Is it possible to grow out of mainstream gigs and festivals, or are underground alternatives just better? Liv Sisson debates Liv Sisson.

I spent New Years at Twisted Frequency, a Golden Bay festival billed as Aotearoa’s annual home of underground music and culture. I had no idea what to expect. Soon after I went to an Auckland appearance by Fisher, an Australian house/techno producer billed as one of the most in-demand artists in dance music. I knew exactly what to expect. 

These experiences left me questioning my taste and thinking that despite loving big events like Rhythm & Alps, I may never go back. Is it me? The music? Something else?

You’ve been to Rhythm & Alps many times. You teared up at least once when Shapeshifter brought in the new year. You lost your mind at Katy Perry’s California Dreams tour in 2011. And in 2023, you cried at The Chicks. You obviously still love big budget, high-production-value music acts.

Yes, that Katy Perry show was unforgettable. She took the crowd to Candy Land and doused us with a whipped cream bazooka. And you’re right, The Chicks’ rendition of ‘Landslide’ always makes me cry. Huge gigs can be energising and emotional. Even so, I walked away from Fisher’s recent show fairly underwhelmed. 

Fisher offered 90 minutes of bangers with full lights, multiple confetti drops, fireworks, pyro effects, a massive sound kit and a Ghostbusters dance remix. How could you be underwhelmed by that? 

The effects were impressive and the crowd of 20,000 seemed genuinely stoked to see Fisher’s set. I had fun but wouldn’t go again. There was little space to dance and he never really addressed the crowd. The whole thing felt like a 90-minute meme of him playing music on stage while wacky videos of his face played on screen. It just kind of happened and then was over.

You say you had fun at Fisher but were underwhelmed. You call it a 90-minute meme, but you love memes. What are you comparing this to? And complaining about how much room there was to dance? Maybe it’s not the event, but it’s just you getting older.

Well, at Twisted Frequency over New Years, there was always room to dance. The crowd was respectful and present. At Fisher I watched a fair bit of the set through a sea of phones, and I couldn’t move much. It was so packed that by the end I felt like I was wearing other people’s perfume/cologne/body glitter. Glitter (and glow sticks) weren’t allowed at Twisted.

There was no cell service at Twisted either. In fact it was rare to see someone pull out their phone at all. By contrast, within minutes of settling into our spot at Fisher, a young guy with very large pupils started showing us pics of his dad’s boat. Maybe I am getting old, but Twisted also offered so much more than music: salsa for beginners, somatic yoga, poetry readings, cabaret, a skate comp, fire dancing. 

Are glitter and glow sticks illegal now or something? You brought glow sticks to Twisted then shamefully hid them in the car once you learned of this crazy rule! Also, you love to dress up. I’m sure glittery microplastics are still swirling around your bloodstream from your 2015-2020 era festival outfits. These rules seem controlling from the Twisted organisers.

Twisted doesn’t allow that stuff because it could become MOOP (“matter out of place”). Waste management at Twisted was impressive. There were recycling stations throughout the venue and campsites. I rarely wore shoes, and never worried that I was going to step on something dangerous or upsetting. At Fisher I was standing on a can or five for the entire set. Another gripe: you had to pay extra to be in the “Losing It Zone” which was effectively just GA, but up the front. The organisers basically commercialised the spirit of the punters who fight their way to the front. 

OK, let’s talk music. I sincerely doubt you knew many Twisted artists beforehand. No way you were happy to pay for a ticket without being able to sing along. You knew every word at Fisher. I admit, there aren’t many words to know, but still.

The festival did feel expensive in the absence of a huge headliner I was already obsessed with. But it just meant I needed to spend some time getting familiar with the artists beforehand. Twisted’s lineup introduced me to powerful Tasmanian poet/rapper Grace Chia, the odd but loveable trans-genre music of Strangely Arousing, and the dreamlike lyrics of NYC-based rapper Deca. I’m still listening to them now; I doubt Spotify would have served me these artists otherwise. I’m reminded of the observation from a recent New Yorker deep dive that Spotify’s “algorithmic skill at giving us what we like may keep us from what we’ll love”. 

You were seriously not having fun at the start of Twisted, though. Explain.

It took us seven hours to get into the campsite. And it was pouring with rain.

I heard you tried to perform a citizen’s arrest?!

A station wagon cut the car queue. There were no organisers, police or security around. Someone had to tell the queue cutters off.

This whole thing sounds very loosely organised, and knowing you like I do, I’m surprised you’re so chill about it. It took you 10 minutes to get to Fisher’s show, 10 minutes to get into the venue and 10 minutes to get home. Sounds like a bloody nightmare getting into Twisted, was there anyone in charge?

That’s fair, the big gigs tend to run more smoothly. But the absence of rules and uniformed authority figures at Twisted gave it a “no one cares what you do, but everyone cares about you” vibe. I warmed to this once I had recovered from the seven-hour queue. There were apparently a few police officers walking around the venue, but I never saw them. Security was there but didn’t stand out as such. There weren’t any bollards or bouncers between you and the artists. It was a high-trust environment. I felt very safe and at-ease, in a way I never have at a live event. Also, the setting was stunning – Cobb Valley, on the South Island, in Golden Bay.

Central Auckland’s Victoria Park was a pretty amazing setting for Fisher though, give it that! The huge stage set up in the middle of the city felt like Miami’s Ultra or any of the other big, international festivals that happen in the heart of world-class cities. 

The city setting was fantastic. The full moon also put on a show that night. My best friend who flew up from the South Island for the gig remarked, “Wow, the stars are so bright, even in our biggest city, I fucking love this country.” 

But honestly it still didn’t hold a candle to Twisted. The glacial valley where the festival took place was completely magical. If you felt like it, you could decide mid-set to go for a swim in the snow-fed, fern-edged river. The whole thing was surrounded by lush, native bush. There were sandflies, yes, but somehow, their bites didn’t itch.

Sounds nice, but was it truly “underground”? How many people were there? 

Some veterans feel Twisted isn’t so underground any more. I’m not sure how many people were there. Guesses from my group ranged from 2,000 to 7,000. There weren’t any media stories about the festival, or the extremely long wait to get in, so it’s unclear.

No news stories? Did this festival even happen? 

It 100% did! But because of Twisted’s underground spirit, it won’t happen in that exact same way again. And that’s why I won’t rush back to the bigger festivals. I loved my run of big-name music events over the years, but eventually they all blended together. Fisher has departed, probably to play that exact same show to another city. Twisted 2024 though, perfectly captured the concept of ichi-go ichi-e: one meeting, one moment, never to be repeated. I don’t know exactly what Twisted 2025 will be like, but I reckon I’ll be there.