The long-running Wellington music festival is too focused on the Jim Beam-ness and not enough on the Homegrown-ness.

There is something about Homegrown that’s difficult to place. A barely perceptible-ness. Like feeling a ghost is watching you from the corner of the room but when you look, there’s nothing there.

Homegrown capitalises on nostalgia; the reason you go is to listen to the music you grew up with. Not only that, the line-up is the same each year, so when you go again you get nostalgic about the previous time you went. It’s nostalgia-ception. The numbers back this up. A quarter of the artists at this year’s festival appeared last year. In fact, a sixth of them performed at the inaugural edition in 2008. 

It’s hard not to feel that Homegrown is stuck in a bygone era, both in terms of music and drinking culture. The crowds are messier and drunker than comparable city-centre festivals like Laneway or Electric Avenue. As one overly-excited girl near the portaloos told us, “Homegrown is a bit like my ex. Pretty fun on the surface but struggles to communicate what he really is: a binge-drinker.”

Just like the festival itself, attending Homegrown every year has become repetitive. As is typical with most festivals, the first thing you do is agree in a group chat with your mates when you’re going to arrive (e.g. 2pm). You then spend ages getting ready, forget what time it is, and not enjoy a beer that you had to scull so you can still make it on time to meet your friends (3pm). 

After finally getting out the door, you are inevitably distracted by side-quests such as tattoos, losing your wallet, getting a McChicken and sitting on the curb at BP Connect, and (if you’re so inclined) figuring out which choice anatomical spot you will stash your festival enhancers to get past security. 

Of course, you wear an outfit that’s slightly inappropriate for the weather (dressing for Wellington weather is an impossible task), drunkenly line up to have your bag checked and your youthfulness questioned by someone who looks like a high schooler in a hi-vis vest. 

Where at most festivals you’d start by checking the schedule of music for each stage, at Homegrown it doesn’t really matter. You can simply follow the crowd knowing that you’ll eventually be towed to the front-left of a Kiwi icon, or at worst, Shapeshifter. 

Following the crowd or not, touring the festival’s five stages goes something like this.

Park Stage had the friendliest crowd. Stan Walker serenaded the sunset as two lads in duck shirts wound-up for the world’s longest chahoooo (at least 10 chh’s were counted). We also counted at least five people passed out and unaccompanied in bushes. 

At Tiger Electronic Stage, Lee Mvtthews drew a surprisingly multi-generational crowd – perhaps because it was so warm inside the tent. Enjoyably, we spotted one guy watching the league on his phone, which he held up so those behind him could partake too.

The City Stage traditionally plays host to some of our biggest music icons. Last year it was Dave Dobbyn, this year New Zealand’s sweetheart Bic Runga. It’s a curious logistical decision that doesn’t seem to respect the artists or match the energy of the crowd. At one point security guards singled out a man who was completely sober with a green laser pointer and made him drink an entire bottle of water. Thrilling. 

Lagoon stage, named for its proximity to a lagoon that you can’t actually see, had the youngest crowd. David Dallas and Savage brought the best of 2014-era New Zealand hip hop and 2014 antics. (Yes, inviting all the girls on-stage actually happened.)

The George FM Container Rave had great music and the highest density of sunglasses. Interesting for a spot where you can’t see any sun. 

The Rock stage had the middle-agiest crowd. It was also the loudest. Maybe it’s the rock music, maybe it’s because the demographic are hard of hearing. But it was exactly like you’d imagine it to be: hundreds of black zip up hoodies, these things called cigarettes that people used before they learned to vape, and Jim Beam bourbon and colas that tasted exactly like Jim Beam bourbon and colas.

The most important part of any festival is, of course, the Portaloos. This has been a weak point for Homegrown in the past, but this year they were a total highlight. The toilets flushed, had liquid hand soap, didn’t smell and, very usefully, had lights (ever tried piss in a dark Portaloo while drunk?). Di from Spik-and-Span was absolutely on top of her game, keeping the whole operation clean and chatting to the girls to make sure they were OK. A top notch lass. 

However, for a festival all about celebrating New Zealand music, the toilets being the main highlight isn’t necessarily a good thing.

Homegrown gets a lot right, like the ability to appeal to many people from different generations and walks of life, or spotlighting Wellington’s beautiful waterfront. However, the festival organisers are missing the mark for one important reason: Their choice of naming sponsor, and the vibe it fosters. 

The lines for drinks are scrappy. There’s always a few too many people on the ground who’ve been taken advantage of by their drink. And while younger generations tend to be the target of anti-problematic drinking campaigns, the older generations were noticeably drunker, sloppier and more aggressive than their fresher-faced counterparts. Like a time-machine, Jim Beam Homegrown not only allows, but intends for its attendees to revisit a partying culture of decades prior. 

And this is its problem. Jim Beam Homegrown is too focused on the Jim Beam-ness, but not enough on the Homegrown-ness. It promotes drinking more than music. 

The remedy however, lies within. In glimmers, Homegrown offers the best of kiwi culture. People sharing space and having a good time, that pure meaning-of-life shit. This is the culture the festival could be promoting: good people, good yarns, good kai and great music all brought together for one hell of a time. 

We wondered, as we skipped out past five ambulances and two cop cars on the way to our next adventure. Is it too late to bring some of that New Zealand skuxness back to what could be our flagship festival?