Live review, photos - Big Day Out, Gold Coast 2011

Big Day Out 2011
Gold Coast Parklands
Sunday 23 January 2011

It’s with no small amount of disappointment that the time we should have spent watching Gold Coast indie punk duo Bleeding Knees Club open the Boiler Room, and New Zealand electro-rock act The Naked and Famous open the Converse Essential Stage, is instead spent sitting on a bus. We’re just one vehicle amongst thousands caught in a tedious traffic jam caused by a two-car accident somewhere between Brisbane and the Gold Coast Parklands; call it a downside of Queensland’s reliance upon two- and three-lane thoroughfares between major cities. (I do get to hear the latter band’s final chorus in ‘Young Blood’ ring out from a distance, though, for what it’s worth.)


The Naked and Famous

Brisbane five-piece Blonde On Blonde are playing fairly by-the-numbers blues-rock on the Hot Produce stage when we do arrive at noon, but they’re interesting enough to avoid  sounding too formulaic. Put it down to frontman Jack Bratt, who charismatically lords over the crowd – which barely passes triple figures – like they’re headlining the festival. Ongoing sound problems threaten to crush whatever momentum and kudos they gain, but it’s a solid cover of the ace Queens Of The Stone Age tune ‘Regular John’ that wins me over. Doesn’t matter that the bass amp is emitting a low whine instead of what the bassist is actually playing. Bratt then closes the set by lashing his guitar into the stage in frustration.

Brisbane local Sampology mixes up a storm under the shade of the Boiler Room. His adept turntable skills are usually augmented by cleverly-edited videos of famous films, but they’re curiously absent today. Instead, cameramen film his fuzzy mop and sleight-of-hand; a couple of times he glances over his shoulder at the screen, sees himself, and looks momentarily flustered. His mixing and musical taste is impeccable; his set pacing, not so much. While the first 25 minutes are wall-to-wall with killer mash-ups – Outkast’s ‘B.O.B.’ rhymes laid over Sleigh Bells’ ‘Infinity Guitars’ is my fave; I swear he throws in the theme from the ABC TV kids show Ship To Shore for a few bars, too – there’s a definite drop-off as he approaches the end of his set. It’s great to watch Sampology in action, though. The crowd’s with him from the outset, and it appears he’s building a decent fanbase.


Airbourne

From the shelter of giant tents, to absorbing the sun’s unrelenting heat; weather-wise, it’s as near to a perfect day that this region has experienced in some months. As Airbourne thrash about in front of 24 stacked Marshall amps on the Blue Stage – I’m serious, I counted – I watch the Motorola motocross exhibit from up in the pavilion, and think about where else in the world I could be watching three riders backflip across a ten-metre gap while shit Aussie pub rock plays in the background. From this distance, all I can see is the shirtless Joel O'Keefe’s leg stomping to the beat, while the band plays the same handful of power chords in different combinations. The crowd paying attention to the band isn’t particularly impressive; when Lupe Fiasco begins on the Orange Stage, the numbers triple. Except that Lupe’s not happy with the sound, or the band, or something, and directs them all to stop. With his back to the crowd, he stands for several minutes while his entourage attempt to fix – or at least ascertain – the problem. He’s not having it; eventually, he walks over to his DJ’s table, rips out an expensive-looking piece of equipment, throws it to the stage floor, and walks off. A stagehand replaces it, and incredibly, Lupe returns to stage, throws it to the floor again, and disappears. Then the ten-nine-eight-etc countdown begins again, the band strikes up, the MC returns, and the song is played in full. It’s a very entertaining spectacle to eat a steak sandwich to. ‘The Instrumental’ from Food & Liquor is played within the first few songs, before I relocate to the Green Stage.


