Soundwave Festival Melbourne 2014 @ Flemington Racecourse, Melbourne (28/02/2014)
The weather itself was never anything less than clear and spectacular for the entire duration of Melbourne Soundwave this year. Ask any of the thousands of bright pink punters stumbling out of Flemington with big smiles spread across their sweaty, grime-riddled faces on Friday night and they’d doubtlessly tell you the same. Smiles not at all dissimilar to the infectious one gleaming deep from within the hefty beard of Johan Hegg, Amon Amarth’s rapturous front man.
These Swedish epic metal behemoths graced stage 4 with both a ball-tearing energy, and the bow of a Viking war ship jutting from the centre-third of the stage. Stairs on either side of this impressive, smoke-bellowing structure made it a cinch for any member of the band to easily join their already perched drummer for head banging, guitar thrashing, and wailing at will. It was a fantastic wake up call to start the day from five genuinely thankful, upbeat, and astonishingly entertaining Scandinavians.
Departing after Amon Amarth’s entire set to squeeze in some of Biffy Clyro on one of the main stages was a last minute decision that went without regret. The characteristically shirtless Scots jump between wall-of-noise crescendos and aggressively catchy hook-driven guitar licks with aplomb. A die hard Melbourne following jammed to the rails belting out every word for the few songs I saw still pales in comparison to the tens of thousands of folks who would cram sell out arenas to see these guys in action night after night back in the UK. Certainly not the same response down under, but not at all unworthy of a main stage spot never the less.
Whipping over to Stage 5 in time to catch local Oi-Punk stalwarts Nancy Vandal finishing up was a cool enough way to kill ten danceable minutes before Less Than Jake strutted from the wings to undoubtedly prove themselves the most entertaining band on the bill for the day. Being a group for over twenty years has made these ska champions expert when it comes to crowd participation. About four years ago at another Melbourne Soundwave, LTJ endeared a crowd of thousands to start a circle pit that ran around the entire circumference of a multi-storey main stage tech structure. Having already worked the devoted masses in to a frenzy with several of their undeniably fun party starters, the crowd was more than happy to oblige.
Flash forward to a smaller stage in 2014, and the downsize proved utterly insignificant in the face of Chris, Roger, Buddy, Vinnie, and JR’s willingness to make their crowd go mental. The towering tech tent had instead replaced by a sizeable pillar that plenty of folks still willingly and gleefully crashed around to the tune of Short Fuse Burning. In their meek forty five minute set, LTJ obliterated their crowd with entertainment, a feat any returning fan will tell you is par for the course. Demanding nudity, a cat walk created entirely with punters’ bodies up the guts of the mosh pit during The Science Of Selling Yourself Short, or getting a visibly bored man on stage to drink free beer and make out with a stranger are all new hilarious and unique additions to the basically endless spectacles one may see at a Less Than Jake show. Bring on their triumphant thirteenth-ish return to our shore ASAP.
Before forgetting most of the lyrics to Private Eye, and This Could Be Love, Alkaline Trio front man Matt Skiba appropriately warned anyone in a band that they should never party with Gwar the night before a show. I’m sure he was right, because it made for one of the flattest sets of the day. Alkaline Trio are a remarkably awesome band with fans that have stayed true to them for their entire two-decade career. They resonate emotionally with their followers like few other bands do, this reviewer included. It’s a shame when such a great band is so underwhelming, especially when you’ve seen them in top form on previous occasions. Here’s hoping they return with a headliner one day soon, and reconnect (less strung out) with their audience.
Catching a couple of songs from Mutemath was a groovy and unique thing. Their impressive array of instruments and musically cluttered stage set up promised an eclectic show that never much came to fruition before I was forced to depart and catch sight of Richie Sambora. He was starting Dead Or Alive as I arrived, and as it came to a close, so had my interest. Not saying he was a bad performer, but definitely by the numbers during that particular song. Being just entertaining enough simply won’t do on a festival line up featuring so many bands that routinely tear their audiences apart with blistering presence.
