There’s a reason why rock’s defining moments have happened in a field, somewhere. Hendrix at Woodstock, Zeppelin at Knebworth, Dylan at Newport – music played in the open air to thousands on a summer’s evening just has a sense of occasion to it.

Our weekend, while in no way as momentous, was the closest we could get – the inaugural Golden Plains event, held on a farm two hours northwest of Melbourne, Australia.

The last warmth of the summer (well, almost – we’ll explain later), thousands of shirtless people camping in a field and a select but catholic roster of musicians formed the classic foundation on which every great music festival has been built over the past three decades. Can you imagine if it snowed at Woodstock, 200 people went, and Neil Diamond headlined? Exactly. There’s a formula, and it never fails.

If the world were a cube, Melbourne would be one of its points; so tempestuous is the weather there. This was no more evident than this Labour Day long weekend. Although the continuing, crippling drought guaranteed no chance of being washed away, the approaching autumnal equinox had revelers in two minds about whether to stuff their rucksacks with coconut oil or, instead, pack the kind of ridiculous long, fur coat you’re only ever likely to see at an outdoor music festival. As it turns out, both were correct. Saturday saw a cloudless, sunny day topping 91˚F (33˚C), while Sunday was overcast, windy and stooped to a sobering 53˚F (12˚C).

As for the crowd, the incredibly sensible playing lineup (which we’ll get to) ensured the weekend remained free of the people who’d usually ruin it – the violent, the obnoxious or the poor-of-music-taste. A welcome dearth of bad metal or mindless techno kept music’s more extreme patrons at bay, and a similar shortage of commercial radio darlings or big chart blockbusters meant that, refreshingly, more hands appeared to be stroking beards than shoving devil horns into the air.

Which brings us to the music. When the most famous act on a music festival bill is probably Yo La Tengo, you know you’re unlikely to be hammered over the head by bands you’re sick of hearing on the radio all the time – more likely they’ll be bands you don’t know. Without hyperbole, it was the thinking man’s Lollapalooza. Other international headliners included Californian garage soulsters the Bellrays, dance-punk weirdos ǃǃǃ, indie noise rockers Comets on Fire and seminal veterans like Mad Professor and the re-formed Slits. The Australasian contingent consisted of a whole bunch of artists you’ve never heard of, except maybe for electronic outfit the Avalanches.

Throw in a sprinkling of world music, one or two mild-mannered hip-hoppers, some ambient breakfast music and just enough 3am fast-paced bleeping sounds to keep the dancing insomniacs happy. Reviewing each set would be tedious and a waste of time – if you don’t like the music at a festival, just wait half an hour. But none of them were complete crap – for possibly the first time I can ever remember at one of these things.

The weather was wild, the people were fun and the music was fascinating. The Foster’s was cold, the station wagon was a surprisingly comfortable place to sleep and, we hope, a Labour Day tradition was born.

It was a good weekend.

Golden Plains site