I wasn't planning on writing about Soundwave 2013, but I was asked for a review. So, here it is!
Puscifer sidewave
My Soundwave experience started with the Puscifer sidewave on Friday night. Puscifer is one of Maynard James Keenan's 'other' bands (in addition to those somewhat popular acts Tool and A Perfect Circle). I don't want to give a blow-by-blow account of this show, except to say that if you ever have the opportunity to see Puscifer, GO. The entire band is incredible. Maynard casually wanders around the stage pouring glasses of wine for his band mates, and the short videos about fictional characters Major Douche, Billy D Berger, Hildy Berger and Peter Merkin are rather amusing. Mr C was kind enough to agree to line up outside the venue an hour early, so we managed to score a prime viewing position on the balcony. My only regret is not standing right at the front on the barrier, but some of Maynard's fans can be a little unpredictable and I didn't want to take the risk (we were, after all, passed over with metal detectors before entering the Tivoli).
Early to mid afternoon
On Saturday I met my sister and her husband for an early lunch before heading to the RNA for round two. We arrived at around 12.30, so we had time to check out the merchandise and watch about half of Anthrax on the main stage. I didn't up buying any merchandise, because there only seemed to be women's shirts for Blink 182, Metallica and Linkin Park. The small A Perfect Circle 'unisex' shirt was simply a small men's shirt. This annoyed me greatly. I like to support touring bands by purchasing merchandise, and removing that option for women just reinforces the notion that heavy music should be reserved to testosterone-fuelled guys.
We then made our way to the shade of the grandstand and stayed there for much of the afternoon (as it was HOT). I wanted to see Tomahawk, and Mike Patton didn't disappoint (and why would he?). After that, we saw Bullet for My Valentine, Kyuss Lives and Stone Sour. I'm not a huge fan of any of these bands, but Kyuss were pretty impressive (even without the wonderful Josh Homme). I then left my companions to go off in search of food and a toilet without an epic line, before sitting in the outdoor concrete stands to watch Slayer (who were also impressive, albeit in daylight).
A Perfect Circle
The main reason I'd bought a ticket to Soundwave was to see A Perfect Circle (who were on after Slayer). I'd seen them back in 2003 or 2004 at the Convention Centre, and had walked away bitterly disappointed. Warning: if you see a Convention Centre show that is entirely general admission, the sound will be terrible, due to the reverberation from the seating that has been pulled up into the ceiling. In 2013, I was anything but disappointed. I managed to score a perfect view from just outside the D barrier at the front, and Maynard's voice was absolutely flawless (as was Billy's). The set list has copped a bit of criticism online ('they didn't play "Judith"', 'they played too many covers', 'they didn't play the best version of that song I like'), but I loved it. Anyone who's followed Maynard's career should know full well that you're never going to get a greatest hits set from him (and one of their releases was an album of mostly covers). I thought there were enough 'popular' songs played to appease everyone, and I get the impression that the complainers went along just so they could say they didn't like it. Maynard was also far more animated than I expected, joking after 'The outsider' that 'I'm angry about my mortgage'. (Presumably the subtext is that he's in a fortunate position and has no real cause for complaint; the same, I think, can be said of those of us who can afford $200 to go to a music festival.)
Garbage
After this, I made my way to the prearranged meeting spot to meet my companions and head over to see Garbage. I couldn't find them after ten minutes, and I didn't really feel like hanging around watching Linkin Park waiting. I sent a text message, headed over the the Garbage stage and hoped for the best. (Thankfully we found each other a short time later.) Just like for A Perfect Circle, we got a great spot outside the D barrier on the side of stage. Shirley Manson is still as captivating as she was almost twenty years ago. She was a huge inspiration in my teenage years, and during Garbage's set I realised that she still is. She's a strong, confident woman, and there aren't nearly enough of those fronting rock bands (or managing companies or whatever they choose to do with their lives). If little girls can take even a little inspiration from Shirley they'll probably be ok. Aside from the set finishing fifteen minutes early (I'm not sure if they started earlier than scheduled), I loved every second I spent with Garbage.
Metallica
My sister and I headed back over to the main stage to wait for her husband (who had disappeared to see another band). Most of the Linkin Park cleared off to see Blink 182, so we found a pretty good vantage point in front of the right-hand stage. I've never been a massive Metallica fan, but they were, as expected, very impressive. The sound was flawless, they had massive screens so everyone could see, and they had flames and explosions. We enjoyed about an hour and fifteen minutes of their set before we popped over to the other stage and see if the Offspring sounded any good. They didn't. So, my sister and I once again left her husband and went back to Metallica. Unfortunately, by this stage the Blink 182 crowd had migrated back to the main stage, and there wasn't enough room for everyone to fit back into the arena. We watched a for a bit longer from the top of the stairs, and the three of us left just before the encore to avoid the crowd crush on the way out.
