2010.02.20 RNA Showgrounds, Brisbane, Australia

[Mike]

Live Review - Soundwave, Brisbane 2010



By Marcus on Feb 22, 03:00PM

Soundwave Festival
RNA Showgrounds, Brisbane
Saturday 20th February 2010


By Andrew McMillen and Ian Rogers


AM: Golf clap for the organisers behind the Brisbane leg of Soundwave 2010, folks. After tickets purportedly sold out the day before, the public demand for Australia's premiere metal and hardcore tour is met with more than adequate numbers of security, food stalls, police, and toilet facilities to ensure a comfortable experience. The main stages now operate a Big Day Out-like 'D' barrier structure, whose stage-side thoroughfares were blocked with 15 shoulder-to-shoulder security guards - yes, I counted them - to stop enthusiastic fans swarming the area. It's bizarre, but it seems to work for the later acts. The only sour points occurred when bottlenecks formed between the showground bowl and the entrance to the four smaller stages, which resulted in some patience-testing crowd coagulation.


IR: Gallows were my first band of the day and if only they were my last. Brutal, ugly and capable, they managed to make a bitumen car park into dance-floor at one in the afternoon. ‘London Is The Reason’ from last year’s Grey Britain became ‘Brisbane Is The Reason,’ something that inlesser hands could have been trite but wasn’t. Maybe it was because when frontman Frank Carter tells you he’s ‘coming to get you’, what he really means is ‘I’m going to leap from this PA stack into the crowd in broad daylight, at the beginning of a festival, because these crappy surrounds don’t matter.’

AM: "Thanks for acting like you know who we are," smiles Sunny Day Real Estate guitarist Dan Hoerner. Dude, you're in one of the most influential American indie rock bands, yet you're still playfully modest? Respect. And there's no shortage of that among the dozens of musicians side-of-stage who watch them work through a tight 40 minute set. Widely acclaimed as founding figures of the guitar-based sub-genres of indie and emo (before it was associated with eyeliner and black clothing, that is), Sunny Day prove an early highlight. "You should be headlining!" a guy behind me yells. While the early 12.30pm slot is unfavourable, they're clearly proud to be playing together again. Nevermind the fact that hundreds are watching them play classics like 'Seven', 'Song About An Angel' and 'Circles' under sun and clouds. Oh yeah: their bassist happens to be in one of rock's biggest bands, but unassuming Foo Fighter Nate Mendel is content to rock out on the spot. What a dude.

IR: Fashion is such a fickle beast; in 2000, who’d have thought the sleeveless metal t-shirt would ever be back in vogue? Not me but I’m happy it’s back. Baroness from Virginia USA seem similarly happy, finding the black muscle tee a must-have for playing their sludgy rock in the Brisbane summer. I like what they do this afternoon, sometimes it veers too far into metal wank but the vocals are a wash ofman-roars and thus I rarely think about Iron Maiden while they play.

AM: As one of the heaviest bands on the bill, both in sound and demeanour, Isis are serious business. Though their burgeoning progressive metal loses some of its dark edge when played at 2pm, and while 40 minutes at a festival isn't the ideal environment in which to appreciate their vision, it's a forceful, singular performance no less. Their compositions traverse quiet and loud; the latter hits you in the chest with a three-prong guitar attack and blazing double-kick, while the former allows the quintet to explore the tent's curious sound dynamics. Pauses between songs are lengthy and wordless; singer Aaron Turner offers only dead-eyed stares. A cursory "thank you, Brisbane" at set's end is the only acknowledgement we receive. Turner's raw voice rides high in the mix, like a grizzled lighthouse keeper over a roiling sea. They play just four songs, all taken from their 2009 release Wavering Radiant: '20 Minutes / 40 Years' and 'Ghost Key' are particularly devastating.