Speaking of which, A Fire Inside did just that with their sun-drenched afternoon spot on stage 3. Davey Havok has never drunk or taken drugs in his entire life, and why would he? The man is made of pure, seething energy, and any introduced excess of it would no doubt prove redundant. Literally possessed by the music every second he is performing, he walks on the crowd screaming like some kind of shimmering anti-Christ, a reversed crucifix studded in to his pitch black jacket further cementing the simile. The man is one long eruption from go-to-woah that sets the bar for that of which a truly great front man can be capable. Not just today, but every single time they play.
It was back to the metal pits at stage 4 to wait for Gwar to infamously attempt offending everyone on earth simultaneously with over-the-top, gore-soaked, amoral, and funny-as-fuck comedy metal. Catching a glimpse of the super positive nu-metallers Ill Niño was a pleasant surprise. Their music may only retain its appeal with a lasting few from a particular decade old scene, but their messages to the crowd about avoiding bullshit trends and doing what you feel were a lovely thing to hear.
Watching a gnarled old Gwar roadie in overalls lazily taping some shit down with a ciggie jutting from his gob before the group launched on to stage had me in hysterics. The dude quite visibly gave the less than the slightest of fucks about OH&S, as he deftly dropped the lit ciggie, and stubbed it with his boot. It was a small thoughtless act that intertwined deftly with Gwar’s mindset as a band. Once on stage in their iconic and over blown costumes, there’s no doubt these guys are a dedicated bunch. Foam or not, that shit must be heavy, and I’m sure one of the guitarists has no idea where he is due to costume-based vision impairment throughout the set. Regardless, they are on form, and very entertaining. Years of this gig obviously proving them experts at the trade, Gwar powered through their set, ceaselessly jizzed blood, eviscerated a cop, beheaded our prime minister, and sliced off Queen Elizabeth II’s tits. All while leaving their fevered, gore soaked audience gagging for more. Go Gwar, you good thing. And yes, fuck Tony Abbott.
Placebo always land a main stage spot at Soundwave for reasons that defy my comprehension. Yes, they are (were?) rather popular, and have some very good songs. Entertainment-wise, however, they are as tepid as a band comes. Brian Molko is lazy and uninvolved. It seems like he spent more time focussing on his effeminate appearance than assessing how best to entertain his audience. Not a very fun show, although perhaps the idea. As Frenzal Rhomb once so eagerly stated; “He’s (Molko) just another millionaire who knows his life is good, he makes a dollar twenty every time you feel misunderstood”. Indeed…
Back to stage 3 for a bit of Panic! At The Disco. Proving themselves infinitely more entertaining since their languid Pretty. Odd. stadium tour back in 2008, Brendon Urie is a glamourous and jolly nut the entire show. The man is a born entertainer, and has single-handedly carried his band through more line up and image changes than most other musical outfits could bear. A glittery and energetic show to say the least, Urie deserves every ounce of praise for his top shelf entertainment value.
A short hop over to the smaller stage 7 let me briefly bear witness to Satirycon blasting their audience to bits by being expectedly black-metal-as-all-fuck. I watched a song in the tiny, enclosed tent surrounding the stage, and I damn near destroyed my hearing. Good show, you evil Norwegian bastards.
Back to the miniscule stage 3 annex to watch Bowling For Soup for the second time in a week was arguably the best decision one could make on the day. The sugary pop-punk champions are hands down the funniest band I’ve seen live. Front man Jaret admitting he was “Easily the most hung over man on the planet today” at the hands of five buck Mad Mex margaritas may have had anyone who watched Alkaline Trio worried that BFS would not to be up to their usual brilliantly entertaining scratch, but their worry was quickly proven in vain (In Vein is, rather coincidentally, the name of an Alkaline Trio song I’m sure Matt Skiba would have also forgotten the words to if his band had attempted to play it earlier on in the day). BFS killed it in Melbourne for the second time in a week, the quick witted Texans had their audience bouncing to their infectious tunes and rollicking with laughter in equal measure. Easily a highlight of the day, and then some. “Bowling For Soup: the band you can wave to”, and also enjoy the absolute shit out of.