Overall comments
I'll be honest. I went to Soundwave expecting the worst. Some of the comments I'd seen online from ticket holders were disgusting (a gross understatement), and the sense of entitlement regarding the timetable clashes was ridiculous. After fifteen years of going to music festivals, I accept that timetable clashes are part of the day. These days I usually choose one band over another so I can see a full set, but there's always the option of running between stages and seeing half of each of you're keen. The organisers are not 'ripping you off' by clashing big bands; they are ensuring the safety of the crowd by not having 70 000 people all packed into the one place. And, let's face it: too much choice is better than not enough.
Honestly, I didn't encounter many crowd problems at all. It only takes a few idiots to ruin it for everyone (as we've seen with the flare incident in Sydney), but most of the people I dealt with were polite and largely sober. I was a little terrified walking through the concrete tunnels back to the Metallica stage with the Blink 182 crowd, but everyone was calm and no-one pushed. I do think there probably were too many people in attendance (which may have made leaving the main arena at 10.00 a little bit dangerous), and the safety of these situations relies on the patience of everyone. I've seen a lot of online comments that 'Soundwave is the new Big Day Out'. Clearly the people making those comments haven't been to many Big Day Out festivals. (I have. Lots of them. And I retired five years ago.) Yes, there are tools at Soundwave, but there are tools in Queen Street Mall and McDonald's and the bus and the cinema and the local pool. I would say that 95 per cent of the people I encountered at Soundwave were respectful, and I was pleasantly surprised by this.
The food was pretty crap, but that's nothing new for music festivals. I ended up buying a $5 pie because I figured it would have been nuked hot enough to not contain any living organisms. Apparently the food options were better near the other stages, so perhaps I should have ventured further. We also had the option to bring in small amounts of food from home, so really there's no reason to complain about the food. I can't comment on drink queues, as I don't consume alcohol at gigs. From what I've heard, the wait wasn't too long.
There were plenty of shirt designs to choose from in the merchandise, but the sizing was dodgy (see earlier comment about 'unisex' shirts that were anything but). Girls like metal too!
Finally, toilets. I've been known to 'hold it in' for twelve hours at music festivals because the toilets are so horrible. However, festivals organised by AJ Maddah are different. Toilet queues are rarely more than a few minutes' long (I walked straight in), and there's always toilet paper. I did have to 'hover' due to pee on the seat, but that's no different to visiting the public toilets at Westfield Chermside.
The verdict
On entering Soundwave 2013, I expected that it might be my last. However, I can now say that's not the case. As long as the lineups are fabulous and the event details are so well organised, I'll continue to attend.
25 February 2013
02 February 2013
Bundaberg floods 2013
Many of you will be aware that I grew up in Bundaberg. While I wasn't born there, I spent my formative years there (between the ages of 8 and18). And, yes, when I turned 18 I moved to Brisbane — not so much because I hated the place, but to go in search of new opportunities. (As far as I'm aware, jobs for book editors and publishers are even rarer in regional centres than they are elsewhere.)
Now, in 2013, Bundaberg is suffering due to the biggest flood in its history, and the second major flood in as many years. There has been a lot of talk in the media about how this is 'nothing new' and that we should just accept the fact that Australia floods. In fact, these types of events are NOT commonplace. Prior to late 2010, Bundaberg had experienced nothing of the sort since the 1970s. Sure, we experienced the occasional cyclone when I was living there, but that's to be expected in a tropical climate. Some people lost their roof, and I remember my friend's trampoline ended up somewhere down the street. I'm not going to bang on about climate change (as I suspect most people who know me also know where I stand with that), except to say that for the people of Bundaberg, floods of this magnitude have never been 'normal' (not to mention tornado after tornado moving slowly down the coastline).
Some in the media have also been referring to Bundaberg as a 'town'. It is, in fact, a city, with around 75 000 residents (and around 100 000 if you count the entire area that now falls under Bundaberg Regional Council). Reports have estimated that as many as 7500 may now be either homeless or with serious damage to their homes. That's TEN PER CENT of the population. In addition, if you take into account the fact that many businesses will have to lay off staff or will simply choose not to reopen, it's a massive number of people affected. Bundaberg was never really been great for employment to begin with, so this disaster will only make matters worse.
