With a bunch of no-shows in Fun Lovin’ Criminals, The Ataris & The Hives, it mattered not, cos the 60 odd bands that cranked throughout the steamy Brisbane Saturday made another trip north of the border all the more worth it.
Stalwart openers Gerling followed the wickedly infectious futuro pop of Sekiden, with a screaming set that blistered like acid on fresh paintwork. Killer riffs, plenty of confidence and guitars goin’ crazy.
Ya can’t help but love their nerdy techno cotton sox. A few beers to kick-start the day, and it’s over to the new Loudmouth stage, where Blowhard are doin’ just that with a truck load of funked brass, bad threads, and a magic mushie-driven brand of chaos that translates into raw, brazen fun.
I grab some munchies of my own and wander back to the squelched guitars of Magic Dirt on centre stage.
Stadium rock comes easy to the Dirt these days, and they embrace it with all they’ve got.
Electricity plus! Zoobombs take ballistic to a new level and wrap it all around dance flavoured Japanese carnage, that’s all about fun, samples and fucking big beats. Wicked stuff!
The Mark Of Cain have always bludgeoned all in their path, and today is no exception.
Bottom end demons with a machine gun energy thrust that rolls right over your very soul and treads it into the dirt, with no mercy whatsoever.
Bloodied bliss that melts the very core of your ravaged bones. Ferociously fine!
And talking of fine, you’d be hard pressed to find a better blend of beautiful punk chaos than the thumparama that One Dollar Short do so well.
Big balls, guitars on fire, and perfect melodies amongst the madness.
Satellite is a pure killer, and these guys are gonna be friggin’ huge.
You just wait and see. One band that’s paid the early dues and is now reaping the just rewards is Eskimo Joe.
They’ve got the Big Top alight with that (recently) matured and perfectly honed pop. Snap tight and ready for the world stage. Special stuff indeed.
With a quick crowd surge sideways, Regurgitator are away.
Quirked to perfection, they defy all the norms and get away with it beautifully.
Scratching, scathing sounds that wear strange underwear…and when Don from the Zoobombs jumps on deck for a song, I swear he’s gonna pop an artery, he’s so stoked. Go you mad Jap.
Blubber boys rule OK!
The sheer beauty of Something For Kate is a stark contrast to the 5000 Ways To Die at the hands of the brilliant Nerf Herder.Skate oriented noizeworks that blow punkesque, guitar wrapped spitballs right in your face.
Funny as fuck, and a bunch of smartarses to boot. Love ‘em. And we love the soft gentle airs of Augie March too, as their filtered moodscapes waft out into the arvo sun. Pure beauty never sounded so fine! Silken, seductive and very special.
The piss is taking its toll already, and it’s only 4pm, but hey, it aint Livid if you aint pissed!
And what a perfect time for the summery sounds of Ireland’s finest popsters, Ash. A bit of déjà vu from their last Livid appearance…late arvo, sun burning your scone…and those wicked melodies, razed guitars and infectious toons just washing through your ailing veins.
One minute all scorched and savage, the next all warm and fuzzy. Girl From Mars, Burn Baby Burn, Oh Yeah, Candy…they’re all killers and they all come off with a little extra edge on this fine afternoon. One of the picks of the day for sure!
Warped are filling The Hives’ spot, and they arent out to make friends, just intent on slamming some of that rock-posed attitude down our parched throats.
They’ve got all the stances, all the attitude, and maybe even all the rock to carry it off.
The Superjesus rip up the Big Top, while Alex Lloyd winds it all down out front. Good Charlotte do the FM-radio-comes-alive thing, but its one of the golden oldies that totally blows these fucked up ears out of their dockings.
Stereo MCs take the gold Livid Logie for one drilling, penetrating and hypnotically infused drug of a set.
I can’t tear my eyes away,my flappers have turned to mush, and all my bodily functions are in their hands (hey guys take a piss for me would ya?).
Numbing in every sense, theirs is a groove that sweeps you up and rips you away.
Mind razing, haunting, ingenious! Connected? You betcha!
There’s only one man on this mortal coil who can follow an act like that, and then turn the whole day into his own.
The man of course is Henry Rollins. Part man, part beast…and probably even a little bit machine.
Topless, and wearing only the trademark dark shorts, he screams "Are you ready?"
Fuck yeah hank, give it to us son. Pumped, bouncing, edgey, he does just that. Gives it all…and more.
The power, the passion, the pure raw brutality. Nobody does it the way Rollins does. Nobody! A prowling semi-beast, rivetting all the way. This is primal anger at its bloodiest.
And after an event like that it’s time for umpteen more beers, a little wind down with the smooth, sexy sounds of The Cruel Sea, a jump around the playground with the ska-popped revelry of Melbourne’s finest fun crew Area 7, and a scratch to the noggin for the less than impressive, yet occasionally brilliant (yeah, I know, don’t make sense, but you try and get it right after 30 or so beers in the sun) Butthole Surfers.
Sure the likes of Pepper kicked serious butt, and sent the kidz nuts, but it all got a little too removed for my likings. If boredom is an artform, The Buttholes have it wired.
Billy Bragg is our final destination for this station, and just when I’m getting into that cockney, slanged humour/poetry thing, the little fucker goes and starts dishing shit on Oz and telling us how to run our country.
Well I yell out "get fucked", but no other brain-dead cripple seems to give a shit.
Goddam lemmings. If you don’t like it here you commie shit, then fuck right off back to your sludgey grey mire of a country and lock yourself away in your own patheticism.
Prat boy aside tho, another wickedly body banging Livid gets put to bed...and we all hit the town for the after party…(like we need another drink!) oh woe!
Mark Fraser - redbackrock.com
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