Trivium have an ever greatening legion of fans with every progressively heavier release they regularly blast in to the universe. I caught a few of their seamless ear-ruiners back on the metal stages, but not before bearing witness to a paunchy, middle-aged man strut past me in a skeleton leotard and a pirate flag cape like it wasn’t a big deal. Indicative of Soundwave, but a special thanks all the same for that man; you made a group of people lounging in the sun listening to great metal feel ever better about the day they were having. There was also a delicate yellow Japanese paper umbrella waywardly rounding the circle pit that had been doing so undamaged since Amon Amarth started their set six hours earlier. I’ll never understand how that umbrella remained intact… seriously, that’s it. I have absolutely no explanation. It was a very pretty umbrella.
Trivium ended and Baroness started, and it was great. I’m sad I couldn’t see their psychedelic, stoner-infused brand of balls to the wall heavy rock play out for the entire set, as it seemed to be gradually building to some kind of spine rattling crescendo with every song. Pressed by my decade long desire to see scenesters Finch play a set, I abandoned the metal stage, and was met with a shoddy display of musical professionalism in almost every sense.
Finch were shit house. After some technical difficulties that left their chubbier guitarist screeching out an awkward, lingering “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie” chant in a poor and unnecessary attempt to conceal the drummer’s unpreparedness, the entire band seemed narky and disinterested for the remainder of their set. I understand if affected and deep is your Modus Operandi, I mean shit, Daryl from Glassjaw fucks his crowd up harder with it than any other front man I’ve seen, but at least his compelling. He also doesn’t come off seeming like he thinks or knows he’s better than his audience. No band is better than their fans. Having only seen Finch once, I have no basis of comparison to prove that this is how they are on stage all the time. I hope this was a once off, and that they’re kinder in past and future. I’m just not sure how Finch were that bummed out that it was a sunny day in paradise, and they were being paid to do what they love. Yuck stuff.
Mercifully, Korn were surprisingly kick ass. They were more than kick ass. They were fucking unbelievable. In a display directly opposite to that of Finch’s Nate Barcalow, Jonothan Davis is dedicated enough to eviscerate a gig in all the right ways, even if the dude requires regular trips to an onstage oxygen tank to do so. Korn’s front man raged, got the audience to fever-pitch, and barely faltered when his H.R. Giger mic stand refused to stand up almost the second the set began. A few beer-bellied roadies rushed out with a drill to fix it, but Davis ignored them, in fact he also forced the crowd to ignore them by being such an addictive watch. The man’s damaged, wailing vibrato has not diminished a fleck over the last twenty years, nor has his trademark demonic bellow. I’d have short odds on the Korn Melbourne saw at Soundwave match pace with Korn two decades ago, youthful and at their height of their fame.
Munky, Head, and Fieldy are not to be left unmentioned. They brought all the gut jiggling heaviness, funk, and one-of-a-kind barraging guitar licks Korn fans could expect, and more. New-ish full time drummer Ray is a truly brilliant artist to watch. This man barrels out songs seamlessly, and never misses a beat whipping his sticks high in to the air, or cramming nifty tricks between meaty thwacks of his kit. Korn blitzed through Got The Life, Good God, Twist, Blind, that Skrillex song, and swathe of other hits, and good lord did the manic crowd suck it down harder than Davis did his much required oxygen breaks. The man even busted out the bagpipes, for fuck sake. It was spectacular. Go see Korn immediately, and let no apprehension that they’ve lost an inch with time slow you down. They have not, and you will not be disappointed.
A band called Soil started on the neighbouring annex the second Korn ended, and I felt a bit bad for them. They were a fine enough band, but very much Korn-lite. After such a massive display of awesomeness from their more popular nu-metal brethren, it was hard to stick around and pay attention to them. I broke for the main stage to watch Green Day on Stage 1, and revel in their anthemic and wily myriad of punk rock hits for an hour before some other stages beckoned.