The government has set up an appeal to help out the residents, but I suspect it will take many months for the funds to trickle down to where they're needed most. There are, however, local organisations that you can direct your money to now to assist:
If you're in the region and can make donations in person, I've been told by the lovely Wendy that Andy's Place run by the Uniting Church and the Salvation Army's Tom Quinn Centre could also use some help.
I've chosen not to include photos in this post, as I think there are enough of those floating around already.
Now, in 2013, Bundaberg is suffering due to the biggest flood in its history, and the second major flood in as many years. There has been a lot of talk in the media about how this is 'nothing new' and that we should just accept the fact that Australia floods. In fact, these types of events are NOT commonplace. Prior to late 2010, Bundaberg had experienced nothing of the sort since the 1970s. Sure, we experienced the occasional cyclone when I was living there, but that's to be expected in a tropical climate. Some people lost their roof, and I remember my friend's trampoline ended up somewhere down the street. I'm not going to bang on about climate change (as I suspect most people who know me also know where I stand with that), except to say that for the people of Bundaberg, floods of this magnitude have never been 'normal' (not to mention tornado after tornado moving slowly down the coastline).
Some in the media have also been referring to Bundaberg as a 'town'. It is, in fact, a city, with around 75 000 residents (and around 100 000 if you count the entire area that now falls under Bundaberg Regional Council). Reports have estimated that as many as 7500 may now be either homeless or with serious damage to their homes. That's TEN PER CENT of the population. In addition, if you take into account the fact that many businesses will have to lay off staff or will simply choose not to reopen, it's a massive number of people affected. Bundaberg was never really been great for employment to begin with, so this disaster will only make matters worse.
The government has set up an appeal to help out the residents, but I suspect it will take many months for the funds to trickle down to where they're needed most. There are, however, local organisations that you can direct your money to now to assist:
- Meals on Wheels (these guys lost a lot, and need help to get back up and running — leave a note in Paypal where you want the funds sent)
- SES (send an email to let them know where you want the funds sent)
- RSPCA (currently there is no specific appeal, but they redirect funds where they're most needed).
If you're in the region and can make donations in person, I've been told by the lovely Wendy that Andy's Place run by the Uniting Church and the Salvation Army's Tom Quinn Centre could also use some help.
I've chosen not to include photos in this post, as I think there are enough of those floating around already.
27 May 2012
All-night Prince party
I don't pull all-nighters. Anyone who knows me is aware of this. I get tired and hungry and cranky. However, after seeing Prince at the Brisbane Entertainment Centre a week ago and missing the much-talked-about after-party at the Hi-Fi Bar, I promised myself that if, in the unlikely event, another after-party was announced for last night's show, I'd go. Here's how the events of last night (and this morning) unfolded, leading to be stumbling into bed at 5.15am.
7.00pm: Rumours had started circulating that there would be an after-party, and that Prince's management was in the process of securing a venue. Miss P and I joked that it could be at our local, the Prince of Wales Hotel; or, perhaps a little more likely, Eatons Hill Hotel. In the meantime, Mr C goes out to an art show.
8.30pm: DJ Rashida tweets that the after-party WILL be at Eatons Hill Hotel. In the meantime, the hotel tells their Facebook followers that doors open at midnight, and the entry fee is $100 cash.
9.30pm: After much discussion (and attempts to contact Mr C via SMS, phone call and carrier pigeon), Miss P and I decide that we should go. We do, after all, live on the north side of town (the hotel is in the middle of nowhere on the north side). Eurovision semi-finals are forgotten.
10.00pm: I manage to get out of my pyjamas, get dressed, find gloves and a scarf, and walk to Miss P's house. She kindly packs us some pumpkin bread for our handbags in case we get hungry.
10.45pm: We're in the queue outside the hotel with no more than 50 other people. S Club 7 are currently playing inside. There are lots of trashy bogans about.
11.30pm: The last of the S Club trash leaves the venue. Amusingly, some of them make fun of the people lining up to see Prince. The hotel's Facebook page now says that the first 500 people will get in for $50. I finally speak to Mr C. He's going to try and make it.
12.15pm: Mr C is very lost. He's heading home. The venue lets us in. For $50. No more than around 300 people have shown up.
2.00am: We're still waiting. There is soundcheck after soundcheck. Sound dudes are being yelled at. We've resorted to sitting on the floor, and are mesmerised by some Tina Turner lady wearing leopard print shaking her arse in front of us. A creepy young dude who could be her son seemingly wants to bang her. Miss P is munching on her bread.
2.30am: NPG come out on stage. Prince makes a brief appearance. The backing singers inform us that we need to put our phones away. If we do this, they will play until the sun comes up. Prince comes out and jams on his bass. And dances. And sings. And dances. We are in awe.
