Big Day Out -- The Gold Coast Parklands
Big Day Out
The Gold Coast Parklands
January 22, 2006
The Big Day Out is Australia's premier music festival. It travels the country every January offering scores of acts across several stages. The Gold Coast version which I attended yesterday was 12 hours of music on 8 different stages and drew around 50,000 eager punters.
Adelaide-based quartet Wolf & Cub treat a rapidly swelling crowd to their lyrically sparse indie rock on the Green Stage. Thom's distorted, melodic basslines tie tightly with the percussion of twin drummers JC and Adam and set up looping beats, while guitarist and vocalist Joel proceeds to wander off on extravagant musical tangents and proves that the guitar solo is not yet dead. They're at their best when the bongoes kick in, shining through as an additional counterpoint.
Even as Wolf & Cub finish, the faithful are gathering for the Grates. Screams go up as drummer Alana wanders out to set up some equipment. Anticipation builds and the Grates do not disappoint, surging powerfully through a set that features a grab-bag of highlights. Rock Boys has a languorous intensity like lazy lovemaking on a Sunday afternoon. Inside/Out is simply manic. Sukkafish and Trampoline get a rousing crowd reaction while new song Lies is rambunctious and infectious.
Throughout, Patience bounces, dances, marches, waves and air guitars like a pogo stick gone mad. Resplendent in an eye-popping red-and-white dress and sparkling silver slippers, she chivvies the crowd with an enthusiasm to match the brightness of her outfit. And if that's not enough, her impossibly gorgeous voice is completely irresistible. All too soon, The Grates close out with Message, but surely the message of the day is: we need the debut long-player now!
Over on the main stage, Gerling are doing their best to kick-start a somnolent crowd. A bunch of people sing along to In The City and the lively single Get Activated induces some dancing, but many more seem just as happy to drink and plan who they're seeing next. And despite the exhortations of Darren Cross, Paul Towner and Burke Reid to "Get your hands in the air", as they drift further into their electronica-tinged back-catalogue, they find it harder to shift the masses out of neutral. The introduction of 'Duckworth', who dances maniacally around stage in a garish yellow and orange suit, and three giant striped beach balls offer momentary bemusement while the wacky Mexican loops and dubs on Deep Fryer (Ole!) inspire complete mystification. Closer Who's Ya Daddy brings the crowd back from the dead, but it's hard not to wonder whether Gerling would have been better placed in the Boiler Room.
Hard rockers Magic Dirt draw extensively on their last three albums as they prove you can rock on under the baking afternoon sun. Sucker Love and Watch Out Boys grab us by the short and curlies. Adalita gives her hand a gentle but irresistible twist with Feels Like A Demon and All My Crushes. We're drawn closer and compelled to sway. The gentleness soon evaporates. A demanding tug and we're up close and personal with Plastic Loveless Letter. Finally, we're shoved onto our backs and Adalita triumphantly plants a booted foot on our reeling bodies as Magic Dirt reel off a superb conclusion with the amazing spoken-word piece Vulcanella and some lusciously layered guitar and vocals on Mother's Latest Fear.
US punk-pop chick trio Sleater Kinney find it difficult to excite the masses as they seemingly wrestle with muddy and indistinct vocals. Jumpers' urgent guitar hooks finally manage to engage the crowd, while an extended version of closer Entertain showcases them the best -- a roiling, rolling, repeating mass of drums and guitars with Tucker's pure vocals finally shining through to give us a hint of their power, passion and icy beauty.
Sarah Blasko takes all of sixty seconds to have the crowd eating out of her hand. Songs such as Sweet November, Counting Sheep and Perfect Now are completely sublime and suck you in effortlessly. Sarah's voice is soft and hypnotic, her stage presence quirky yet arresting. On Always Worth It her voice just floats over the audience like it's borne by an angel. At times she's robotic, at others full of elfin, pixie-like innocence. Her band, dramatically decked out in black clothes with thin, red ties are equally impressive. This is a band at the peak of its powers. With superb songs that will make you ache for more, Sarah Blasko is not to be missed if you can avoid it.
Back at the main stage, everything has been delayed due to a massive power loss during Mudvayne's set. The Hilltop Hoods start about twenty minutes late. Apparently they haven't played for about nine months -- which may explain the 5 minutes of scratching around at the start of their set. A restless crowd cheers when they slip on some White Stripes for a few moments. When they finally get going, new single Clown Prince and Dumb Enough show that the break hasn't affected their vocal agility at all. MCs Suffa and Pressure toss lyrics back and forth as though they're live hand grenades. They proceed to thrill a huge crowd with their rapid-fire Hip Hop. Later, from the distance of the Local Stage on the hill, the familiar strains of The Nosebleed Section drift over. It's impossible not to be awed by the sight of a sea of people stretching back hundreds of metres -- all moving and swaying in unison.
