It involves members of the audience holding aloft one shoe in a symbolic gesture of awe and appreciation, the origins of which are shrouded by the mists of time.

The Boot has become a good signifier of the best of fest - when you look out across the Meredith Supernatural Amphitheatre and see an ocean of thongs, shoes, and gumboots waving in the air, you know you're in the presence a band that's truly special.

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At last weekend's seventh annual Golden Plains, there didn't seem to be an unanimous Boot unlike in past years. Instead, there were sporadic scatterings of Boot, meaning that a lot of bands impressed specific sections of the audience. In other words, there was something for everyone - a credo that Golden Plains has unofficially aimed to achieve every March long weekend since it began.

And this year it began with the obligatory line of cars stretching from the Nolan farm to the Meredith township early on Saturday morning as people from around the country made their annual pilgrimage to the Supernatural Amphitheatre.

After the ritual of pitching tents, erecting shelters, buying ice, digging into a steak sandwich from the Community Tucker Tent, and cracking the first beer of the festival, things got underway musically with Melbourne rockers Money For Rope, late additions to the bill after Six Foot Hick's late withdrawal. They were a good opener, with singer Jules McKenzie proving that you can rock out in a wheelchair.

The enduring heat made it hard to spend long stretches in the Amphitheatre, so crowds thinned for the disappointing Opossom and left-field Greek violinist Psarandonis. It wasn't until the pre-dusk set of Swedish singer-songwriter Tallest Man On Earth that the Amphitheatre really started to fill and the first Boots began to appear. His ability to hold the crowd as a solo performer was impressive.

Less impressive initially was Cat Power, but her set slowly built from moody and sombre to rocking and fun as it progressed. She was in fine voice, and won over many by the end of her performance.

But the real first-day highlight was the return of alternative legends Dinosaur Jr, who had been good on their previous visit to Golden Plains in 2010 but were spectacular this time around. J Mascis shredded epic solo after epic solo, Lou Barlow's bass growled and rolled, and Murph's drumming was relentless. Eventually, the grunge gave way to dance, and the usual post-midnight rave began, with so-hot-right-now Flume the key attraction.

As the temperature climbed yet again the next day, the masses fought their hangovers and carefully selected the right time to attempt a return to the Amphitheatre. For some that was Mulatu Astatke with Black Jesus Experience, who brought Afrobeat and the rarely heard sounds of jazz to Golden Plains. 

For others, that was the country-blues duo of Chris Russell's Chicken Walk, who scored a smattering of Boot with an impressive and occasionally hilarious set.

The much-respected rockers Redd Kross and the cool disco of Toro Y Moi carried the crowd through the hottest part of the day as temperatures reached the mid-30s, but it looked like the festival was about to peak early with the back-to-back line-up of The Mark Of Cain and The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion.

Both bands were awesome, with The Mark Of Cain weaving their impressive heavy riffs and impossible time signatures into a Boot-inducing performance of brawn and brains. Looser but no less exciting were Jon Spencer & Co, who added sex and ego to their riffs to come up with a testifying good time. There were Boots aplenty for both bands.

It's rare that there are mis-steps on the line-up of Golden Plains or its sister festival Meredith - I'm looking at you, Kisstroyer - but Keb Darge was probably one. His reputation as a legendary DJ (and disco dancing champion, apparently) didn't overcome the fact his 90-minute Sunday evening set was effectively an old man playing records for an hour and a half.

Either way, it cleared the slate for the iconic innovator George Clinton and his mammoth Parliament Funkadelic, who tore Golden Plains a new funkhole. The biggest singalong of the weekend was their cover of Gnarls Barkley's Crazy, but they also took the Amphitheatre on their Mothership for transcendental journey for the psychedelic solo-ing of Maggot Brain, and got the whole place grooving to Atomic Dog and One Nation Under A Groove. I couldn't see Boots being held aloft from where I was, but they must have been out there... or maybe people were too busy dancing.

The dancing continued long into the night as the DJs and VJs took over, with one note-worthy performance being the eccentric dance stylings of Zanzibar Chanel.

It's always with a mix of reluctance and relief that the tents are taken down and the cars are packed on the Monday morning. Golden Plains is an endurance race sometimes, especially when the weather decides to throw a barrage of heat/wind/rain/giant thunderstorm at you. This year it was heat, but no matter how hard things get, the festival always looks out for you. 

The organisers of Golden Plains and Meredith do an exemplary job at making the event look so effortless, yet operate like a fine-tuned machine.

One of the under-appreciated mechanisms within this machine is the team in the festival's own mini-hospital. Last year they glued my head back together after a nasty streamer-related incident (true story), and this year they did a fine job looking after the heat-stroked, the over-indulged and the randomly injured. 

Most of the first-aid team are volunteers, but there is always a doctor on hand. After talking to one of the first aid centre co-ordinators this year, I started to realise how well looked after the punters of Golden Plains really are. And I'm sure many people were thankful of that this year.

Aunty Meredith, thank you once again for having us all.