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An excited buzz hanging thick in the air and hordes of black
T-shirt-clad, pierced and tattooed punters filing into the Showgrounds can only
mean one thing: Soundwave is on. Arguably Brisbane’s
favourite annual festival, this year’s bill has been touted as the most
impressive one in a while and we can’t help but feel pumped as we beat the
brief rain and get issued with our wristbands and one requisite fluoro orange photographer’s
vest. To start off, who cares about Closure
In Moscow getting dumped from the bill over some bullshit dispute – bring
on the rock & roll, the free water and the half-strength, double-priced
alcohol! On second thoughts, can we just have the first two…
By the time we join the mass of people moving towards Stage
1, intelligent metal purveyors Isis (whose
last two numbers we heard from distance) have already finished playing – a
shame, as we duly get informed by friends heading to see punkers Alexisonfire that it was a very
impressive set indeed. In order to get into the festival groove, we hang near
Stage 2 for a bit as Eagles Of Death
Metal keep chugging through one twelve-bar rocker to another, but alas, it’s
singer Jesse Hughes’ veritable handlebar mo and token sleazy-redneck-uncle-gone-
moves that provide the temporary entertainment, not the actual music – so we
duly cross over to Stage 4.
Named by some as one of the world’s most underappreciated
rock acts, Maryland’s chameleon-like Clutch
keep it fairly simple and straight today as they crank up the slide riff of
2009’s 50,000 Unstoppable Watts (cue the “Are
they Australian? They sound like Spiderbait!”-type queries from all around).
Bearded frontman Neil Fallon’s distinctive raspy vocals sit atop the Led
Zeppelin-like syncopated grooves while bluesy barnstormers like Struck Down, Power
Player, Electric Worry and One Eye Dollar are full of masculine swagger.
Truck-sized guitar motifs you think you’ve heard before, but with an original
stamp? This way, sir!
The afternoon sun-scorched tarmac “dead zone” of Stages 5
and 6 hosts US
post-hardcore stalwarts Glassjaw and
Canadian indie-punks The Weakerthans respectively.
The former brave a somewhat paltry gathering (which could
perhaps explain singer Daryl Palumbo screaming with slightly more anger than
usual), while the latter rarely stray from the Gibson-powered, chugga-chugga
rock & roll; having gotten our warm-up dose of chunky distortion, we walk
back to Stage 4 to see a piece of music history – or the real-life Spinal Tap,
depending on which way one might look at it.
Riding the new wave of recognition on the back of a certain
award-winning doco, veteran Toronto
metallers Anvil are a bunch of hands-down
classic dudes (and they couldn’t possibly be more “metal” – I mean, they’re
called ANVIL FFS!). As wide-grinning
frontman Steve "Lips" Kudlow yells “Are you ready to rock,
Brisbane??” into his Flying V’s pickups and cranks up a huge distorted riff, we
rewind our collective clocks to 1981 (the year this writer was born) and throw
up the devil’s horns for the old times’ sake. Watching drummer Robb Reiner fiercely
whack his kit and bassist Greg Five pull priceless sex faces through hoary
chestnuts 666, This Is Thirteen and Metal On Metal is a treat, however the novelty
factor annoyingly keeps lurking in the background and the trio’s music appears
to largely omit something that made fellow first-wave thrash bands like
Metallica, Megadeth and Slayer so appealing in the first place: hooks. On that
thought, we elbow our way back to the main stages area.
Halfway through their set by the time we push closer to the
front, pop-punk sensations Paramore seem
to feed off the energy of their massive crowd. Clad in tight leopard-print pants,
hyperactive redhead Hayley Williams doesn’t seem to have an ‘off’ button as she
races in every direction onstage, climbs monitors and generally rocks out with enviable
zeal. She’s hardly just a “feisty little emo chick” or Kelly Clarkson with more
street cred and is ready to prove it, belting out the self-proclaiming For A
Pessimist I’m Pretty Optimistic, Misery Business (upon which she declares she “can’t possibly smell any worse!”) and the
closing mega-hit Brick By Boring Brick. Yours truly may be twice the age of
Paramore’s target audience, but admittedly the Tennessee five-piece do put out
live.
