In 1893, a group of Queensland shearers, disillusioned with the political climate in Australia, set sail for Paraguay, where the government had offered them a chunk of land on which to create their long-dreamed-of socialist utopia.
If only they’d held out for another century, their idyllic dreams may well have been realised in Woodfordia, a town that comes into being for six days and nights annually between Christmas and new year in Queensland’s bucolic Sunshine Coast hinterland. During the Woodford Folk festival, Woodfordia swells to become the 67th largest town in Australia – complete with a tent city and purpose-built sewage system.
Australia’s answer to the Glastonbury festival, Woodford is the kind of utopian celebration where gendered clothing is completely optional, Bob Hawke is still prime minister (the sprightly octogenarian turns up every year to ride around the 200-hectare site in a buggy, giving the occasional talk and performance), tastebuds can indulge in everything from mango slushies to Yemenite malawach, and the undulating gravel streets have delightful names such as Lamington Drive and Ididitmy Way.
The fact they were puritanical bores proved to be those 19th century utopia-seekers’ undoing. The Woodford Folk festival, however, knows how to dial up the fun – going beyond just a music festival to offer an all-ages, choose-your-own-adventure experience replete with everything from circus performances and dance workshops to comedy debates.
With 438 events across 35 performance venues, at any given moment you could be rocking out to the latest up-and-coming indie band, taking a marionette-making class, listening to Dr Karl Kruszelnicki pontificate about time travel, or hearing Indigenous singers revive long-lost songs from the mission days.
Woodford is also what happens when you’re making other plans, whether it’s making new friends at a communal dining table, being sucked into a raunchy late-night cabaret show or discovering a passion for lindy hop while en route to see a band.
From the welcome ceremony on 27 December (where Bob Hawke regaled us with a rousing, if not always in-tune, version of Waltzing Matilda), Woodford’s message was: “We’re all connected.” The festival makes an effort to bring people together at every turn, from its morning partner yoga classes to its unique postal system, which allows you to send a handwritten letter to an unknown recipient.
This year’s festival drew a record 132,000 patrons, and there’s no doubt the Trump effect helped tickets fly, that people sought in Woodford an antidote to a world where hope and progressive values seemed to be retreating faster than Arctic ice.
Since its strictly folky beginnings in Maleny 31 years ago, Woodford has proved a launching pad for many emerging Australian musicians – Kate Miller-Heidke and John Butler Trio are just two of the acts whose careers took off after playing the festival. This year’s standout newcomer was Melbourne singer-songwriter Tash Sultana, who drew more than 10,000 people to her Wednesday night amphitheatre set. At just 21 years old, the multi-instrumentalist and tattoo-armed loopologist commanded her harem of guitars with Hendrix-esque flair. Her vocal gymnastics ranged from falsetto to gravelly screams, and when she began beat-boxing into a pan flute, the crowd went berserk.
Strict scheduling meant Sultana was denied an encore, which fired up the usually laidback Woodford crowd. One audience member, however, preferred to seize the adrenaline-fuelled aftermath of Sultana’s blistering set by proposing to his girlfriend.
The strong lineup of women musicians also saw memorable sets from Australian rock royalty Adalita, melting harmonies from Melbourne duo Oh Pep!, satirical cabaret from Meow Meow, a heroic string-busting performance in high 30s heat from Ireland’s Wallis Bird, and a candid set from Amanda Palmer, whose odes to Vegemite and maps of Tasmania segued perfectly into her warmly received announcement that she and husband Neil Gaiman have been granted five-year working visas for Australia.
Humour was also a big winner at this year’s festival – from comedians Dave Callan, Judith Lucy, Rod Quantock, Corey White and Otto & Astrid, to US singer and former Rugburns frontman Steve Poltz, whose outrageous anecdotes (did he and Jewel really go whale watching with Mexican police on a trip that culminated in a shootout with a gang of drug dealers?) had the audience in hysterics. The Auslan (Australian sign language) interpreters stationed stageside also provided plentiful humour, not least when performers took delight in deliberately saying suggestive words then swivelling their heads towards the red-faced interpreter forced to sign it.
As always, the climax of Woodford was New Year’s Eve, starting at sunset with a classical Indian concert on the hilltop stage, which commands 270-degree views of the hinterland and Glass House mountains. At 11.30pm, the entire festival momentarily shut down for the annual ritual of three minutes of candlelit silence. Six days of clear skies held out for the well-attended hilltop sunrise ceremony on New Year’s Day, where Tibetan monks chanted in the first rays of 2017.
The desire for positive new beginnings after a year of political tumult and the deaths of music legends was at the forefront of many people’s minds. This was evident in the fortune tellers doing a roaring trade; in the performers’ tributes to artists such as Leonard Cohen, and in the wild abandonment with which the audience danced to the upbeat strains of 11-piece brass ensemble Hot Potato Band.
No one seemed to mind that the talks were essentially a progressive echo chamber – the Woodford crowd loved that Professor Ian Lowe, journalist Karen Middleton, Affluenza author Richard Denniss and Dr Karl Kruszelnicki all broadly agreed on strategies for “fixing Australia”; they lapped up Chaser member Charles Firth’s prediction that Anthony Albanese would be the next Labor prime minister; and there were huge cheers when indigenous Canadian singer and activist Buffy Sainte-Marie declared: “People power inspired by good vibes … is more important than politics.”
But it was Amanda Palmer – whose Friday night Q&A session quickly turned into mass group therapy – who had the wisest words as we all stared headlong into the 2017 abyss. “I refuse to be afraid,” said Palmer. “Even Donald Trump coming from one side and Brexit the other, I would like to believe that we as a human society are fundamentally protective of us; that we’re going to figure it out.”
