Have Australian Bush Doofs Gone from Alternative to Mainstream?

A few weeks back it was reported that Stereosonic would take a hiatus which, in Festival World, basically means they're on palliative care. This has been the fate of a range of mainstream music events over recent years, while festivals more aligned with the arts, sustainability, and electronica— broadly speaking, "alternative festivals" — seem to go from strength to strength.

This has been a thing for a while, but it only got me on a personal level recently at something called The Town, which is described on the website as a "theatrical interactive festival" but I guess is a type of bush doof.

The Town is in its second year, positioned around a lake in Victoria's Strzelecki mountain range. The festival runs for three nights in March, and features a predominantly electronic music mix festooned with art installations, live theatre, and some various celebrations around holistic, sustainable living. The Town is but one corner of the quickly growing alternative festival scene.

This scene is sort of like a descendent of Burning Man, Goa trance parties, and maybe even Woodstock if we go far back enough. In Australia, there's a huge portion of the scene dedicated to bush doofs, with a general consensus that alternativism is marked by electronic music and fisherman pants. But the thing that struck me at The Town was how these festivals are suddenly attracting partygoers who don't appear to fit this mould at all.

Yes, there were a lot of fisherman pants at The Town, but there were just as many chinos. There were also a whole bunch of locals from Benalla and other rural, ute-infested areas, and plenty of mums and dads with toddlers.

And although these festivals are suddenly attracting a wider audience, and some would say that this alone is the problem, there's a much less tangible dedication to community that comes with that popularity growth. Everyone I saw at The Town was just so into it. From elaborate costumes to grandiose campsite architecture, punters are increasingly happy to contribute instead of just chasing that instant gratification of entertainment. And it's this sense of collaboration and community that I think draws more people in, while cementing the dedication of long termers.

I didn't come up with this epiphany all by myself; it was made to me by my campsite neighbour at The Town, a Canadian guy named Tobias. "I really think we're seeing something special," he told me. "You guys call it 'doofing' but these are just any party owned by the people. That's what makes the events so amazing." So amazing, he said, that he had dedicated his life to following the international festival circuit around with the summer.

Laura Finlayson, Editor of Dreamland Magazine—a site that curates information on Australian doofs—tends to agree that a sense of community is what is powers the scene. "A regular festival might have a dance floor, but a good doof has a dance floor like a playground. You'll see people sharing and interacting, throwing balls to each other—playing." This is the point of difference appealing to the greater masses, but for her there's another driver: Facebook.

"It used to be all word of mouth," she said. "Then about five years ago, people started posting events on Facebook and the scene has really grown. I'd say there are three times the number of events now, and three times the amount of people going."

I asked Laura whether this growth has been healthy, or whether it's lead to a dilution of quality. "Somewhere between the two," she said. "I think the scene is rapidly moving forward, but I worry that there are a lot of people getting involved who are doing it only for money."

She describes going to poorly organised festivals sporting a lot of amateur "pop psy," gratuitous drug taking, and a general lack of communal chill-out space. "These festivals are so cool now that they're attracting people who don't have the wisdom to see what they're about," she said. "I'm worried that it's at a turning point."

I asked Michael Scarlett, who runs The Town, whether he worries the alternative scene is getting too big for it's own good. According to him it's not really an issue of size, so much as diversity. "It's hard to look at the scene as a whole and make that call," he says. "I think it's always natural for some parts of the scene to become commercialised, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse."

What that probably means is that like in any cultural occurrence, people fracture off to create new corners. The alternative scene is bigger than it used to be, but for the moment it's still probably diverse enough to stay cool.

As Michael pointed out, "The underground is reactive by nature, and there are plenty of examples of awesome crews delivering the magic. I think there always will be, from festivals small to large."

Julian Morgans is VICE Online Editor. Follow him on Twitter.