3.00am: The NPG singers are covering Toto and Extreme. We are singing Extreme's 'More than words' with Prince's band. At Eatons Hill Hotel. In the middle of nowhere. At three in the morning. For $50.
4.00am: We're sitting on the floor again. Prince is on stage, but we are exhausted. We contemplate leaving, as lots of others have already done.
4.30am: Miss P realises that we can stand side of stage and be literally a few metres away from Prince. We are again in awe.
4.45am: We can't do it any more. We decide to leave. On the way out, we realise it's the finale. We stay for the rest. The lights are all on. There are probably 150 people left. Prince appears to give his guitar to someone in the audience. I manage to sneak a couple of photos before it's all over.
4.50am: We're in the car heading home. Miss P is loudly playing Whitesnake to keep herself awake.
5.15: My teeth are brushed, my pyjamas are on, and I'm in bed. I feel sick from tiredness. But I am happy.
The next morning: Mr C is upset that he missed it (as am I). I get up at 9.30am and toast my pumpkin bread. Then I go back to bed. It's now 12.30pm. I'll probably eat some lunch soon, and then snooze away the rest of the weekend.
7.00pm: Rumours had started circulating that there would be an after-party, and that Prince's management was in the process of securing a venue. Miss P and I joked that it could be at our local, the Prince of Wales Hotel; or, perhaps a little more likely, Eatons Hill Hotel. In the meantime, Mr C goes out to an art show.
8.30pm: DJ Rashida tweets that the after-party WILL be at Eatons Hill Hotel. In the meantime, the hotel tells their Facebook followers that doors open at midnight, and the entry fee is $100 cash.
9.30pm: After much discussion (and attempts to contact Mr C via SMS, phone call and carrier pigeon), Miss P and I decide that we should go. We do, after all, live on the north side of town (the hotel is in the middle of nowhere on the north side). Eurovision semi-finals are forgotten.
10.00pm: I manage to get out of my pyjamas, get dressed, find gloves and a scarf, and walk to Miss P's house. She kindly packs us some pumpkin bread for our handbags in case we get hungry.
10.45pm: We're in the queue outside the hotel with no more than 50 other people. S Club 7 are currently playing inside. There are lots of trashy bogans about.
11.30pm: The last of the S Club trash leaves the venue. Amusingly, some of them make fun of the people lining up to see Prince. The hotel's Facebook page now says that the first 500 people will get in for $50. I finally speak to Mr C. He's going to try and make it.
12.15pm: Mr C is very lost. He's heading home. The venue lets us in. For $50. No more than around 300 people have shown up.
2.00am: We're still waiting. There is soundcheck after soundcheck. Sound dudes are being yelled at. We've resorted to sitting on the floor, and are mesmerised by some Tina Turner lady wearing leopard print shaking her arse in front of us. A creepy young dude who could be her son seemingly wants to bang her. Miss P is munching on her bread.
2.30am: NPG come out on stage. Prince makes a brief appearance. The backing singers inform us that we need to put our phones away. If we do this, they will play until the sun comes up. Prince comes out and jams on his bass. And dances. And sings. And dances. We are in awe.
3.00am: The NPG singers are covering Toto and Extreme. We are singing Extreme's 'More than words' with Prince's band. At Eatons Hill Hotel. In the middle of nowhere. At three in the morning. For $50.
4.00am: We're sitting on the floor again. Prince is on stage, but we are exhausted. We contemplate leaving, as lots of others have already done.
4.30am: Miss P realises that we can stand side of stage and be literally a few metres away from Prince. We are again in awe.
4.45am: We can't do it any more. We decide to leave. On the way out, we realise it's the finale. We stay for the rest. The lights are all on. There are probably 150 people left. Prince appears to give his guitar to someone in the audience. I manage to sneak a couple of photos before it's all over.
4.50am: We're in the car heading home. Miss P is loudly playing Whitesnake to keep herself awake.
5.15: My teeth are brushed, my pyjamas are on, and I'm in bed. I feel sick from tiredness. But I am happy.
The next morning: Mr C is upset that he missed it (as am I). I get up at 9.30am and toast my pumpkin bread. Then I go back to bed. It's now 12.30pm. I'll probably eat some lunch soon, and then snooze away the rest of the weekend.
07 February 2012
Bringing the '90s back on #TunnFM...
For the past couple of years I've been one of those annoying people who bang on and on about how 'kids don't know what real music is' and how things were so much better 'back in my day'. (Refer to my previous post about music festivals for an example of this.)