Andrew WK

Where Andrew W.K. is destroying. Sure, his entire act is to be taken with a handful of salt, but the dude and his band are having such a great time that it’s pretty much impossible to oppose what your ears hear and your eyes can plainly see. His shtick is partying, self-esteem, and positivity, and it’s a breath of fresh air among the many self-serious acts who play these kinds of huge music events. He dedicates ‘She Is Beautiful’ to all the women in the audience, because “none of this would exist without girls!”. His hype-woman and back-up singer is wearing a leotard and a huge grin; his band look like grizzled old metal dudes, which makes their merry music-making all the more funny. He opens up a big circle pit during the second last song, then demands that the crowd doubles it for the last song – ‘Party Hard’, of course – which they do. It’s gotta be the happiest circle pit I’ve ever seen. All of a sudden, we all feel pretty good about ourselves and the world. Andrew W.K. succeeds.


Die Antwoord

It’s the strangest feeling to be watching Die Antwoord performing on a stage in front of tens of thousands of people. What began as an awesome joke-slash-mockumentary-slash-music video project at the end of 2009, has now spread to the South African ‘zef’ hip-hop act performing in Australia for the first time. It’s even more surprising that they sound incredible. For all the lulz that surround MC Ninja talking up DJ Hi-Tek’s ‘next level beats’ – man, the production in these songs sounds killer pumping through the Boiler Room’s sound system. They open with ‘Enter The Ninja’, the track that inspired a million YouTube links, and when Yo-Landi Vi$$er sings the chorus melody (“I-I-I, I am your butterfly…”), it’s a total trip. To be watching an act whom existed on the internet before they actually existed. Ninja skips the self-aware bit (“Fok, this is like, the coolest song I ever heard in my whole life…”), but he does launch himself into the crowd soon after the song ends. Chalk up another surprise when their set doesn’t die in the arse after opening with their biggest track; when I leave after half an hour, the room is still buzzing. It looks and sounds like I imagine a Cape Town rave-up should. Whether Die Antwoord have the legs to exist beyond this initial interest – the initial benefit-of-the-doubt – remains to be seen. But you’ll be doing yourself a disservice if you miss them this time around.

I didn’t expect Deftones to have much pulling power – too heavy for most people, I thought – yet here they are, playing a mid-afternoon slot on the Orange Stage to so many thousand people that it’s tough to get anywhere near the outside D barrier. It’s been four years since they last played in Australia on the 2007 Soundwave tour, and it sounds like they’ve got something to prove: their set leans heavily on older material, with the occasional cut from last year’s Diamond Eyes thrown in. The downtuned guitars and percussion in the newer cuts are utterly bludgeoning, especially when compared to ‘My Own Summer (Shove It)’, ‘Around The Fur’ and ‘Minerva’ – though ‘Elite’, from 2000’s White Pony, is  brutal, to the point where singer Chino Moreno clearly struggles to match the recorded version’s strained screams. The frontman is in high spirits: he regularly drops down into the photo pit to hand the mic to fans, and soon sheds his shirt. Guitarist Stephen Carpenter is a heavy mass of swirling black hair. From a distance, the sound is badly affected by the wind; despite my best wishes, it seems a Chino/Maynard collaboration isn’t forthcoming (the Deftones and Tool singers shared vocals on the White Pony standout ‘Passenger’ – and so it’s with regret that I tear myself away from the stage, as their setlist and sound was thoroughly impressive.