If the festival line-up was arranged in terms of pure showmanship, Eagles Of Death Metal would be near-headliners. Their fearless frontman Jesse Hughes is a force of nature. He holds the 10,000 within earshot of the main stage enraptured: posing, piss-taking, posturing and macho, he's an excellent case study among bonafide rock stars of the current generation. The Eagles play unapologetically sleazy, fuzzed-up garage rock, but you knew that by now. Oh, and they happen to have one of rock's finest players behind the kit: not Josh Homme as rumoured, but Joey Castillo, on loan from Queens Of The Stone Age. Lead guitarist Dave Catching looks old enough to be Hughes Senior, but he still shreds like a demon. He plays a probably-ironic Gibson Flying V, while Hughes fits in a plug for his Australian-made Maton guitars: "for the finest sound in rock and roll!". You might have tired of his sexed-up, mustachio'd older man schtick by now, and I wouldn't blame you. But when they slip into set closer 'Speaking In Tongues' and engage in some six-string call-and-response from across the breadth of the stage, it's difficult to doubt them.


IR: Confession time: I came to Soundwave to see The Weakerthans. Over the years this unassuming group from Winnepeg Canada have made some of the most mature and affecting rock music I’ve ever heard. That’s a big deal by the way, I rarely – if ever – think that pop music should be mature but The Weakerthans write songs that speak to my thirties the same way that less mature, less affecting music spoke to my teens and twenties. Who thought that was possible? Today, unfortunately they suffer through bad sound and don’t really rise above it. It’s a pity because when they hammer down into ‘Aside’ from their second album, I get a bit glassy-eyed (thanks hangover) and on a day where a lot of emo bands sing a lot of emo lyrics, no one interogates themes like regret, disappointment and loneliness in quite the same way as The Weakerthans.


Anvil are the perfect encapsulation of something that every decent music journalist knows by heart: you can’t be a good band without a good story. Unfortunately, you can be a bad band with a good story and Anvil are, unfortunately, such a band. They have the chops of men who have relentlessly played their instruments for decades but unfortunately everything they do is still entirely fixed in the eighties metal scene that birthed them. There’s no revision and no development or refinement here; today’s set (vibrator and all, drum solo and all) is largely received as novelty.


I thought Placebo were a bit of an odd choice for Soundwave initially but a few minutes into their set I realised it made a lot of sense: in an era ofguy-liner pop, they’re originators. This is my first visit to the main stage today and I have to say, the sound and production is flat out incredible for an avenue so large. Placebo’s throbbing bass pulse is gigantic and rich in the mix and at the back of the crowd I can see the bass players silver pants glimmer on screens by the stage. The band run through newer material and rework some singles. But there’s something off about it. They have as many session musos onstage as band members - maybe that’s it?

AM: Heavy-hitting Meshuggah are a unique specimen on the Soundwave tour, and like visitors flocking to a zoo exhibit, we pile into the metal tent in the thousands to catch a glimpse. To the unfamiliar, what erupts from the speakers must be incomprehensible: these five Swedes operate within a genre of technical death metal that's entirely their own. Their bald, psychotic-looking singer Jens Kidman growls at an improbably low pitch and contorts to the fucked-up rhythms summoned by their drummer Tomas Haake, whose patterns are written on computer and conform to none of the time signatures with which we mere mortals are familiar. While the cymbal and snare parts follow a reasonably steady beat, the double-bass rhythms he plays are constantly shifting. As a result, it's tough music to headbang to, nevermind moshing - but the dedicated throng up front give it a shot regardless. Two guitarists play downtuned eight-string guitars that are used primarily as percussive devices; the few solos that emerge from the darkness sound like eerie, desperate dispatches from a hostile alien planet. Their six song set features four from 2008's ObZen release, the most impressive of which is 'Bleed', a truly remarkable feat of high-BPM technical precision and endurance. 'Rational Gaze' from 2002 album Nothing is punishing, while 15 year-old track 'Future Breed Machine' concludes a thoroughly satisfying performance.


