panels from the eco-friendly Reformation label which Steph collected in LA
where her sister lives.
Sliding back out into the heat armed with some weird frozen lemon vodka
things, we came across random scene number 47 for the hour – one of the
country’s coolest indie acts were in the midst of a meltdown with security.
There was the calm and composed bass guitarist looking resplendent in a
midriff t-shirt and jeans with his back to the backstage gate security, staring
directly at his flame-maned bandmate dressed in a pair of nylon sports shorts
that would have made Warwick Capper proud, who was also having a bit of a
stab at the bouncer over a ‘credentials’ misunderstanding.
“Yeah, I will have a fucken go at you ... and what the fuck are you going to do
about it?” In the end it was apparently not much because these guys were
set to go on stage in a shake of the clock and smash it out to thousands of
frothing fans who were awaiting them just a few hundred yards away.