It could only get better, was the opinion most people who attended the Sydney leg of Soundwave last year . Bolstering the chances of this was a late shift from the public transport-challenged Eastern Creek Raceway to the far more accessible and festival-friendly Sydney Showground, the home of the Big Day Out for the past decade. It was a fantastic outcome. While a busy weekend at the wider Sydney Olympic Park site, with an Ultimate Fighting Championship event next door at Acer Arena and the sci-fi Armageddon Expo nearby, meant stage sound got capped at sometimes disappointing levels, the trade-off for proper amenities and absence of stifling dust clouds felt worth it. Plentiful – and rarely crowded – bars (albeit serving dreaded mid-strength alcohol), and equally abundant and good toilet facilities, are a rare treat at a festival. Blessed with both, it was a fair trade-off for any sound beefs.
And no doubt much to the promoters’ – and punters’ – relief, Mother Nature came to the party this year. No repeat of last year’s 40-plus temperatures, the day staying humid and hot but overcast with the occasional sprinkle of light rain. And like organisers promised, free cold drinking water was available near each of the five stage areas, at every bar and even from the front of the crowd as volunteers continually passed out cups. It worked so well that last year’s drought could finally be forgotten.
It was also the biggest Soundwave yet, in terms of line-up. Sydney may not have sold out, but the enthusiasm of the black-clad, tattooed mass collected today was tangible; thousands of people were through the gates by midday, eager to catch the early sets from Gaslight Anthem, Bayside and MXPX with the Ataris.
New Jersey’s Gaslight Anthem are even more infectious in the live setting, with frontman Brian Fallon having the kind of down-to-earth charm that has as many boys swooning over him as girls. With a set split between albums The ’59 Sound and American Slang , plus a new song, Gaslight’s Boss-infused tales of girls, cars and good times was hard to resist. And not even muddied sound plus a few feeback issues dampened the busy tent’s singalong. Thankful for the early crowd, Fallon went on to suggest that Sydney women could be the cure for the latest trend of American male fertility problems. Anything for you, Fallon.
A recurring theme for the day, the best bands seemed to be the ones with the smallest crowds, with the New Jersey punk-rockers hard to beat as punters worked their way through the bill. Gaslight’s exit saw a big rush of Sum 41 fans into the tent, and within minutes it was at capacity and spilling out to the sides. Frontman Deryck Whibley’s proggy pop-punk band may have been around long enough now to count as a nostalgia act, but try telling that to the teens who rushed into the tent – many would have been in kindergarten when Sum 41’s All Killer No Filler broke through. Whibley cursed his way through an energised set, pulling a couple of people up out of the crowd to have the privilege of watching the show from side of stage. The sound was much crisper and their metal moments brutal – and, in keeping with the unsaid rule of festival playing, they rolled out a hits set that ended strongly with 'Fat Lip', 'Still Waiting' and 'In Too Deep', with Whibley counting seven simultaneous circle pits happening in front of the stage.
One of the anomalies on this year’s line-up, Oxford math-rockers This Town Needs Guns impressed on one of the small stages. With frontman Stuart Smith’s offering both delicate touches and soaring efforts over intricate, breezy guitars and rhythms, they may not have been the most festival-like band but they managed to make their sideshow this week a likeable prospect. In a day of serious band clashes – inevitable with a massive eight stages set up – it was back to the punk tent for likeable Swedes Millencolin . More than 10 years since the release of their breakthrough Pennybridge Pioneers , the band still draw largely from it, with the bouncy love song for a scooter, 'Fox' and the ripping 'Penguins & Polarbears' still standout tunes. Meanwhile, Bullet for My Valentine had strong numbers for an early main-stage act. It was also a nice show of camaraderie, with Rise to Remain’s frontman Austin Dickenson – also the son of Iron Maiden’s Bruce – filling in for Bullet’s strained-voiced singer Matt Tuck on a couple of tunes.
With every second band on the punk stage drawing big numbers, it was Anberlin ’s turn. The crowd swelled once again and featured some of the most emphatic singing. The Florida alt-rockers have grown their passionate fan base over six tours, something frontman Stephen Christian is quick to acknowledge. “We may as well just move here,” he said. “Hi, we’re Anberlin from Sydney, Australia!” Their soaring, earnest slick rock was a hard pill to swallow for the uninitiated, but those on the other side of the fence seemed to have find their day’s highlight. The big names in the main arena were steadily increasing in stature, and so too was the crowd. Primus had a good showing for their daylight set, which felt a little at odds with Les Claypool’s dark, weird bass work – not to mention his gothic cowboy get-up. Strangely wonderful, but best served in larger (and louder) doses of a sideshow.