IR:The reformed The Get Up Kids are jet-lagged (they reportedly flew in thatmorning) and their set sounds terrible (tinny guitars, a patchy vocal mix and loud keyboards) but I’m not sure either issue is entirely the problem. They look and play like guys who have moved on and probably should have stayed away from it.


One of my surprises for the day is metal gods Anthrax. I hadn’t even planned on seeing them but found myself in their tent and all the happier for it. Unlike Anvil, twenty years of playing in this band have made Anthrax a force to be reckoned with, even to a thrash layperson such as myself. Tight, precise, diverse - I couldn’t fault them and didn’t want to. The older metal heads around me danced like insane drunken adolescents.

AM: Three quarters of Jane's Addiction nonchalantly file onto the main stage and open with 'Up The Beach', while singer Perry Farrell waits for just the right moment to join them. Instantly, he's a rock photographer's dream: smiling, thrusting, slow-motion posing, and drinking deep from a bottle of wine. Pomp, hedonism and spectacle: Jane's ensure that they're disappointing no-one with their first Australian show in 7 years. Ritual de lo Habitual and Nothing's Shocking material comprise the bulk of the setlist, and no-one's complaining. That they can perform tracks written 20-plus years ago with vitality and integrity speaks volumes about the quality of those two albums. The sonic distance between Eric Avery's low-end and Dave Navarro's distinctive lead guitar phrasings is even more apparent live than on record; the latter coolly shreds with ease, while Avery keeps time by pacing in circles. Two near-naked showgirls join them for a few songs to add a level of titillation, though hyper-sexed Farrell is the only band member paying them much attention. The girls' instantly spread-eagled Pavlovian response to his call of 'Sex Is Violence!' is amusing; the shirtless lighting guy up in the tower dances like a madman while the crowd goes similarly apeshit for 'Been Caught Stealing'. Farrell's cheesy between-song segues are in fine form - "we came a long way across the ocean to see you!" before 'Ocean' - and the set ends with the singer and guitarist leaving stage arm-in-arm after a mass singalong to 'Jane Says', complete with acoustic guitars and steel drums. Outstanding.

Trivium draw the metal tent's biggest crowd of the day, and it's easy to see why: since arriving on the scene in 2003, they've shamelessly borrowed from the genre's forefathers to cultivate a sound and image that appeals to a youthful fanbase who might otherwise have overlooked metal entirely. Their skilful blend of thrash and hardcore is built around a keen sense of melody; with three strong vocalists, harmonised choruses and purpose-built anthemic breakdowns - you know, the ones where the crowd pump their fists and chant - they're just plain exciting live. They even have a song called 'Anthem': could their ambitions be any clearer? Five microphones are set up across the stage, which the guitarists frequently trot between; they air a cover of Sepultura's 'Slave New World' to up their metal credibility, and debut 'Shattering The Skies Above', which features a hilariously over-the-top wall of double-kicks courtesy of new drummer Nick Augusto. They round out a high-energy set with a trio from their 2005 breakthrough, Ascendancy: 'Dying In Your Arms', 'A Gunshot To The Head Of Trepidation' and 'Pull Harder On The Strings Of Your Martyr'. Heafy states that we're the best Australian crowd they've played to, and ends on a confusing note: "Thank you very much, we will always fucking return!"


IR: Regular Vine readers will know that I have a particular soft-spoke for Arizona pop-rock band Jimmy Eat World. Their second, third and fourth albums are exemplary pop-rock albums (this is why they are hated and loved with equal vigour) and I’ve seen them play at their very, very best. As they did at The Zoo, circa 2001, in front of two hundred people, tonight they nailed it down the very same way in front of tens of thousands: they play the songs in time and sing. There was nothing glitzy about it; no make up, no dancing girls, no props, a basic stage set-up (I chuckled at AFI’s stage plot earlier in the day – Sunn O))) or Motorhead wouldn’t have requested much more equipment). The set list drew from the last four records, leaning in favour of the Bleed American (or 'self-titled') album – opening with ‘Sweetness’ and closing with‘The Middle’. The tracks they dragged off ChaseThis Light (which I hated) actually sounded pretty good interspersed between the hits. And as I listened to the one-two punch of ‘Bleed American’ and ‘Pain,’ I couldn’t help but feel that this was as good as mall-punk got at Soundwave 2010. In the field below, a sea of people punched the air.

