were treated to vans billowing Barnsey and pot smoke everywhere. Four wheel drives that had seemingly appropriated floodlights from a sports oval were abundant. We walked to the Collie football oval, taking in the opening songs of Faker on the way. Some entrepreneurial locals had set up a $5 sausage sizzle in their front yard, complete with couches and a TV so you didn’t miss a moment of the footy. The old church across the road from the oval echoed the sound so violently, it was as though the very structure itself was offended by the music.
The oval itself functioned like a natural amphitheatre, the sound once you were inside was tight and clear. And so the voyeurism began. The out-of-towners were instantly recognisable. They were the ones that bathed and dressed for the occasion. Local parents brought their children, so in future years they could say to their offspring “you were there” for the most exciting event in Collie’s otherwise monochromatic history. Older locals roamed through the back half of the crowd with smiles of welcoming bemusement.
Being a free event, we were able to wander in an out as we wished, and so as darkness fell and Pnau began, we found ourselves waking back to the oval. A young woman lay face down on the kerb, having overdone it earlier in the day. She was completely ignored by the dirtbike-mounted police that rode by. “That’s because under Collie law, passing out is consent, especially if its your cousin” my companion reassured me. It was not, as we were to discover later, anywhere near the most outrageous police behaviour we were to witness on the night.
Pnau’s 21st Century mashup of the Anime and the Ecstasy did seem to be lost on a few of the locals, so they retreated to the rear of the venue, and not-too-covertly swilled the bourbon and coke they’d smuggled in. As technical gremlins interrupted Pnau’s otherwise entertaining set, their seemed to be a growing number of punters waiting increasingly desperately for the comparative safety of Cog’s contemporary metal.
“No more violence – no more silence.” What do you think that means? Ah fuggit – let’s go back to the panno and get another Beam.
Cog were warmly welcomed, and gave rise to my favourite moment of the night; An enthusiastically inebriated black-shirted chap was air-guitaring madly in front of his young son, who was desperately trying to sleep. In his pram. Brilliant. Only the interested locals remained, the merely curious had long departed.
At this point, I shuffled off to try festival food, Collie style. Now it is worth mentioning that I felt as though regular festival food rules didn’t apply. Normally, at a festival, I avoid the outlets with no cues, because the wisdom of the crowd has deemed their offerings unpalatable – a conclusion usually reached because an early adopter has found out the hard way. But in Collie, I saw a Thai food stall being ignored by the masses as somehow reassuring. Comforting even. Too hot, perhaps even too authentic for the locals? Superb.
Settling in with my green curry for the last part of Cog, it became apparent that their social commentary was going over the heads of most people – too drunk to care. Fortunately, their sound was not. It’s very impressive to see a band that can keep left while driving down the middle of the road.
In good spirits we left and headed home. There were no fights, no attitude and no unpleasantness. Collie put on a great show, and other than Pnau’s glitches, it was professional, well-run and great fun.
The drive down the hill was to be the biggest disappointment of the evening, thanks to the inimitable wisdom of the WA police force. After a wet and windy 30 kilometre dark drive, we were greeted with a traffic jam extending over a kilometre. In a well-thought out attempt to ensure public safety, the police had set up a booze bus at the intersection to turn to either Bunbury or Perth which every car had to pass through. Now, here’s my questions;
1. If you were interested in keeping people safe, wouldn’t it make more sense – actually some sense as opposed to none at all – to have the alcohol testing at the beginning of the treacherous return journey, not after the most dangerous part? When people are at their most post-Cog fired up, their most drunk, their most dangerous?
2. For those people that have driven down the Collie hill on a wet night at reasonable speed, you’ll understand the next point; If you’ve made it that far – in the wet, wind and rain, at high speed with a car load of people while pissed on a dark and twisty road – don’t you think it’s safe to assume they’re probably all right to get home from there?
We were queued up for almost an hour. Why is it unsurprising that the only trouble from our night in Collie was thanks to the police force?