“Alice from Crystal Castles has a broken ankle. The doctor told her to cancel the Big Day Out tour and let it rest. But she didn’t want to let you all down, so here they are!” That’s a stage manager, or tour manager, or someone reading a note before the Canadian electronic act take to the Boiler Room stage. They open with ‘Fainting Spells’, from last year’s knockout self-titled release, and it’s totally enchanting. A battery of strobes lining the tent light up as soon as Alice begins singing – if that’s even the correct term, as most of the time, she’s more accurately just contorting her voice to elicit unnatural sounds. Yes, her voice is rather flaky live, but it’s accepted as more of a guide than any expectation of note-perfect renditions. Though a pair of crutches inhibits her usual stage energy, she still hops on one foot regularly, and pulls herself up onto a pair of speakers to leer down at the crowd, scarecrow-like, while brandishing crutches and microphone. It’s compelling. Having seen them in a club environment, with strobes flaring and near-zero visibility, it’s a welcome sight to actually see the band members. Alice strikes a dramatic stage presence, despite the injury; her instrumentalist offsider, Ethan Kath, and drummer Chris Chartrand barely exist, so intriguing is she. They play ‘Baptism’, and ‘Alice Practice’, and ‘Crimewave’, and a slightly slower version of ‘Doe Deer’, and finish on a Robert Smith-less ‘Not In Love’. The Boiler Room is brimming throughout their entire half-hour performance – cut short 15 minutes due to Alice’s injury, presumably – to the point where I’m wondering where all these Crystal Castles fans come from. Their album sales are negligible here, as far as I’m aware; triple j don’t love them much. Despite competition from Birds Of Tokyo and Paul Dempsey in the same time slot, a great chunk of punters opt for Crystal Castles. Good choice.

It’s utterly draining to be sardine-tin-packed into the Boiler Room, which makes sitting on the Lilyworld hill in the afternoon sun and listening to Matt and Kim a thoroughly enjoyable prospect. They’ve attracted a few hundred to this low-key stage, and the Brooklyn duo seem to be having a ball. Kim distributes balloons, which the crowd inflate and release upon request. Keys, drums and vocals makes for simplistic songwriting, but sometimes simple is best: see set closer ‘Daylight’, otherwise known as ‘that song from the Apple ad’. It’s a damn shame that Reggie Watts is running behind on the same stage, as the man is a genius; but the decision is made to cut and run toward Iggy and The Stooges on the Blue Stage, as there’s a bloody good chance we’ll never see them here again. It's immediately apparent that they sound phenomenal. The fifty-plus James Williamson works his guitar like a teenager; the rhythm section is bang on, and saxophonist Steve Mackay shreds appropriately. Of course, none of their individual personalities combined could even come close to matching Iggy Pop’s stage presence. He is a showman unlike any other. He is weird and scary and funny and repulsive and charming; a wriggling mass of contradictions. For the first brace of songs – including ‘Raw Power’ and ‘Search and Destroy’ – the crowd’s energy is practically nil, though, which is concerning. It’s like we’re all watching a museum exhibit. Considering that most rock bands on this bill owe their musical careers, influences, or sound to this collection of gentlemen, it’s downright saddening. Until Iggy invites the crowd up for ‘Shake Appeal’, which sees around 20 punters jiggling alongside the singer while Iggy’s harried stage manager does his best to stop them all hugging him. From then on, it seems The Stooges have won the audience’s approval, and they tear through the rest of the set – ‘Gimme Danger’, ‘1970’, ‘No Fun’, ‘Death Trip’, ‘Your Pretty Face Is Going To Hell’, among others – with renewed vigour. Iggy jumps down into the photo pit and rolls around in the grass, screaming, while cameraman relay the footage to the big screens. He smashes his microphone into the stage, hard, in ‘I Wanna Be Your Dog’, and immediately gets a new one from his stage manager. He doesn’t even bother to look side of stage when requesting yet another bottle of water to pour over his head and throw into the crowd; he just holds his hand out, and a bottle appears. Rock and roll. I feel like a better person for having seen this band play.