When it was announced that the band would fill in for the absent for My Chemical Romance, I couldn’t have been happier. My Chemical Romance – to my ears – sound like Queen sans classical rock styling and gay icon - and they’re the bestreasons to listen to Queen. Jimmy Eat World, on the other hand, sound like anamped up, weened on nineties indie version of The Eagles and….uhm…well…I can abide by one but not the other. Tonight they play the hits and couldn’t be much leaner.

AM: Immaculately dressed in pale suits, Faith No More immediately establish rapport with the tens of thousands who crowd the main showground bowl to witness the reunited headliners after their 12 year absence. Opening with a full-band lounge version of 'Reunited' by vocal duo Peaches & Herb, it's made immediately clear that their 'Second Coming' tour is no half-baked cash-grab; instead, the band are serious about doing justice to what was left behind in 1998. Serious, that is, while maintaining the playful, casual air for which they became known. (During set closer 'Just A Man', Mike Patton hijacks a video camera and - mid-song, without dropping a note - forces the operator to film his cock, which briefly appears on the giant screens that flank the main stages - video of the incident.) Patton - who mock-hobbled onto stage with a walking stick tonight - possesses a vocal range that's simply peerless among rock singers, and he's unafraid to show it: in addition to his genitalia, we're privy to beatboxing, didgeridoo mimicry, whale calls and throat singing.

Following 'Reunited', Jon Hudson rips into the muscular 'From Out Of Nowhere'. He's not the band's original guitarist, having joined for 1997's Album Of The Year, but he competently recreates Jim Martin's phrasing on a setlist that spans their entire career: 'Chinese Arithmetic' from their 1987 debut, through to late singles 'Ashes To Ashes' and 'Last Cup Of Sorrow'. Mike Bordin's lengthy dreadlocks are greying, but his performance behind the kit is captivating. He and Hudson opt out of addressing the crowd, while bassist Billy Gould chooses few words, including a shout-out to current internet sensation ChatRoulette ("we'll see you on there after the show!"), and expanding upon Patton's 'Bris-tastic' crowd taunts: "I'm gonna 'Bris' in my pants!". Roddy Bottum leads 'Evidence' - perhaps the sexiest song ever written about a cavity search, or adultery, depending on your interpretation - and closes 'Epic' with the complete keyboard coda. The 'Chariots Of Fire' theme takes on a whole new meaning when it leads into the seedy, alluring throb of 'Stripsearch'. "F for 'fake'," Patton intones; with dozens of options to close the encore, they opt to fuck with us one last time by airing 'This Town Isn't Big Enough For Both Of Us', a cover by American pop group Sparks. Huh? It doesn't matter. Any doubts about their reformation were squashed the moment the suits walked onstage.

AM: Though getting into the venue was a breeze, the same can't be said for the exit process. It's the sole organisational hiccup, but it's a glaring one: four stages closing simultaneously and around 30,000 people attempting to vacate through the same ten-metre gap. Lengthy delays and incremental shuffling threaten to mire an otherwise excellent festival, until the sky finally opens and the crowd embraces the rain with an enormous cheer - no shit. An incredible moment of positive mob mentality overrules a potentially explosive situation. Who knew that metalheads and punks could find a friendly middle-ground after a day of sun, circle pits, alcohol, breakdowns, sweat and vibrator solos?


Andrew McMillen and Ian Rogers


(Pics: Justin Edwards)

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