When I was a teenager living in Bundaberg, the national youth radio station (the one that starts with a 'T' and ends with a 'J') was my window to the outside world. I learned that, amazingly, Roxette weren't the best band on the planet, and broadened by tastes to include some very diverse artists. I spent night after night pressing redial on the phone trying desperately to get on to the Request Fest and speak to Michael Tunn (which 'Goat', as I was known back then, succeeded at on numerous occasions). I often waited all night to hear that one song I'd been wanting to tape off the radio, only to have one of the announcers (usually Tunney) talk over it right at the end. Sure, I didn't like everything that was played, but most of the music had a kind of 'drive' or passion behind it, and that had to be respected.
Fast-forward quite a few (ok, a lot) of years, and things have changed. Very little of what I hear on that same radio station resonates, and I'm pretty sure it's not just an 'age thing'. For one, most of it sounds the same. I can't tell most of the bands apart, and the majority of them don't actually seem to be saying anything. The tables have been turned: I like a handful of artists that make it on the air (like Jack White, Sleigh Bells and Go! Team), but the vast majority of it is, in my probably worthless opinion, rubbish. Last month, I was engaging in a Twitter discussion about this fact on a Friday evening. The following night, I discovered something amazing (also via Twitter):
TUNNEY WAS BACK.
It turned out that on Saturday nights, Michael Tunn was taking requests via Twitter and playing them on his online station, TunnFM. When he's not taking requests, Tunney's station continues playing 24 hours a day. Not only that, but the playlist is ALL '90s. From that moment, I started hearing bands that I'd completely forgotten existed, or that I simply hadn't heard on the radio in a really long time. Just like old times, I don't like everything that gets played on TunnFM, but I'm pretty certain that no radio station could please me 100 per cent of the time. The fact is that I can now listen to bands like Stone Temple Pilots, Arkarna, Custard and Portishead while I work or hang out at home, and (just like on the radio) I enjoy the suspense of not knowing what's going to play next.
The thing is that no matter how much I love listening to TunnFM, more people need to participate in order for the station to reach its full potential. For one, more people need to participate in the Saturday night Request Fest. It's not much fun when only a handful of us are picking the songs, and it's really easy to join in.
1. Follow @RequestFest on Twitter.
2. Tune into TunnFM online.
3. Tweet @RequestFest with the '90s song you want to hear and add the #TunnFM hashtag so we can all follow. You can even request East 17 if you want. Not that I know anyone who has requested them yet. Honest...
4. Wait for your song to get played.
See? Easy! If you're not a member of Twitter and don't really want to use it other than for making song requests, just join and use your account for that purpose only.
If you decide that you really really love the station and want to help out, you can also become a TunnFM Member for the insanely low low price of $5 a month. These funds give you access to the Members-only HD stream, go towards keeping the station running, and will help introduce new features (like apps and other exciting things).
So, what are you waiting for?
When I was a teenager living in Bundaberg, the national youth radio station (the one that starts with a 'T' and ends with a 'J') was my window to the outside world. I learned that, amazingly, Roxette weren't the best band on the planet, and broadened by tastes to include some very diverse artists. I spent night after night pressing redial on the phone trying desperately to get on to the Request Fest and speak to Michael Tunn (which 'Goat', as I was known back then, succeeded at on numerous occasions). I often waited all night to hear that one song I'd been wanting to tape off the radio, only to have one of the announcers (usually Tunney) talk over it right at the end. Sure, I didn't like everything that was played, but most of the music had a kind of 'drive' or passion behind it, and that had to be respected.
Fast-forward quite a few (ok, a lot) of years, and things have changed. Very little of what I hear on that same radio station resonates, and I'm pretty sure it's not just an 'age thing'. For one, most of it sounds the same. I can't tell most of the bands apart, and the majority of them don't actually seem to be saying anything. The tables have been turned: I like a handful of artists that make it on the air (like Jack White, Sleigh Bells and Go! Team), but the vast majority of it is, in my probably worthless opinion, rubbish. Last month, I was engaging in a Twitter discussion about this fact on a Friday evening. The following night, I discovered something amazing (also via Twitter):
TUNNEY WAS BACK.
It turned out that on Saturday nights, Michael Tunn was taking requests via Twitter and playing them on his online station, TunnFM. When he's not taking requests, Tunney's station continues playing 24 hours a day. Not only that, but the playlist is ALL '90s. From that moment, I started hearing bands that I'd completely forgotten existed, or that I simply hadn't heard on the radio in a really long time. Just like old times, I don't like everything that gets played on TunnFM, but I'm pretty certain that no radio station could please me 100 per cent of the time. The fact is that I can now listen to bands like Stone Temple Pilots, Arkarna, Custard and Portishead while I work or hang out at home, and (just like on the radio) I enjoy the suspense of not knowing what's going to play next.