Touring on the back of three underwhelming albums and an embarrassing public drug meltdown would seemingly have most bands in the can as washed up. There was speculation prior to this year’s event that Green Day could no longer pull crowds like the main stage headliners at Soundwave so breezily have in the past. An absolutely giant mass crushed within the barricades, and washed deep back in to Flemington proved that this is anything but the case. Green Day were fifteen minutes late to stage, and it’s probably just because the audience was having way too much fun singing along to Bohemian Rhapsody, and Blitzkreig Bop launching from the PA’s.
When Billie Joe, Mike, and Tre, Jason, and some unnamed musical helpers did grace the stage at the head of an impending three hour set, they were full steam from the get go, and wouldn’t much let up until the night came to a close. Billie Joe fanged it around the stage like he’d been set alight, and regularly allowed smitten fans on stage to sing along to classic and new tunes alike; all which were well received in equal measure. 99 Revolutions, Do you Know Your Enemy, East Jesus Nowhere, Letterbomb, Holiday, Boulevard Of Broken Dreams, and Let Yourself Go, kicked off their novel of a set list, with each song lifted and stretched with by extra bars, solos, or participatory chants from the enraptured crowd. It’s an easy thing to do that makes a live set so much more memorable, and yet still so strangely uncommon. Regardless, Green Day have it down to a science.
Marching through an elongated Wake Me Up When September Ends slowed the pace a touch, but the announcement that twenty years ago the band wrote an album called Dookie made the joint implode. Greenday fervently blasted through Burnout, Longview, When I come Around, Welcome To Paradise, then got in a time machine and unleashed 2000 Light Years Away from 1992’s Kerplunk!. Billie Joe rushed off stage, and returned with a smart phone so the thousands before the stage could simultaneously sing Happy Birthday to his 19-year-old son Joey. It was damn good fun, and a shame I had to depart due to the conflicting set time with The Dillinger Escape Plan back on stage 5.
I thought Dillinger would be an unmitigatedly relentless ball of aggressive, show stealing energy, but I was completely wrong. They were much, much, more than that. For forty minutes I watched Ben and the gang assault their crowd with peerless, flawless, and jaw dropping math metal and hardcore. Seeing these guys reinventing the time signature while maintaining their mammoth, unstoppable wall of noise and emotion is barely describable. Instruments were destroyed, stacks were ascended, and an audience was left gagging for more by a band that may work harder and more honestly to put on a show than any others I can currently recall.
HIM fans are as dedicated as they come, so the affable Heartagram-emblazoned swell that arrived to watch Ville Valo and his group dreamily bring the night to a melancholic close was no surprise. HIM are a great band live, and Ville is an charming watch. A few songs in and I’d decided languid love metal was no way to close out Soundwave, so it was back to stage 1 just in time for the first of Green Day’s two-and-a-half encores.
Sticking to their second highest selling album of all time with American Idiot and the epic Jesus Of Suburbia, Green Day were welcomed back on stage warmly and loudly by their adoring, but clearly exhausted mosh. A second farewell fooled no one, and it wasn’t long before the foursome were back on stage to bash out a decent tune from one of the new Uno!, Dos!, Tre! album series. I didn’t know it, but the more dedicated up front sang every damn word.
With that, all but Billie Joe Armstrong finally departed, and the impassioned front man remained with an acoustic to slow the pace and finish a truly marathon performance with a glorious whisper. Green Day’s leading man briefly tuned up, then glided in to a sparse, captivating Hymnal rendition of The Everly Brothers’ Put My Little Shoes Away. It was a warm, honest, and unexpected treat after such a searing and giant performance. Sauntering from the Everley’s calmly in a commanding rendition of the iconic Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life) finally rounded out a show of staggering amplitude and spectacle.
It must be said Green Day ran fifteen minutes short of their allotted 10pm finish, but no one seemed to mind, and those still aching to have their ears bled out wilfully trudged over to stage 5 for the last couple of tracks from Mastodon. Once the power house outfit finished up their belter of a set, it was a wearied mass exodus by thousands of satisfied punters from another exceptionally successful Soundwave festival. Bring on 2015, and may Soundwave live long and prosper in the face of modern financial troubles so many other Australian festivals have recently failed to endure. With days of entertainment that awesome, I don’t think there’s much to worry about.