With a sizeable crowd gathering as Slash’s team set up on the neighbouring stage, it was obvious Gang of Four would have their work cut out far away at the punk tent. Those who did get to see the iconic Brits were amply rewarded; spiky guitars, noise and intense rhythms and the great interplay between founding members Jon King and Andy Gill. King was the showman, ripping his shirt open and dashing from side to side, knocking down mic stands with high kicks and staring intensely and pointing at the front row. Gill let his guitar do the talking, at one point even scraping the neck on the metal scaffolding side of stage to produce a beautiful, noisy wail. And it seemed the noise limitations were waived, with this set all ear-ringing power.
“Your worst nightmare, your dad with a guitar,” King joked with his arm slung around Gill. “Like your dad on Christmas eve, after he’s had some advocat and lemonade…” However, the only thing dad-rock about Gang of Four is their clear stature as forefathers to the wave of post-punk indie acts that have spewed onto the scene in the last decade. And the original certainly still sounded the best.
Another veteran act, Social Distortion also showed up the youngsters on the bill with a glorious set of guitar-soaked punk rock. Fuzzy arrangements with glorious harmonies offered one of the many surprise packages of the day. It was in stark contrast to the antics of 30 Seconds to Mars in the main arena. Jared Leto bounced around the stage, posing emphatically, trying to convince with grand gestures but merely coming off as someone who desperately wants to be liked. Impossible to take serious on record, and even more so live. After all, this is a band who don’t use foldback but instead fill the stage up with podiums that Leto uses as steps.
And you have to feel a little sorry for poor Slayer fans who, in an effort to secure a good spot inside the D barricade at the front of the arena, had to suffer through the Leto pantomime – only to have their show cancelled. Frontman Tom Araya was mysteriously hospitalised shortly before they were due on stage in Sydney, (the ailment later revealed to be an ear infection), and it was some time before the announcement was made, keeping the sardine tin of fans waiting. But if there were to be a silver lining, it was then stumbling upon Ohio oddballs Foxy Shazam on one of the small stages nearby. Like a punk-rock Queen with tongue planted firmly in cheek, they raced through a scintillating set of catchy tunes and impressive antics. Frontman Eric Sean Nally called for cigarettes, lit a handful in his mouth and proceeded to eat them; other times, it was a series of forward rolls and entertaining between-song banter. A small crowd, but there were a lot of converts by set’s end.
In this context, New Found Glory ’s straight-ahead punk-rock felt a little deflated back at the punk tent. As did Zack De La Rocha’s One Day As A Lion project in the main arena. Perhaps it was the Slayer no-show, but it wasn’t long into their set when many people steadily drifted out of the arena. That was, until Queens of the Stone Age hit. Not even washy sound could drown out their sexy rock, with frontman Josh Homme merrily swigging from a bottle of vodka throughout the set. Lucky for him it was only an hour-long set, as that kind of spirited display can end badly – just ask Tim Rogers about Falls Festival 2004/2005.
Metal-oriented stages four and its annex was more challenging than the others, purely because its long, narrow access meant getting close to the stage and absorbed into the show a difficult task. Melvins did admirably to maintain a big crowd just as headliners Iron Maiden were hitting the stage in the main arena. The build-up and dazzling light show for Maiden predicted big things, which may also be the reason they were a little disappointing. The two-hour set at times felt formulaic and lacking the might Maiden are famous for.
It was also a shame because elsewhere some of the best was saved till last. The Bronx killed it on stage four, albeit as weary punters filed past on the way to the exit. Like an exercise in restraint in terms of production, the LA hardcore stars make up for it with presence. Frontman Matt Caughthran held the crowd like a master puppeteer; whipping the brave souls at the front into a fierce frenzy. Most of the crowd stuck around for the last band on the adjoining stage, Fucked Up . It was a short set, so sizeable frontman Damian “Pink Eyes” Abraham wasted no time, being swept up into the crowd within minutes. Not sure what it is about large, shirtless punk-rockers and their love of rubbing up against their crowd, but like Les Savy Fav’s Tim Harrington, Pink Eyes enjoys an intimate relationship with his fans.
And it was a tough choice for melodic punk-rock, with a clash of Pennywise and Polar Bear Club to end the night. The latter were the pick, and despite playing to less people than were in the line for the ATM nearby, the upstate New Yorkers put on an intense display of melodic, urgent indie-rock that really demanded a better positioning on the bill.
And unlike last year, when Soundwave came to an end it didn’t take four hours to make it out of the site. The festival may have had teething problems at Eastern Creek Raceway and, before that, Sydney Park in inner-city St Peters, but Soundwave’s arrival at the showgrounds may have finally cast off its rep as a hot mess. Punters can only hope it returns to the same site next year, because once you see the other side it’s hard to consider ever going back.
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