As someone who has been treating goth-shtick bands with a
high degree of doubt since the late ‘90s, I’ve been reluctant to like Placebo before my obsessed-fan ex got
me into them. Today, though, I regretfully have to acknowledge that my initial
neglect is well and truly making a comeback as I watch Brian Molko (sporting a
1998-vintage “post-grunge” hairstyle), Stefan Olsdal and a bunch of backing
musos trudge through a largely toothless set. Heavily tattooed new drummer
Steve Forrest is a serviceable replacement for the long-serving founding member
Steve Hewitt, yet the additional live members seem redundant when you know it
only takes one electric guitar, one bass and a drumkit to play the majority of
the collective’s numbers.
On the brighter side, the melancholic eponymous track of
their finest album Sleeping With Ghosts is an early nice touch while The Bitter
End still packs a fair punch, as do Meds, Song To Say Goodbye, Infra Red and
failsafe oldies Every You Every Me, Special K and the closing Taste In Men. The
Battle For The Sun material, however – from the tuneless set opener For What
It’s Worth and plodding Ashtray Heart to the non-descript Bright Lights – is
equivalent to a wet arse, if such comparison is plausible. Lastly, Molko trying
to politicise on Trigger Happy may look badass if you’re sixteen, but otherwise
comes off as being plain pathetic. The images of the already somewhat tepid,
yet still compelling Placebo circa their 2006 Meds tour fast fading in my head,
I note that perhaps we should have seen Swedish extreme metal godheads Meshuggah instead.
Seasoned crowd-slayers, AFI
spring up on the neighbouring Stage 2 and duly blow the preceding act away
with the scything Medicate [NB: this
writer has never been a big AFI fan, he’s just…suitably impressed] and pretty much the rest of
their super-tight set. Sporting a rockabilly-style quiff instead of the
outdated emo fringe, Davey Havok is firing on all cylinders today, threatening
to blow his voice out, swinging the mic, leaping into the air and at one point
climbing into the crowd to share the love. Similarly not standing in the same
spot for more than a few seconds, guitarist Jade Puget – always taut and restrained
on record – displays impressive chops as he unveils his full arsenal of tricks.
I’m not going to recite the full setlist here, but if you’re a punk fan, you’d
probably agree it’s close to being impeccable: Kill Caustic, Girl’s Not Grey,
The Leaving Song Pt. II, Too Shy To Scream et al. The closing treble of calling
cards Miss Murder, Silver And Cold and Love Like Winter culminates with one of
the show’s most memorable moments – Puget launching his guitar airborne before
he walks off and his guitar tech expertly catching it. Have AFI still got a titular
fire inside? You bet.
To these two former ‘90s teenagers from drastically
different backgrounds, alt-rock giants Jane’s
Addiction at Soundwave amount to: a) getting close and personal with a major
formative influence b) seeing a slice of rock music history. Rocking his
trademark Hollywood boulevard pimp/male pornstar look, Dave Navarro is an
immaculately preserved embodiment of rock excess – pecs, tatts, ciggie and all
– while the seemingly non-ageing Perry Farrell slowly prowling onstage and
climbing atop a foldback, a wine bottle in hand, to the immortal strains of
Nothing Shocking’s opening track Up The Beach creates an image destined to be
forever burned into the attendees’ memory. It quickly gets visceral as Eric Avery
pummels out The Mountain Song’s brain-tickling bassline and Navarro launches
into the scything riff; Ain’t No Right maintains the unmatched funky vibe, yet
the true piece de resistance arrives
with the incredible ménage-a-trois/drug abuse epic Three Days, two saucy
burlesque dancers emerging to keep Farrell company and Navarro pulling off sky-scraping
solos.
The rest is a JA fan’s wet dream: Whores, the now-ironic
Been Caught Stealing (try saying that shoplifting is cool these days), a
poignant Then She Said…, a suitably gigantic Ocean Size and a singularly
unbelievable Ted, Just Admit It (the girls assuming legs-akimbo positions
seemingly on cue with the “her sex is
violent… and nothing’s shocking” line). Giving his searing vocals a brief
rest, seasoned show pony Farrell mock-chidingly claims the band always got
ripped off buying heroin in Brisbane back in the olden days before announcing
the signature closing number (and a drug user lament if there ever was one)
Jane Says. Navarro and Avery begin strumming the immortal acoustic shuffle and
drummer Stephen Perkins shifts over to the bongos and then the gamelan…Epic.