Giants of Science alternate between frantic pop-rock songs and relaxed banter. Amazingly, the first five songs from their set are the first five off their recent album Here Is The Punishment. Opener and title track Punishment is simply delicious, while Sisters combines Salter's strained vocals with relentless, squealing guitars. The Brisbane five-piece finish by flogging their guitars into submission as they cover (I think) Search And Destroy "because we know Iggy doesn't do Raw Power anymore."
The Beasts of Bourbon are holding audience over on the Essential Stage and young and old have gathered to witness one of the legendary bands of Australian rock. The atmosphere is charged with testosterone. Most of it's coming from Tex Perkins. Masculinity personified, the dark, brooding frontman unleashes an impassioned set that seems one part tirade, one part catharsis, and one part beer.
Chase The Dragon is raw enough to leave you breathless, but it's a tiny summer shower compared to the violent thunderstorm that follows. What shines through, particularly for the uninitiated, are the viperous, whip-crack lyrics.
On Makem Cry, for example, he broods: "You don't care how many you hurt / You think the sun shines from under your skirt".
This lyrical viciousness is the foundation, but it's Perkins' incredibly emotive delivery, coupled with the brilliance of Spencer P Jones' guitar and Brian Hooper's grinding basslines that make this an unforgettable performance. From the blatant sexuality of Finger Lickin' and Just Right to the quiet despair of Saturate Me, the Beasts of Bourbon treat an increasingly wowed audience to a visceral and thrilling journey through their long career.
And though Perkins pauses now and then to preface a song with a tale, or squirt beer through his teeth at the front row, there's never the slightest doubt that the intensity might drop. Even a momentary pause while a roadie fixes his microphone becomes an opportunity for showmanship. Tex grabs Brian's cane and faux-hobbles after the guy, warbling in a perfect imitation of an old man's voice: "Get away with you, young man! I'll have you if you tamper with my things again!"
By the time they conclude with signature tune Hard For You and Let's Get Funky, sections of the crowd are slam dancing against each other. Perkins' demonic laughter at the end could as easily be him enjoying his triumph. Class never dies and forty-five minutes never went so fast.
With the main stage back on schedule, Franz Ferdinand serve up the treats pretty much equally from the self-titled debut and You could have it so much better. The punters lap it up.
Do You Want To feels extravagantly glam even if the improvised line "Meet you at a BDO party" fits a little awkwardly. The urgent guitar and breathlessly rushed chorus of Dark Of The Matinee is a highlight as is the homo-erotic sexiness of Michael. Alex Kapranos beckons at the crowd peremptorily with a finger as he sings, but his voice can't quite match the husky seduction found on the album version. Typically, it's hit single Take Me Out that energises the crowd most, though perhaps not quite as much as it might have a mere twelve months ago. Near-silence reigns as Elanor Put your Boots On's piano drifts out delicately into the night air and 40' features an extension of that oh-so-sexy bass line while Alex grandly introduces the other band members.
The Scotsmen entertain with songs that are infectiously singable and danceable, but at the end you can't help but feel there's a tiny spark of inspiration missing that would have transformed 'good' into 'great'.
Iggy and the Stooges claim the stage. Loose, Down On The Street and 1969 form an oddly subdued opening, despite manic antics from Iggy that include a diversion to climb the rear speaker stack. Thousands of fans cheer him on and once atop, he grinds and humps away.
Still, something's lacking. Perhaps Iggy senses this. After 1969, he shouts: "More bass, man! More bass!" and fiddles some knobs. The change is electrifying as I Wanna Be Your Dog suddenly takes us all into overdrive. It's like aviation fuel has been lying over the stage and Iggy has just tossed out a match. Watts and the two Ashetons rise to the occasion going faster, louder, harder, while Iggy howls like a dog and throws himself into the audience.
