“Who’s never been here before?” Uncle Barry Gilson asks during his Welcome to Country. Hands raise across the grassy bowl in front of him, and the Wadawurrung man grins: “Welcome to the family. You’ll never leave this place.”
It really does feel like home. Over two days and nights, Golden Plains transforms a sprawling country farm into an alternate universe: groups of friends in flamboyant costumes dance beneath brightly lit lanterns against a sea of couches dotted around the Supernatural Amphitheatre – the festival’s one stage, known by regulars as “the Sup” – and a few inflatable pools this year, too. There’s a real sense of community: you might run into your neighbour, your co-worker or, as I did, someone you sold a washing machine to on Marketplace. Whoever it is, you’ll be greeted with a warm smile.
Now in its 18th iteration, Golden Plains – a camping festival in regional Victoria – occupies a unique place on the rapidly dwindling Australian festival calendar. Once a cult favourite, it has become one of the hottest tickets of the year, with pleas for last-minute wristbands flooding social media feeds in the weeks leading up.
Golden Plains and its December sister festival, Meredith, are strict on their policy of no corporate sponsorship and tongue-in-cheek “no dickheads” rule – the latter particularly evident this year when home town electro heroes Cut Copy stop mid-set for a medical emergency in the crowd. Punters immediately follow orders to make room for the person to be evacuated, and the party starts again with little fuss, culminating in ecstatic club favourites Hearts on Fire and Lights & Music.
There’s plenty of fire among the acts this year: Melbourne punks Public Figures have the opening slot and get straight to business, with magnetic frontwoman Evie Vlah calling for “divas and people of colour to the front” while she kicks and screams across the stage. Rachel Brown of Brooklyn band Water From Your Eyes has a message for her country: “I believe in a free Palestine; I believe in land back. There is peace in our future but only if there is justice, so fuck the US!”
Her band is hypnotic as they leap across genres, culminating in Playing Classics, where Brown’s monotone speak-singing contrasts deliciously with busy musical backing. Bandmate Nate Amos is on double duties, appearing again on Sunday as This Is Lorelei.
The energy continues to climb with Nigeria’s Obongjayar, eyes and focus intense as he commands the crowd. He gets so into it that his shirt comes off, and when the set peaks with the funky polyrhythmic single Not in Surrender and its call and response cry of “hallelujah”, it feels like church is in session.
That biblical feeling continues with Marlon Williams: towards the end of the New Zealand musician’s performance it starts to steadily rain, but despite that – or perhaps because of it – the feeling is euphoric. Williams’ performance is moving and joyous: joined by local Māori group Ngā Mātai Pūrua on backing choral vocals, he showcases his 2025 album Te Whare Tiwekaweka, sung entirely in te reo Māori. A haka performance turns the set into an infectious cultural celebration that emanates through the crowd.
Sunday morning begins with Way Dynamic, the unassumingly brilliant gentle, sunny folk-pop of the enigmatic Dylan Young. Andy Le, a local DJ who hit the interstitial decks the previous afternoon, is bizarrely in the corner cooking up a storm, and the crowd cheers when he serves sandwiches to the band – a classic weird Plains moment.
There’s a smorgasbord of styles throughout the day, from the pummelling punk of US band Upchuck to Turkish German musician Derya Yıldırım and her band Grup Şimşek, who offer a new spin on psychedelia with extended instrumental jams. Later, French DJ François K drops a glorious remix of Talking Heads’ Once in a Lifetime that becomes one of the most talked-about moments of the weekend.
As day turns into night, Bleak Squad take the stage: the new supergroup featuring members of Magic Dirt, the Bad Seeds, Dirty Three and Art of Fighting. Adalita sounds as fierce as ever in a suitably moody set; a cover of Divinyls’ Pleasure and Pain builds from voice and guitar to something cataclysmic. Jalen Ngonda brings the light back, with a miraculous smooth falsetto; his Motown-inspired set is energetic and soulful, sounding straight out of the 60s.
The night climaxes with a mesmerising show from Basement Jaxx, who rip through a high-energy set that makes the Sup feel like a heaving club. Aesthetically maximalist, the stage transforms into an early noughties circus, complete with constantly swirling visuals, dancers doing backflips and ever-changing costumes. It’s dreamlike – on Raindrops, one dancer becomes an enormous, translucent flower, the “petals” unfurling hypnotically. Elsewhere, ballet dancers contrast the shuddering bass and grooves. Where’s Your Head At and Do Your Thing get the loudest cheers, kicking off an all-night party sustained by the likes of Crazy P and OK Williams.
In a dark time when joy and community are essential balms, Golden Plains continues to bring light. Uncle Barry was right: over a decade since my first experience in the Sup, I’ve returned again and again, same as it ever was.