Life = complete (if you’re a gig-going rock nut like me).
After such a monumental high, Jimmy Eat World pertain to an extended, boring-as-hell comedown as
we are treated to an hour-plus of musical mediocrity. Wedged between two
flat-out-legendary acts by a sheer stroke of luck – in their case, My Chemical
Romance pulling out – the Arizona four-piece remain statuesque as they
earnestly cover the whole palette of middle-of-the-road radio rock, emo and
pop-punk. To their credit, Jim Adkins and co maintain a hold of a huge audience
despite (or maybe due to, actually) their tired “everyday, average normal guy”
look and squeaky-clean FM radio sound. Staples 23, No Sensitivity, Big Casino, Bleed
American and a cringe-worthy power ballad Pain are all eagerly lapped up by the
Stage 2 crowd and there’s a palpable sigh of relief from the long-cursing Stage
1 gathering as JEW bow out with an immensely annoying song that has taken them
around the world and back since it came out in 2001 – The Middle. Alternative?
Not. In all, an appropriate set finish for the band and a highly inappropriate
bill placement for everyone else.
It goes without saying that the vast majority of Soundwave
2010 attendees have pencilled in plans to see a rare-as-hen’s-teeth gig – Faith No More, newly reformed in the Album
Of The Year lineup with Jon Hudson on guitar. Donning matching pastel-suit
attire, the headliners open with a highly kitsch, yet bizarrely appropriate
cover of Peaches & Herb’s schmaltzy Reunited before sending the masses
apeshit with the punchy From Out Of Nowhere. Angel Dust’s Caffeine and King For
A Day’s Evidence are as loose and funky as the album takes, bassist Bill Gould
attacking his instrument just like back in FNM’s
‘90s heyday; The Gentle Art of Making Enemies has one fiercely-headbanging
punter nearly whip us with his hair and Chinese Arithmetic is hilariously
preceded by the deadpan Mike Patton reciting the verse from Lady Gaga’s Poker
Face. An arms-aloft, universal singalong moment arrives with the perennial,
Lionel Richie-penned Easy while
Ashes To Ashes and Midlife Crisis also ably fulfill the
crowd-pleasing function. Second high-profile cover aired tonight, I Started a
Joke is hell more menacing that the recorded version (let alone the Bee Gees
original) – try doing that at a karaoke.
With only one The Real Thing track performed so far, Falling
To Pieces’ conspicuous absence makes my inner wide-trousered rap-rock teenager
utter a wistful sigh, but even more disappointingly, we completely miss Mike
Patton literally rock out with his cock out – or to be more precise, the
ever-intimidating frontman unzipping his fly and pressing his old chap against
the videocam lens, much to the cameraman’s horror. This trademark moment of
lunacy aside, the vocal chameleon keeps effortlessly switching between the
louche gentleman and unhinged freak-rocker roles during Last Cup Of Sorrow, Cuckoo
For Caca, Surprise! You're Dead! and King For A Day. Signature anthem Epic has
the place swaying in unison and Just A Man replaces the awaited hit Digging The
Grave, as if to further stipulate the point that tonight, it’s all about Mike
Patton and his rambling genius and his former/present cohorts keep their
respective egos in check.
Not a lot of acts do festival encores, yet FNM
are not done until they annihilate the crowd some more with the Chariots Of
Fire/Stripsearch sequence and a frantic – and unexpected, seeing as it was a
one-off single back in 1998 – cover of Sparks’
This Town Ain't Big Enough For The Both Of Us. In brief, not as transcendental
as Jane’s Addiction, yet with its own unique feel and, of course, as powerfully
cerebral as we’ve come to know the Californian iconoclasts. Mike Patton, you’ve
flipped our wigs again, man – and as a side note, bring back Mr Bungle!
As we leave the Showgrounds among the stream of weary
attendees, we agree that today has been – in youth-speak – so rad it threatens
to erase the BDO memories. Not only that, but the abovementioned JA and FNM
have made it a decisively unforgettable experience. Soundwave 2010, we salute
you.
Photos by Kendall Salzman - check out the full gallery HERE!