The looping, screaming guitar on TV Eye is brutally fast and meshes perfectly with the slapping bassline and Scott Asheton's relentless drums. The grotty, bluesy Dirt offers momentary respite and conjures images of run-down industrial estates. And Ron Asheton's guitar solo midway through is just damn cool. Real Cool Time is absolutely mental. Iggy taunts those at the front: "You know you want to be up here with me tonight!" Then it's a challenge: "Don't you want to get up here? Get up here! Let 'em up! We're the fucking Stooges, let 'em up!" People leap the barrier and he drags a dozen or more onto the stage to dance around with him. No Fun is the same and security is completely powerless to intervene.
Showing incredible energy for a 58-year-old, he surges through a version of 1970 which features some wonderfully anarachic saxophone. There's no doubting him when he screams "I feel all right". Skull Ring "fast cars, hot chicks, money" is like a mantra to rock stardom. Finally, The Stooges reprise I Wanna Be A Dog proving it to be even more amazing with the addition of the saxophone. They depart not to applause, but to worship.
In complete contrast to Iggy and the Stooges minimalism, headliners the White Stripes have brought along an elaborate setup. A huge backdrop of a starburst or something dominates in white on black starkness. White, frosted palms dot the front of the stage, thematically repeated on tall screenprinted banners. The instruments are starkly red, except for the gleaming black of a grand piano. Even Jack White's microphone cover is red.
They leap out of the blocks with Dead Leaves And Dirty Ground and I Think I Smell A Rat. The back-and-forth duel of guitar and drums on the latter is enthralling. Meg steps up to a pair of Timpani to give us a breathy rendition of Passive Manipulation. Jack wrings his guitar on Blue Orchid, coaxing it to follow and imitate his soft, preacher-like singing voice uncannily. The Nurse features Marimba and cacophonic stabs of pedal-activated distortion while Crowd favourite My Doorbell is charmingly earnest and contrasts dramatically with the desperation and the deep pipe-organ sounds of Lovesick that immediately follows.
He switches instruments effortlessly -- like boybands switch outfits -- but his virtuoso skill is most evident on guitar. Death Letter is all delicately plucked slide guitar contrasting with powerful strumming. We Are Going To Be Friends could hardly be any softer without being a capella. Red Rain goes from a gentle spring shower to a monsoon in an instant, and then back.
Ending the night with eternal crowd-pleaser Seven Nation Army and Boll Weevil it's clear the White Stripes have delivered a set of stunning breadth, but for all their endeavour it's their fellow Detroit rockers The Stooges that have stolen the show.
The Gold Coast Parklands
January 22, 2006
The Big Day Out is Australia's premier music festival. It travels the country every January offering scores of acts across several stages. The Gold Coast version which I attended yesterday was 12 hours of music on 8 different stages and drew around 50,000 eager punters.
Adelaide-based quartet Wolf & Cub treat a rapidly swelling crowd to their lyrically sparse indie rock on the Green Stage. Thom's distorted, melodic basslines tie tightly with the percussion of twin drummers JC and Adam and set up looping beats, while guitarist and vocalist Joel proceeds to wander off on extravagant musical tangents and proves that the guitar solo is not yet dead. They're at their best when the bongoes kick in, shining through as an additional counterpoint.
Even as Wolf & Cub finish, the faithful are gathering for the Grates. Screams go up as drummer Alana wanders out to set up some equipment. Anticipation builds and the Grates do not disappoint, surging powerfully through a set that features a grab-bag of highlights. Rock Boys has a languorous intensity like lazy lovemaking on a Sunday afternoon. Inside/Out is simply manic. Sukkafish and Trampoline get a rousing crowd reaction while new song Lies is rambunctious and infectious.
Throughout, Patience bounces, dances, marches, waves and air guitars like a pogo stick gone mad. Resplendent in an eye-popping red-and-white dress and sparkling silver slippers, she chivvies the crowd with an enthusiasm to match the brightness of her outfit. And if that's not enough, her impossibly gorgeous voice is completely irresistible. All too soon, The Grates close out with Message, but surely the message of the day is: we need the debut long-player now!
Over on the main stage, Gerling are doing their best to kick-start a somnolent crowd. A bunch of people sing along to In The City and the lively single Get Activated induces some dancing, but many more seem just as happy to drink and plan who they're seeing next. And despite the exhortations of Darren Cross, Paul Towner and Burke Reid to "Get your hands in the air", as they drift further into their electronica-tinged back-catalogue, they find it harder to shift the masses out of neutral. The introduction of 'Duckworth', who dances maniacally around stage in a garish yellow and orange suit, and three giant striped beach balls offer momentary bemusement while the wacky Mexican loops and dubs on Deep Fryer (Ole!) inspire complete mystification. Closer Who's Ya Daddy brings the crowd back from the dead, but it's hard not to wonder whether Gerling would have been better placed in the Boiler Room.
