With varying degrees of validity, many cultural experiences bill themselves as “immersive” these days. Sound Tracks – a limited-edition music festival that takes a steam train to regional Victorian destinations – does not employ the word. But hopping on at Melbourne’s Southern Cross station with retro boarding pass in hand feels as immersive as stepping into a dream.
This is the first of three train trips planned in the initiative; we’re headed to Charlton, just over 200km north-west of Melbourne. For the next three days, a mixed bag of music fans and train enthusiasts – all of whom managed to snap up tickets within 20 minutes – inhabit this locomotive. It’s like a school camp gone surreal. When we board, carriage by carriage, on Friday night, there’s an authentic mustiness to the train which infiltrates the clothes as soundly as the trip will infiltrate the psyche, and which the single cardboard air freshener hanging in one corridor cannot hope to dispel.
My “roomette” is in a stainless steel 1962 carriage with a narrow zig-zag corridor. I have to step over my suitcase (rookie move, bringing that) and on to the bunk to hoist the door shut but there are many cunning compartments and a pull-down basin. I’m not alone in marvelling at the novelties – noises of appreciation ricochet through the carriage.
This train, to no surprise, abounds with kitschy delights. The club carriage is resplendently 70s with its semi-circles of banquette seating around tables bearing pineapples spiked with mini frankfurts and pickled onions. At the rear of the train is a cocktail bar, where the Sam Boon House Band plays jazz. To get to the rave car at the other end, we must leg it, Liam Neeson-style, through the 13 carriages. And what carriages! It’s nirvana for train heads: there’s a 1923 timber car with beautiful ornate detail; sitting cars from the esteemed Spirit of Progress ranging from 1937 to 1951; and Overland and Southern Aurora sleeping cars from the late 50s.
By the time we reach our first stop in North Geelong, the train resembles a kids’ party amped up on artificial sweeteners. The antics in the rave car – where DJ Westwood and, later, Adriana, oversee frenzied proceedings – threaten to bounce us off the tracks. Once we start hurtling towards Ballarat, the mood ramps up to even higher velocity – before finally the party shuts down about 1am and the train chugs sedately overnight to Charlton.
Charlton – population 1,095, about to temporarily be 1,295 – is the spiritual home of the festival organiser OK Motels, an initiative that began as photographer Kate Berry’s Instagram account documenting the faded glory of country motels and has since become a series of mini-festivals and now this rail trip. It’s in Charlton that OK Motels hosted its debut festival in 2018 with the idea to foster friendships with grain towns that are themselves siloed. It may be possible to buy a house for under $300,000 in Charlton but, as Berry told Guardian Australia back in 2019, the young folk tend to move to Melbourne.
Berry’s commitment is such that when floods in Charlton meant last year’s festival had to be cancelled, OK Motels held a series of fundraiser gigs in Ballarat and Castlemaine. Soon enough, the idea of three train trips to flood-affected towns was born and Creative Victoria came onboard.
At 8am on Saturday morning we stumble off the train, bleary-eyed, and are greeted by Charlton’s Lions Club, who cheerfully serve up egg and bacon rolls. The sun is already beating down over the Avoca River walking track so it’s hard to imagine that this time last year the area was underwater.
After a spot of culture in the morning – a community art project and a First People’s art trail – the bands crank up about lunchtime at the Charlton bowling club. The township is front and centre here: locals have free entry to music events all day, and the Country Women’s Association is serving cream scones and tea. The harmonies of Folk Bitch Trio and soothing sounds of Maple Glider slip down well with a $5 stubby. Eily Rosewall, a club member, has dressed in her whites and acts as a guide, laying down serviettes and showing hapless young Melburnians how to bowl. She pats the odd bottom in encouragement.
A community dinner is held at the shire hall – hundreds of locals and passengers sat on long tables eating a roast dinner, regaled by a local blues band, the Blend. The main show, however, is at the plush art deco theatre the Rex, which has the popcorn machine pumping. Glass Beams, a psychedelic surf band that plays in masks, kick things off, followed by the electronic DJ Rona and synth act Harvey Sutherland, who one punter describes as Love Boat theme music. The party kicks on at a neighbouring pub, the East, where the Logie winner Tony Armstrong gets behind the bar and serves beers.
There are many moving parts to this venture, so the fact that this maiden voyage runs smoothly is nothing short of a miracle. The train operates under the accreditation of V/Line but the carriages are leased and restored by Seven-O-Seven Operations, who are onboard as volunteers. Minor emergencies ensue, such as a jammed door, the result of a high-spirited game of “how many people can fit in one cabin?”. (Eight, apparently.) It’s nothing a power tool can’t fix.
On day three, Sunday, there’s a more sedate ride back to the city. Perhaps wisely, the bars are no longer serving alcohol and the club lounge is now a hub of party pies, sandwiches and games of Bananagrams. The literary mainstay Marieke Hardy runs a book club in the cocktail lounge, supplying all participants with fluffy dressing gowns. We may be discussing Patricia Highsmith’s classic but, truly, we are no longer strangers on a train.
