Stone Temple Pilots
Brisbane Riverstage
Wednesday 23 March 2011
Watching Stone Temple Pilots, I can’t help but wonder how things would’ve turned out for the Californian quartet if singer Scott Weiland had stayed clean. His long-term addiction after the band found worldwide success is well-documented, and as they churn through a set packed with songs that have since become alternative rock staples, I can't help but wonder what might have happened if he’d avoided drugs and kept it together. Who knows how big they would’ve gotten? Their first two albums, Core (1992) and Purple (1994), contain some monstrous musical statements; the latter four, less so. While the band never quite set the world alight like their peers (and forerunners) in Nirvana and Pearl Jam, the majority gathered here tonight might argue that, with songs like ‘Plush’, ‘Interstate Love Song’ and ‘Wicked Garden’, Stone Temple Pilots deserve to be held in the same regard.
That the Riverstage is nearly at capacity tonight attests to their talent and pulling power. There’s also the matter of this being the band’s first-ever Australian tour. Brisbane is the second last stop on their schedule – they finish in Newcastle tomorrow night – but there’s no evidence of road weariness on show. In fact, the most striking element of tonight’s performance is just how much they seem to be enjoying themselves. They perform; which, on paper, sounds fucking stupid, since they’re professional entertainers, after all. But – how many bands have you seen that just stand there on stage, chugging through chords and yawning through drum fills? Moreover, how many reformed bands simply go through the motions and cash their cheques? (Though whether the band ever actually broke up is contentious; ‘on extended hiatus’ might be more accurate.) But from the first snare hit of Core track ‘Crackerman’ until the final, frantically-strummed chord of ‘Trippin’ On A Hole In A Paper Heart’ (ah, Guitar Hero II memories), these four invest themselves in the moment. They posture so hard that even those in the far corners of the cavernous Riverstage can’t miss it. Though their showmanship does approach self-parody after ninety minutes – bassist Robert DeLeo’s simultaneous neck-bob, near-vertical guitar and side-strafe move is just plain hilarious – it’s still totally refreshing to watch a band who aren’t afraid to enjoy themselves.
Even between songs, they toss in a handful of seemingly spontaneous jam moments, wherein one of the instrumentalists riffs away until his bandmates join in. Could be that they’ve rehearsed even that, but it seems unlikely. The band’s strength has always been that they’re each accomplished musicians. The guitar and bass interplay between brothers Dean and Robert DeLeo, in particular, is brilliant. Eric Kretz’s drumbeats are consistently innovative, whilst Weiland’s voice is more everyman than the '90s naysayers ever did give him credit for. It’s fascinating to hear a whole hillside sing along to the chorus of ‘Plush’ and pretty much nail it; it’s also fucking weird, considering the cryptic lyrics (“When the dogs do find her / Got time, time to wait for tomorrow”).