The thing is that no matter how much I love listening to TunnFM, more people need to participate in order for the station to reach its full potential. For one, more people need to participate in the Saturday night Request Fest. It's not much fun when only a handful of us are picking the songs, and it's really easy to join in.
1. Follow @RequestFest on Twitter.
2. Tune into TunnFM online.
3. Tweet @RequestFest with the '90s song you want to hear and add the #TunnFM hashtag so we can all follow. You can even request East 17 if you want. Not that I know anyone who has requested them yet. Honest...
4. Wait for your song to get played.
See? Easy! If you're not a member of Twitter and don't really want to use it other than for making song requests, just join and use your account for that purpose only.
If you decide that you really really love the station and want to help out, you can also become a TunnFM Member for the insanely low low price of $5 a month. These funds give you access to the Members-only HD stream, go towards keeping the station running, and will help introduce new features (like apps and other exciting things).
So, what are you waiting for?
22 January 2012
The state of music festivals in Australia
Today is the day of the 2012 Big Day Out on the Gold Coast. A few internet conversations of late have made me think a lot about the festival situation in this country, so I wanted to share (read: rant) some of those thoughts.
I went to my first Big Day Out in 1999. I remember it like it was yesterday. My dad transported me and two friends down from Bundaberg and drove around the Gold Coast for the day waiting for us. It was the first Big Day Out after the widely reported ‘last ever’ one in 1997. I remember the day with extreme fondness, mostly for the kindness of the punters. Sure, there was the odd weirdo, but the unspoken rule of looking out for those around you was well in force. (I’ll always be grateful for the kind souls who chose to rescue my naive self from the Marilyn Manson moshpit.) That year, I got to see some of the bands that were dear to my heart at the time — Manson (of course), Korn, Hole, and even Fur and Sean Lennon. While I can’t so my love for all of these acts continues today, there is no doubt that I was there solely for the bands. Look, here I am counting down the last day!
The next few years of Big Day Out attendance continued in the same vein — great bands, with an audience of tens of thousands of people who were there to enjoy music with like-minded folks. Sure, it was often a bit of a stressful day dealing with the portaloos (or holding it in!), the heat and the crowds — particularly for those of us not used to the surf culture of the Coast — but it was a positive experience overall. Similar things can be said of the now-defunct Livid festival. Generally speaking, at that time, no-one bought tickets to music festivals unless they were really into the bands.
Fast forward a few years, and things started to get ugly. Livid had its last hurrah in 2003 (and smaller festivals like Summersault hadn’t been around for years). Great bands were still booked for the Big Day Out (Iggy and the Stooges, PJ Harvey, the White Stripes, the Beastie Boys and Jane’s Addiction, to name a few), but by the mid 2000s something had started to change (and I’m not talking about she-pees). As a small female, I no longer felt entirely safe being in the crowd on my own to watch a band. People were getting peed on, puked on, spat on, groped and punched. Very few punters were looking out for those around them; it was every man/woman for themselves. For many people, the bands seemed to be an added extra included in the ticket price.
I’m not sure it’s a coincidence that things seemed to get a whole lot worse after the 2005 Cronulla riots. At subsequent Big Day Outs, I noticed an increased number of Southern Cross tattoos, Australian flags, and aggressive people asking others to kiss said flag. A friend of mine was abused for daring to wear a temporary tattoo of the Aboriginal flag to the Sydney event on Australia Day. Due to factors such as these, I decided that the 2008 event would be my last. Rage Against the Machine was the last Big Day Out band I ever saw, and I’m glad to have ended it this way. (It is unfortunate, however, that a good number of the shirtless, aggressive, sweaty bogans in the crowd seemed to completely misinterpret the intent of RATM’s music.)
While Livid may have closed shop, in the early 2000s new festivals began to emerge. The most notable was Splendour in the Grass in Byron Bay (which has now relocated to Woodford north of Brisbane). While I attended three of these festivals over the years (twice even camping!), the overcrowding and general ‘yuckiness’ eventually started to permeate there as well. Three days of portaloos and rain and mud and no showering gets to you after a while. In addition, while there are often very high-quality international acts included on the bill, I can’t help but think that the event could (with some careful curating) be condensed into a single day with minimal ‘filler’ — thus eliminating the need to camp, arrange costly accommodation or travel long distances several days in a row.