Hard rockers Magic Dirt draw extensively on their last three albums as they prove you can rock on under the baking afternoon sun. Sucker Love and Watch Out Boys grab us by the short and curlies. Adalita gives her hand a gentle but irresistible twist with Feels Like A Demon and All My Crushes. We're drawn closer and compelled to sway. The gentleness soon evaporates. A demanding tug and we're up close and personal with Plastic Loveless Letter. Finally, we're shoved onto our backs and Adalita triumphantly plants a booted foot on our reeling bodies as Magic Dirt reel off a superb conclusion with the amazing spoken-word piece Vulcanella and some lusciously layered guitar and vocals on Mother's Latest Fear.
US punk-pop chick trio Sleater Kinney find it difficult to excite the masses as they seemingly wrestle with muddy and indistinct vocals. Jumpers' urgent guitar hooks finally manage to engage the crowd, while an extended version of closer Entertain showcases them the best -- a roiling, rolling, repeating mass of drums and guitars with Tucker's pure vocals finally shining through to give us a hint of their power, passion and icy beauty.
Sarah Blasko takes all of sixty seconds to have the crowd eating out of her hand. Songs such as Sweet November, Counting Sheep and Perfect Now are completely sublime and suck you in effortlessly. Sarah's voice is soft and hypnotic, her stage presence quirky yet arresting. On Always Worth It her voice just floats over the audience like it's borne by an angel. At times she's robotic, at others full of elfin, pixie-like innocence. Her band, dramatically decked out in black clothes with thin, red ties are equally impressive. This is a band at the peak of its powers. With superb songs that will make you ache for more, Sarah Blasko is not to be missed if you can avoid it.
Back at the main stage, everything has been delayed due to a massive power loss during Mudvayne's set. The Hilltop Hoods start about twenty minutes late. Apparently they haven't played for about nine months -- which may explain the 5 minutes of scratching around at the start of their set. A restless crowd cheers when they slip on some White Stripes for a few moments. When they finally get going, new single Clown Prince and Dumb Enough show that the break hasn't affected their vocal agility at all. MCs Suffa and Pressure toss lyrics back and forth as though they're live hand grenades. They proceed to thrill a huge crowd with their rapid-fire Hip Hop. Later, from the distance of the Local Stage on the hill, the familiar strains of The Nosebleed Section drift over. It's impossible not to be awed by the sight of a sea of people stretching back hundreds of metres -- all moving and swaying in unison.
Giants of Science alternate between frantic pop-rock songs and relaxed banter. Amazingly, the first five songs from their set are the first five off their recent album Here Is The Punishment. Opener and title track Punishment is simply delicious, while Sisters combines Salter's strained vocals with relentless, squealing guitars. The Brisbane five-piece finish by flogging their guitars into submission as they cover (I think) Search And Destroy "because we know Iggy doesn't do Raw Power anymore."
The Beasts of Bourbon are holding audience over on the Essential Stage and young and old have gathered to witness one of the legendary bands of Australian rock. The atmosphere is charged with testosterone. Most of it's coming from Tex Perkins. Masculinity personified, the dark, brooding frontman unleashes an impassioned set that seems one part tirade, one part catharsis, and one part beer.
Chase The Dragon is raw enough to leave you breathless, but it's a tiny summer shower compared to the violent thunderstorm that follows. What shines through, particularly for the uninitiated, are the viperous, whip-crack lyrics.
On Makem Cry, for example, he broods: "You don't care how many you hurt / You think the sun shines from under your skirt".
This lyrical viciousness is the foundation, but it's Perkins' incredibly emotive delivery, coupled with the brilliance of Spencer P Jones' guitar and Brian Hooper's grinding basslines that make this an unforgettable performance. From the blatant sexuality of Finger Lickin' and Just Right to the quiet despair of Saturate Me, the Beasts of Bourbon treat an increasingly wowed audience to a visceral and thrilling journey through their long career.
And though Perkins pauses now and then to preface a song with a tale, or squirt beer through his teeth at the front row, there's never the slightest doubt that the intensity might drop. Even a momentary pause while a roadie fixes his microphone becomes an opportunity for showmanship. Tex grabs Brian's cane and faux-hobbles after the guy, warbling in a perfect imitation of an old man's voice: "Get away with you, young man! I'll have you if you tamper with my things again!"