While all of the above was taking place, a black curtain was draped across the Orange Stage, obscuring the construction taking place within. Turns out that Rammstein’s stage designers had crafted an entirely different set to the rest of the bands prior. It consists of two levels of industrial-themed metalwork and all manner of trapdoors and stage trickery. The band start playing, and the black curtain is dropped to reveal an enormous German flag; once the song ‘Rammstein’ kicks in properly, explosives go off, the flag falls, and the band sound 100% louder than The Stooges. I can feel my leg hairs bristling in response to the guitar-and-drum onslaught. The testosterone is palpable. Ze Germans are here, and they’ve brought an impressive stage production. Frontman Till Lindemann wields a rifle in the second song, with which he launches a firework that ignites overhead pyrotechnics. Swear to God, the whole stage was on fire at one point. And this is just within the first five minutes. Soon after, the two guitarists and Lindemann are breathing fire from flamethrowers attached to their faces. I shit you not. It's alll incredibly masculine and exciting, but the music? Couldn’t tell you. Was too fixated on the flames. Like primitive man. Which is, I guess, a big part of their live appeal: distract the audience, and they won’t realise that your songs all sound pretty similar. Still, it all looked very fun, and it was a shame that I had to visit the Boiler Room for the last time tonight.

What’s more compelling than face-mounted flamethrowers? Good songs. LCD Soundsystem have plenty of those. The New York dance collective opened with a trio from 2010’s This Is Happening – ‘Dance Yrself Clean’, the festival requisite ‘Drunk Girls’ (by far the worst song they’ve ever released), and ‘I Can Change’ – before shifting gear and detouring into ‘Daft Punk Is Playing At My House’ and ‘Movement’. Look, it’s a pretty bloody similar set to what we saw at Splendour 2010, to be honest, but who gives a fuck? These are beautiful songs. They are melancholic and optimistic at the same time, somehow, and James Murphy is one hell of a band leader, leading one hell of a band. A band who I wish would never stop playing live. But they’ve chosen to, and that is to be respected. Murphy is extremely gracious, thanking us "very much" between every song, and making a show of introducing his band. They cap off an hour-long set with the utterly brilliant ‘All My Friends’ – which stacks climax upon climax upon climax until you think there’s no more climaxes left, until they reach the final climax – and then, they’re gone.

I feel bad for missing Primal Scream doing Screamadelica, but Rammstein were so entertaining that I turfed my plan to catch some of all three acts. My loss, as I’m sure it was killer – ‘Loaded’, in particular. I’m doing my best to avoid Tool on the main stage because I’m seeing them tomorrow night, so I head to watch Grinderman close the Green Stage. Immediately, I remember why I generally don’t listen to Grinderman. It’s loud, it’s obnoxious, but if you strip away the noise...the songs aren’t very good. Much as I enjoy watching both Nick Cave and Warren Ellis on stage, there’s absolutely nothing special about this band. I stick around to watch ‘No Pussy Blues’ – Cave’s self-parodying intro is great, admittedly (“I must above all things love myself…”) – and then, deciding that they’ve got nothing else to offer me, break my promise and return to the Blue Stage to watch what I thought would be the final 20 minutes of Tool. Turns out that they’re either behind schedule, or just playing longer than expected: I catch ‘Schism’, ‘Lateralus’, ‘Aenema’, and ‘Stinkfist’. Seems they didn’t play ‘Forty Six & 2’, if I’m to judge by the disappointed wailings of the guy next to me. I’ll save the extended analysis for the full show tomorrow night, but for now, all I’ll say is: it’s worrying how little I felt whilst watching a decidedly workmanlike performance set to pretty visuals. At the end of the set, singer Maynard James Keenan walks over and shakes bassist Justin Chancellor’s hand, then does the same for guitarist Adam Jones. (No handshake for drummer Danny Carey, as far as I saw.) It’s  the strangest thing I’ve seen any band do at the end of their set. Not sure what to make of it. While the other three members stick around to throw picks, sticks, and show their thanks, Maynard walks backstage without so much as a backwards glance.

By now – mind well and truly scattered by the wide range of acts inhaled in a short time frame – the thought of watching MIA close out the festival over at the Boiler Room makes me nauseous. So it’s to the bus ranks for a quiet, contemplative ride back to Brisbane.

Andrew McMillen

(Pics: Justin Edwards)