The first day of Electric Avenue was a smorgasbord of local legends and international superstars, but nothing could top a Split Enz reunion.
First things first: they wore the suits, but not the make-up. In the lead-up to Split Enz’ historic reunion at Australia’s largest music festival Electric Avenue, one of the biggest questions was how much of their avante-garde look would be resurrected. They must have known this when they began their set, teasing the audience mercilessly by shuffling on stage in a single snake formation draped entirely in orange satin. They cast it off to reveal a plethora of checked, striped, houndstooth and chevron suits, launching into the frenetic ‘Shark Attack’ with glee.
They may have left the eyebrow pencils at home, but all the theatricality and Split Enz silliness was still there. Nearly 20 years since their last live show, New Zealand’s greatest art-pop, new wave, pre-Look Sharp psychedelia experiment returned with original members Tim Finn, Neil Finn, Noel Crombie and Eddie Rayner, along with James Milne (Lawrence Arabia) on bass and Matt Eccles (Betchadupa) on drums. “Someone told us this is our 1000th gig,” Tim said. “We’ve been paused on 999 for a lot of years,” added Neil.
No matter how long the pause, it didn’t seem to have impacted the band’s energy in the slightest. In front of a massive crowd consisting of grey-haired, puffer jacket wearers and Gen Z’s in booty shorts, Tim Finn convulsed and flailed, his perfect silver quaff becoming increasingly unruly as they worked through their unbelievable back catalogue of hits. He summoned spirits for ‘Poor Boy’, writhed with every sharp synth of ‘Dirty Creature’ and waddled like a penguin for ‘Hard Act to Follow’. Every now and then, he stopped for a sip of tea.
Noel Crombie, percussionist and the famous mastermind behind all of Split Enz’ iconic costumes, also frequently stole the show. When he wasn’t galloping around with a tambourine, he was playing the triangle, the maracas, the guerrero with aplomb. But nothing compared to his incredible solo during ‘My Mistake’, in which he simply played a pair of spoons. “If music be the food of love, Split Enz are the silverware,” said Tim. “It was historic every time it used to happen and it was historic tonight – you can tell your grandchildren.”
There was a deeply intergenerational feeling about the whole thing. I got chatting to a guy who had travelled up from Geraldine, and said he missed out on seeing Split Enz play live as a young gun in the 70s. Parents and their adult children sang ‘I Got You’ arm in arm, and gaggles of Gen Z friends gossiped between songs and took photos on their Y2K digital cameras. If that wasn’t enough to move one to tears, the one-two punch of Tim’s “cruel love song” ‘Stuff and Nonsense’ followed by Neil’s swoonsome ‘Message to My Girl’ sealed the deal for me.
That’s to say nothing of the elaborate visual world Split Enz served up for every single song. As Tim hoped he never, hoped he never had to cry again, blue smoke swirled in hypnotic circles in front of a lush red velvet curtain. At one point, hundreds of archival Split Enz suits flashed up on the screen, zooming into close-ups on buttons, fabrics and hems. The spooky vine-covered house that appeared after sunset eventually made way for a garden of giant sunflowers and dahlias, only to be plastered over with bold scarlet streaks for the rapturous finale ‘I See Red’.
It was a headline act that was so historic, several other artists throughout the day dedicated their time onstage to talking about Split Enz. “Who is excited about Split Enz?” Bret McKenzie asked the crowd earlier during his mid-afternoon set, nonchalantly handing a cheeseboard to the crowd. “It’s fucking unbelievable isn’t it? Tim Finn is actually going to be here, he doesn’t go anywhere.” Backed by his eight-piece band The State Highway Wonders, McKenzie played bluesy, jazzy numbers from his new album Freak Out City, followed by some Flight of the Conchords and Muppets faves.
When artists weren’t talking about Split Enz, they were talking about the weather. As Supergroove took the stage, the chilly temperatures suddenly soared and Che Fu found himself drenched in sweat. “How do you cope with this weather that goes freezing cold and super hot?” asked vocalist Karl Steven. “I’m not prepared for this.” At least Electric Avenue was, with ample water stops throughout the site and a giant sunblock station in prime position. “Get that shit aaallll over” one young lad with rather large pupils said as he slathered himself in SPF50.
Thanks to the sprawling Hagley Park site, the crowd of 45,000 flowed well and a clever one-way toilet system meant nobody ever had to wait for a bog (600 bogs in total, I’m told). The food offerings were extremely plentiful and also moved alarmingly fast, and I can’t think of another situation where you could buy both a tub of tiramisu and an L.A.B. tote bag within 50 metres of each other. While some prats emerged with nightfall, I genuinely reckon the Electric Avenue staff lanyards reminding people “DON’T BE A DICK” worked wonders.
Other highlights included Supergroove bringing out King Kapisi, Mike Skinner from The Streets crowdsurfing and losing his phone (then having it returned) and watching a guy dressed as The Christchurch Wizard (there were several) vibing out hard to Corrella. My favourite surprise of the day was Sudan Archives, an electro R&B violinist who arrived on the Cosmic Palace stage as if from an alien craft, eyeballing the crowd behind icy-blue contact lenses. Her charisma was so magnetic that she even managed to lure a New Zealander (!) on stage (!) to dance (!).
What a day. Brett Mckenzie took us to Cheesetown, The Streets to a shitty flat in Stockwell, and Sudan Archives to outer space, but it was Split Enz that brought us home. When the moody, dramatic piano intro to ‘Six Months in a Leaky Boat’ began, the young lads in front of us finally stopped nattering and turned towards the stage. One of them dutifully opened his Snapchat to Reply: Mum, and filmed the chorus with a massive smile on his face. “They span so many generations,” said my new friend from Geraldine. “They are like our Beatles.”