Smaller festivals also began to pop up in the 2000s, with Laneway expanding to Brisbane in 2007. The first festival (in the alleyway next to the Zoo) was a fabulous experience, with Peter Bjorn and John, Camera Obscura, Yo La Tengo and the Redsunband making for an excellent day out. Sadly, the relaxed atmosphere seemed to have been lost by the second Brisbane event in 2008, with music seemingly not being an important factor for many in attendance. Having been jostled one too many times by Rayban-wearing, fluoro-wearing, talking-over-the-top-of-the-music hipsters, we gave up. It was easier to hear Feist from outside the festival gates than it was inside. Laneway has since relocated to a new venue in Brisbane, but I haven’t ventured back — mostly due to the fact that I recognise very few bands on the lineup (and I’m not one attend a festival if I’m not into the music).
Also emerging around this time was Sunset Sounds in Brisbane, another two-day festival. While, like Splendour, this one could also easily be condensed into a single day, it’s held at the Riverstage in the middle of the city —making it easy to come and go with little hassle. I attended my first Sunset Sounds in 2011 in the pouring rain (literally a few days before the river broke its banks and flooded the city), and was lucky enough to see Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, Public Enemy and Sleigh Bells. The festival took a break in 2012, but according to the website will return for 2013.
The 2000s also saw the emergence of Soundwave, a niche festival aimed at fans of metal and hard rock. I attended my first Soundwave in 2010 (enticed by the opportunity to see Faith No More), and I admit that I wasn’t looking forward to the experience all that much (with the idea of returning to a 50 000-strong festival a little hard to stomach). Soundwave proved to be an overwhelmingly positive experience — enough so that I returned the next year. It became clear that you’d have to be a real fan of the music to spend $160 on a ticket to see this number of ‘heavy’ acts; consequently, most of the punters were respectful, the crowd seemed a little older and wiser, and I even spotted some families enjoying the day together. While I’m not attending the 2012 festival (it’s a little too much of a c.1998–99 nostalgia-fest for me), if I’m into the music on a future lineup I’ll be in attendance.
In 2011, I saw a Facebook post that gave me real hope for the future of festivals. A new event called Harvest was coming, and the organisers had somehow managed to convince Portishead (and a heap of other amazing bands) to play. The tagline was ‘A civilised gathering’ — which sounded like it was aimed squarely at me. There was also this:
Given that this would likely be my one and only chance to see Portishead live, and that I was promised a ‘civilised gathering’, Harvest excited me. A lot. I’m pleased to say that I wasn’t disappointed. While I understand that the Melbourne event had some teething problems involving drinks tickets (which doesn’t concern me greatly as I prefer sobriety when watching bands so that I can take it all in with clarity), the Brisbane festival delivered everything it had promised. The lineup was full of quality acts (TV on the Radio, the Flaming Lips, the National, Death in Vegas); there was plenty of space between the stages; the portaloos were kept clean; if someone ran into you, they would stop and profusely apologise; and, most importantly, everyone was there for the music. I had the most amazing festival experience of my life right at the front for Portishead (and, yes, this fangirl got to have a brief encounter with the lovely Beth when she left the stage to greet the crowd), and the whole day was stress free. I left the festival that day with the same feeling I had leaving my first Big Day Out in 1999 — one of pure elation, having experienced something special with thousands of people who all understood.
Some people have suggested that my disdain towards the Big Day Out and other festivals could stem from just ‘getting old’. There are a number if reasons why I think that this is untrue. Firstly, I attended my last Big Day Out in my mid 20s — hardly ‘old’ by festival standards, especially since I’d been getting increasingly pissed off with the experience in the years leading up to 2008. Secondly, I have a number of friends who are a decade or more older and stopped attending festivals around the same time. It’s not an age thing; rather, it’s a fed-up-with-idiots-who-couldn’t-give-a-stuff-about-the-music thing.
It’s clear that changes are afoot for the Big Day Out. 2012 marks the first year without co-founder Vivian Lees. The people of Auckland, Adelaide and Perth got a raw deal with much smaller lineups, and Auckland will be completely dropped from the tour after this year. It seems like the perfect opportunity to rethink the approach and start again. Perhaps another hiatus, like the one of 1998, is called for. As it stands, I’d prefer to pay for a plane ticket to see a sideshow in Sydney or Melbourne than venture to the Gold Coast for the day (because, of course, Brisbane sideshows are never prioritised).
For me, the future of music festivals in Australia lies in the Harvests and the Soundwaves — niche festivals aimed at specific markets of music fans. You know, the type of person who would have to actually be a fan of the bands to even consider shelling out $150–200 for a ticket. Whether my dream for the future of Australian festivals will be realised remains to be seen, but I’d prefer to hold onto this hope rather than simply despair for what used to be.