Todd Gingell
@gingerly_done
These Swedish epic metal behemoths graced stage 4 with both a ball-tearing energy, and the bow of a Viking war ship jutting from the centre-third of the stage. Stairs on either side of this impressive, smoke-bellowing structure made it a cinch for any member of the band to easily join their already perched drummer for head banging, guitar thrashing, and wailing at will. It was a fantastic wake up call to start the day from five genuinely thankful, upbeat, and astonishingly entertaining Scandinavians.
Departing after Amon Amarth’s entire set to squeeze in some of Biffy Clyro on one of the main stages was a last minute decision that went without regret. The characteristically shirtless Scots jump between wall-of-noise crescendos and aggressively catchy hook-driven guitar licks with aplomb. A die hard Melbourne following jammed to the rails belting out every word for the few songs I saw still pales in comparison to the tens of thousands of folks who would cram sell out arenas to see these guys in action night after night back in the UK. Certainly not the same response down under, but not at all unworthy of a main stage spot never the less.
Whipping over to Stage 5 in time to catch local Oi-Punk stalwarts Nancy Vandal finishing up was a cool enough way to kill ten danceable minutes before Less Than Jake strutted from the wings to undoubtedly prove themselves the most entertaining band on the bill for the day. Being a group for over twenty years has made these ska champions expert when it comes to crowd participation. About four years ago at another Melbourne Soundwave, LTJ endeared a crowd of thousands to start a circle pit that ran around the entire circumference of a multi-storey main stage tech structure. Having already worked the devoted masses in to a frenzy with several of their undeniably fun party starters, the crowd was more than happy to oblige.
Flash forward to a smaller stage in 2014, and the downsize proved utterly insignificant in the face of Chris, Roger, Buddy, Vinnie, and JR’s willingness to make their crowd go mental. The towering tech tent had instead replaced by a sizeable pillar that plenty of folks still willingly and gleefully crashed around to the tune of Short Fuse Burning. In their meek forty five minute set, LTJ obliterated their crowd with entertainment, a feat any returning fan will tell you is par for the course. Demanding nudity, a cat walk created entirely with punters’ bodies up the guts of the mosh pit during The Science Of Selling Yourself Short, or getting a visibly bored man on stage to drink free beer and make out with a stranger are all new hilarious and unique additions to the basically endless spectacles one may see at a Less Than Jake show. Bring on their triumphant thirteenth-ish return to our shore ASAP.
Before forgetting most of the lyrics to Private Eye, and This Could Be Love, Alkaline Trio front man Matt Skiba appropriately warned anyone in a band that they should never party with Gwar the night before a show. I’m sure he was right, because it made for one of the flattest sets of the day. Alkaline Trio are a remarkably awesome band with fans that have stayed true to them for their entire two-decade career. They resonate emotionally with their followers like few other bands do, this reviewer included. It’s a shame when such a great band is so underwhelming, especially when you’ve seen them in top form on previous occasions. Here’s hoping they return with a headliner one day soon, and reconnect (less strung out) with their audience.
Catching a couple of songs from Mutemath was a groovy and unique thing. Their impressive array of instruments and musically cluttered stage set up promised an eclectic show that never much came to fruition before I was forced to depart and catch sight of Richie Sambora. He was starting Dead Or Alive as I arrived, and as it came to a close, so had my interest. Not saying he was a bad performer, but definitely by the numbers during that particular song. Being just entertaining enough simply won’t do on a festival line up featuring so many bands that routinely tear their audiences apart with blistering presence.
Speaking of which, A Fire Inside did just that with their sun-drenched afternoon spot on stage 3. Davey Havok has never drunk or taken drugs in his entire life, and why would he? The man is made of pure, seething energy, and any introduced excess of it would no doubt prove redundant. Literally possessed by the music every second he is performing, he walks on the crowd screaming like some kind of shimmering anti-Christ, a reversed crucifix studded in to his pitch black jacket further cementing the simile. The man is one long eruption from go-to-woah that sets the bar for that of which a truly great front man can be capable. Not just today, but every single time they play.