By the time they conclude with signature tune Hard For You and Let's Get Funky, sections of the crowd are slam dancing against each other. Perkins' demonic laughter at the end could as easily be him enjoying his triumph. Class never dies and forty-five minutes never went so fast.
With the main stage back on schedule, Franz Ferdinand serve up the treats pretty much equally from the self-titled debut and You could have it so much better. The punters lap it up.
Do You Want To feels extravagantly glam even if the improvised line "Meet you at a BDO party" fits a little awkwardly. The urgent guitar and breathlessly rushed chorus of Dark Of The Matinee is a highlight as is the homo-erotic sexiness of Michael. Alex Kapranos beckons at the crowd peremptorily with a finger as he sings, but his voice can't quite match the husky seduction found on the album version. Typically, it's hit single Take Me Out that energises the crowd most, though perhaps not quite as much as it might have a mere twelve months ago. Near-silence reigns as Elanor Put your Boots On's piano drifts out delicately into the night air and 40' features an extension of that oh-so-sexy bass line while Alex grandly introduces the other band members.
The Scotsmen entertain with songs that are infectiously singable and danceable, but at the end you can't help but feel there's a tiny spark of inspiration missing that would have transformed 'good' into 'great'.
Iggy and the Stooges claim the stage. Loose, Down On The Street and 1969 form an oddly subdued opening, despite manic antics from Iggy that include a diversion to climb the rear speaker stack. Thousands of fans cheer him on and once atop, he grinds and humps away.
Still, something's lacking. Perhaps Iggy senses this. After 1969, he shouts: "More bass, man! More bass!" and fiddles some knobs. The change is electrifying as I Wanna Be Your Dog suddenly takes us all into overdrive. It's like aviation fuel has been lying over the stage and Iggy has just tossed out a match. Watts and the two Ashetons rise to the occasion going faster, louder, harder, while Iggy howls like a dog and throws himself into the audience.
The looping, screaming guitar on TV Eye is brutally fast and meshes perfectly with the slapping bassline and Scott Asheton's relentless drums. The grotty, bluesy Dirt offers momentary respite and conjures images of run-down industrial estates. And Ron Asheton's guitar solo midway through is just damn cool. Real Cool Time is absolutely mental. Iggy taunts those at the front: "You know you want to be up here with me tonight!" Then it's a challenge: "Don't you want to get up here? Get up here! Let 'em up! We're the fucking Stooges, let 'em up!" People leap the barrier and he drags a dozen or more onto the stage to dance around with him. No Fun is the same and security is completely powerless to intervene.
Showing incredible energy for a 58-year-old, he surges through a version of 1970 which features some wonderfully anarachic saxophone. There's no doubting him when he screams "I feel all right". Skull Ring "fast cars, hot chicks, money" is like a mantra to rock stardom. Finally, The Stooges reprise I Wanna Be A Dog proving it to be even more amazing with the addition of the saxophone. They depart not to applause, but to worship.
In complete contrast to Iggy and the Stooges minimalism, headliners the White Stripes have brought along an elaborate setup. A huge backdrop of a starburst or something dominates in white on black starkness. White, frosted palms dot the front of the stage, thematically repeated on tall screenprinted banners. The instruments are starkly red, except for the gleaming black of a grand piano. Even Jack White's microphone cover is red.
They leap out of the blocks with Dead Leaves And Dirty Ground and I Think I Smell A Rat. The back-and-forth duel of guitar and drums on the latter is enthralling. Meg steps up to a pair of Timpani to give us a breathy rendition of Passive Manipulation. Jack wrings his guitar on Blue Orchid, coaxing it to follow and imitate his soft, preacher-like singing voice uncannily. The Nurse features Marimba and cacophonic stabs of pedal-activated distortion while Crowd favourite My Doorbell is charmingly earnest and contrasts dramatically with the desperation and the deep pipe-organ sounds of Lovesick that immediately follows.
He switches instruments effortlessly -- like boybands switch outfits -- but his virtuoso skill is most evident on guitar. Death Letter is all delicately plucked slide guitar contrasting with powerful strumming. We Are Going To Be Friends could hardly be any softer without being a capella. Red Rain goes from a gentle spring shower to a monsoon in an instant, and then back.
Ending the night with eternal crowd-pleaser Seven Nation Army and Boll Weevil it's clear the White Stripes have delivered a set of stunning breadth, but for all their endeavour it's their fellow Detroit rockers The Stooges that have stolen the show.