1992 brought a crowd three times the size. Word had spread, both organically (Peelie, Mouse, Raccoon) and with some fertilizer (Rexy). They flocked to see the rock, the roll, the jazz, the punk, the funk, the ska, and the stuff that’s beyond description being thumped through the giant sound system, in the usually tranquil environs of the lush natural setting. But mainly they came to let their weekend sprawl itself out under the stars, with some truly wild things providing the soundtrack, and to be part of one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. Now here’s Lloyd with the weather. By this stage the interlopers had left for the high country and an easy peace settled on the district. The bodgies and widgies had never been happier, frolicking in the sculptured ancient ironbarks with the Monarch butterflies. It was just a two-day event at this stage, there were no pre-sold tickets, and a free breakfast was cooked on the BBQ on Sunday morning. By Willie.
The Boxing Tostados
The Dead Salesmen
The Naked King’s Servant
The Nolte Grips
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