It was back to the metal pits at stage 4 to wait for Gwar to infamously attempt offending everyone on earth simultaneously with over-the-top, gore-soaked, amoral, and funny-as-fuck comedy metal. Catching a glimpse of the super positive nu-metallers Ill Niño was a pleasant surprise. Their music may only retain its appeal with a lasting few from a particular decade old scene, but their messages to the crowd about avoiding bullshit trends and doing what you feel were a lovely thing to hear.
Watching a gnarled old Gwar roadie in overalls lazily taping some shit down with a ciggie jutting from his gob before the group launched on to stage had me in hysterics. The dude quite visibly gave the less than the slightest of fucks about OH&S, as he deftly dropped the lit ciggie, and stubbed it with his boot. It was a small thoughtless act that intertwined deftly with Gwar’s mindset as a band. Once on stage in their iconic and over blown costumes, there’s no doubt these guys are a dedicated bunch. Foam or not, that shit must be heavy, and I’m sure one of the guitarists has no idea where he is due to costume-based vision impairment throughout the set. Regardless, they are on form, and very entertaining. Years of this gig obviously proving them experts at the trade, Gwar powered through their set, ceaselessly jizzed blood, eviscerated a cop, beheaded our prime minister, and sliced off Queen Elizabeth II’s tits. All while leaving their fevered, gore soaked audience gagging for more. Go Gwar, you good thing. And yes, fuck Tony Abbott.
Placebo always land a main stage spot at Soundwave for reasons that defy my comprehension. Yes, they are (were?) rather popular, and have some very good songs. Entertainment-wise, however, they are as tepid as a band comes. Brian Molko is lazy and uninvolved. It seems like he spent more time focussing on his effeminate appearance than assessing how best to entertain his audience. Not a very fun show, although perhaps the idea. As Frenzal Rhomb once so eagerly stated; “He’s (Molko) just another millionaire who knows his life is good, he makes a dollar twenty every time you feel misunderstood”. Indeed…
Back to stage 3 for a bit of Panic! At The Disco. Proving themselves infinitely more entertaining since their languid Pretty. Odd. stadium tour back in 2008, Brendon Urie is a glamourous and jolly nut the entire show. The man is a born entertainer, and has single-handedly carried his band through more line up and image changes than most other musical outfits could bear. A glittery and energetic show to say the least, Urie deserves every ounce of praise for his top shelf entertainment value.
A short hop over to the smaller stage 7 let me briefly bear witness to Satirycon blasting their audience to bits by being expectedly black-metal-as-all-fuck. I watched a song in the tiny, enclosed tent surrounding the stage, and I damn near destroyed my hearing. Good show, you evil Norwegian bastards.
Back to the miniscule stage 3 annex to watch Bowling For Soup for the second time in a week was arguably the best decision one could make on the day. The sugary pop-punk champions are hands down the funniest band I’ve seen live. Front man Jaret admitting he was “Easily the most hung over man on the planet today” at the hands of five buck Mad Mex margaritas may have had anyone who watched Alkaline Trio worried that BFS would not to be up to their usual brilliantly entertaining scratch, but their worry was quickly proven in vain (In Vein is, rather coincidentally, the name of an Alkaline Trio song I’m sure Matt Skiba would have also forgotten the words to if his band had attempted to play it earlier on in the day). BFS killed it in Melbourne for the second time in a week, the quick witted Texans had their audience bouncing to their infectious tunes and rollicking with laughter in equal measure. Easily a highlight of the day, and then some. “Bowling For Soup: the band you can wave to”, and also enjoy the absolute shit out of.
Trivium have an ever greatening legion of fans with every progressively heavier release they regularly blast in to the universe. I caught a few of their seamless ear-ruiners back on the metal stages, but not before bearing witness to a paunchy, middle-aged man strut past me in a skeleton leotard and a pirate flag cape like it wasn’t a big deal. Indicative of Soundwave, but a special thanks all the same for that man; you made a group of people lounging in the sun listening to great metal feel ever better about the day they were having. There was also a delicate yellow Japanese paper umbrella waywardly rounding the circle pit that had been doing so undamaged since Amon Amarth started their set six hours earlier. I’ll never understand how that umbrella remained intact… seriously, that’s it. I have absolutely no explanation. It was a very pretty umbrella.
Trivium ended and Baroness started, and it was great. I’m sad I couldn’t see their psychedelic, stoner-infused brand of balls to the wall heavy rock play out for the entire set, as it seemed to be gradually building to some kind of spine rattling crescendo with every song. Pressed by my decade long desire to see scenesters Finch play a set, I abandoned the metal stage, and was met with a shoddy display of musical professionalism in almost every sense.
Finch were shit house. After some technical difficulties that left their chubbier guitarist screeching out an awkward, lingering “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie” chant in a poor and unnecessary attempt to conceal the drummer’s unpreparedness, the entire band seemed narky and disinterested for the remainder of their set. I understand if affected and deep is your Modus Operandi, I mean shit, Daryl from Glassjaw fucks his crowd up harder with it than any other front man I’ve seen, but at least his compelling. He also doesn’t come off seeming like he thinks or knows he’s better than his audience. No band is better than their fans. Having only seen Finch once, I have no basis of comparison to prove that this is how they are on stage all the time. I hope this was a once off, and that they’re kinder in past and future. I’m just not sure how Finch were that bummed out that it was a sunny day in paradise, and they were being paid to do what they love. Yuck stuff.
Mercifully, Korn were surprisingly kick ass. They were more than kick ass. They were fucking unbelievable. In a display directly opposite to that of Finch’s Nate Barcalow, Jonothan Davis is dedicated enough to eviscerate a gig in all the right ways, even if the dude requires regular trips to an onstage oxygen tank to do so. Korn’s front man raged, got the audience to fever-pitch, and barely faltered when his H.R. Giger mic stand refused to stand up almost the second the set began. A few beer-bellied roadies rushed out with a drill to fix it, but Davis ignored them, in fact he also forced the crowd to ignore them by being such an addictive watch. The man’s damaged, wailing vibrato has not diminished a fleck over the last twenty years, nor has his trademark demonic bellow. I’d have short odds on the Korn Melbourne saw at Soundwave match pace with Korn two decades ago, youthful and at their height of their fame.
Munky, Head, and Fieldy are not to be left unmentioned. They brought all the gut jiggling heaviness, funk, and one-of-a-kind barraging guitar licks Korn fans could expect, and more. New-ish full time drummer Ray is a truly brilliant artist to watch. This man barrels out songs seamlessly, and never misses a beat whipping his sticks high in to the air, or cramming nifty tricks between meaty thwacks of his kit. Korn blitzed through Got The Life, Good God, Twist, Blind, that Skrillex song, and swathe of other hits, and good lord did the manic crowd suck it down harder than Davis did his much required oxygen breaks. The man even busted out the bagpipes, for fuck sake. It was spectacular. Go see Korn immediately, and let no apprehension that they’ve lost an inch with time slow you down. They have not, and you will not be disappointed.
A band called Soil started on the neighbouring annex the second Korn ended, and I felt a bit bad for them. They were a fine enough band, but very much Korn-lite. After such a massive display of awesomeness from their more popular nu-metal brethren, it was hard to stick around and pay attention to them. I broke for the main stage to watch Green Day on Stage 1, and revel in their anthemic and wily myriad of punk rock hits for an hour before some other stages beckoned.
Touring on the back of three underwhelming albums and an embarrassing public drug meltdown would seemingly have most bands in the can as washed up. There was speculation prior to this year’s event that Green Day could no longer pull crowds like the main stage headliners at Soundwave so breezily have in the past. An absolutely giant mass crushed within the barricades, and washed deep back in to Flemington proved that this is anything but the case. Green Day were fifteen minutes late to stage, and it’s probably just because the audience was having way too much fun singing along to Bohemian Rhapsody, and Blitzkreig Bop launching from the PA’s.
When Billie Joe, Mike, and Tre, Jason, and some unnamed musical helpers did grace the stage at the head of an impending three hour set, they were full steam from the get go, and wouldn’t much let up until the night came to a close. Billie Joe fanged it around the stage like he’d been set alight, and regularly allowed smitten fans on stage to sing along to classic and new tunes alike; all which were well received in equal measure. 99 Revolutions, Do you Know Your Enemy, East Jesus Nowhere, Letterbomb, Holiday, Boulevard Of Broken Dreams, and Let Yourself Go, kicked off their novel of a set list, with each song lifted and stretched with by extra bars, solos, or participatory chants from the enraptured crowd. It’s an easy thing to do that makes a live set so much more memorable, and yet still so strangely uncommon. Regardless, Green Day have it down to a science.
Marching through an elongated Wake Me Up When September Ends slowed the pace a touch, but the announcement that twenty years ago the band wrote an album called Dookie made the joint implode. Greenday fervently blasted through Burnout, Longview, When I come Around, Welcome To Paradise, then got in a time machine and unleashed 2000 Light Years Away from 1992’s Kerplunk!. Billie Joe rushed off stage, and returned with a smart phone so the thousands before the stage could simultaneously sing Happy Birthday to his 19-year-old son Joey. It was damn good fun, and a shame I had to depart due to the conflicting set time with The Dillinger Escape Plan back on stage 5.
I thought Dillinger would be an unmitigatedly relentless ball of aggressive, show stealing energy, but I was completely wrong. They were much, much, more than that. For forty minutes I watched Ben and the gang assault their crowd with peerless, flawless, and jaw dropping math metal and hardcore. Seeing these guys reinventing the time signature while maintaining their mammoth, unstoppable wall of noise and emotion is barely describable. Instruments were destroyed, stacks were ascended, and an audience was left gagging for more by a band that may work harder and more honestly to put on a show than any others I can currently recall.
HIM fans are as dedicated as they come, so the affable Heartagram-emblazoned swell that arrived to watch Ville Valo and his group dreamily bring the night to a melancholic close was no surprise. HIM are a great band live, and Ville is an charming watch. A few songs in and I’d decided languid love metal was no way to close out Soundwave, so it was back to stage 1 just in time for the first of Green Day’s two-and-a-half encores.
Sticking to their second highest selling album of all time with American Idiot and the epic Jesus Of Suburbia, Green Day were welcomed back on stage warmly and loudly by their adoring, but clearly exhausted mosh. A second farewell fooled no one, and it wasn’t long before the foursome were back on stage to bash out a decent tune from one of the new Uno!, Dos!, Tre! album series. I didn’t know it, but the more dedicated up front sang every damn word.
With that, all but Billie Joe Armstrong finally departed, and the impassioned front man remained with an acoustic to slow the pace and finish a truly marathon performance with a glorious whisper. Green Day’s leading man briefly tuned up, then glided in to a sparse, captivating Hymnal rendition of The Everly Brothers’ Put My Little Shoes Away. It was a warm, honest, and unexpected treat after such a searing and giant performance. Sauntering from the Everley’s calmly in a commanding rendition of the iconic Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life) finally rounded out a show of staggering amplitude and spectacle.
It must be said Green Day ran fifteen minutes short of their allotted 10pm finish, but no one seemed to mind, and those still aching to have their ears bled out wilfully trudged over to stage 5 for the last couple of tracks from Mastodon. Once the power house outfit finished up their belter of a set, it was a wearied mass exodus by thousands of satisfied punters from another exceptionally successful Soundwave festival. Bring on 2015, and may Soundwave live long and prosper in the face of modern financial troubles so many other Australian festivals have recently failed to endure. With days of entertainment that awesome, I don’t think there’s much to worry about.
Todd Gingell
@gingerly_done