I went to my first Big Day Out in 1999. I remember it like it was yesterday. My dad transported me and two friends down from Bundaberg and drove around the Gold Coast for the day waiting for us. It was the first Big Day Out after the widely reported ‘last ever’ one in 1997. I remember the day with extreme fondness, mostly for the kindness of the punters. Sure, there was the odd weirdo, but the unspoken rule of looking out for those around you was well in force. (I’ll always be grateful for the kind souls who chose to rescue my naive self from the Marilyn Manson moshpit.) That year, I got to see some of the bands that were dear to my heart at the time — Manson (of course), Korn, Hole, and even Fur and Sean Lennon. While I can’t so my love for all of these acts continues today, there is no doubt that I was there solely for the bands. Look, here I am counting down the last day!
The next few years of Big Day Out attendance continued in the same vein — great bands, with an audience of tens of thousands of people who were there to enjoy music with like-minded folks. Sure, it was often a bit of a stressful day dealing with the portaloos (or holding it in!), the heat and the crowds — particularly for those of us not used to the surf culture of the Coast — but it was a positive experience overall. Similar things can be said of the now-defunct Livid festival. Generally speaking, at that time, no-one bought tickets to music festivals unless they were really into the bands.
Fast forward a few years, and things started to get ugly. Livid had its last hurrah in 2003 (and smaller festivals like Summersault hadn’t been around for years). Great bands were still booked for the Big Day Out (Iggy and the Stooges, PJ Harvey, the White Stripes, the Beastie Boys and Jane’s Addiction, to name a few), but by the mid 2000s something had started to change (and I’m not talking about she-pees). As a small female, I no longer felt entirely safe being in the crowd on my own to watch a band. People were getting peed on, puked on, spat on, groped and punched. Very few punters were looking out for those around them; it was every man/woman for themselves. For many people, the bands seemed to be an added extra included in the ticket price.
I’m not sure it’s a coincidence that things seemed to get a whole lot worse after the 2005 Cronulla riots. At subsequent Big Day Outs, I noticed an increased number of Southern Cross tattoos, Australian flags, and aggressive people asking others to kiss said flag. A friend of mine was abused for daring to wear a temporary tattoo of the Aboriginal flag to the Sydney event on Australia Day. Due to factors such as these, I decided that the 2008 event would be my last. Rage Against the Machine was the last Big Day Out band I ever saw, and I’m glad to have ended it this way. (It is unfortunate, however, that a good number of the shirtless, aggressive, sweaty bogans in the crowd seemed to completely misinterpret the intent of RATM’s music.)
While Livid may have closed shop, in the early 2000s new festivals began to emerge. The most notable was Splendour in the Grass in Byron Bay (which has now relocated to Woodford north of Brisbane). While I attended three of these festivals over the years (twice even camping!), the overcrowding and general ‘yuckiness’ eventually started to permeate there as well. Three days of portaloos and rain and mud and no showering gets to you after a while. In addition, while there are often very high-quality international acts included on the bill, I can’t help but think that the event could (with some careful curating) be condensed into a single day with minimal ‘filler’ — thus eliminating the need to camp, arrange costly accommodation or travel long distances several days in a row.
Smaller festivals also began to pop up in the 2000s, with Laneway expanding to Brisbane in 2007. The first festival (in the alleyway next to the Zoo) was a fabulous experience, with Peter Bjorn and John, Camera Obscura, Yo La Tengo and the Redsunband making for an excellent day out. Sadly, the relaxed atmosphere seemed to have been lost by the second Brisbane event in 2008, with music seemingly not being an important factor for many in attendance. Having been jostled one too many times by Rayban-wearing, fluoro-wearing, talking-over-the-top-of-the-music hipsters, we gave up. It was easier to hear Feist from outside the festival gates than it was inside. Laneway has since relocated to a new venue in Brisbane, but I haven’t ventured back — mostly due to the fact that I recognise very few bands on the lineup (and I’m not one attend a festival if I’m not into the music).
Also emerging around this time was Sunset Sounds in Brisbane, another two-day festival. While, like Splendour, this one could also easily be condensed into a single day, it’s held at the Riverstage in the middle of the city —making it easy to come and go with little hassle. I attended my first Sunset Sounds in 2011 in the pouring rain (literally a few days before the river broke its banks and flooded the city), and was lucky enough to see Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, Public Enemy and Sleigh Bells. The festival took a break in 2012, but according to the website will return for 2013.
The 2000s also saw the emergence of Soundwave, a niche festival aimed at fans of metal and hard rock. I attended my first Soundwave in 2010 (enticed by the opportunity to see Faith No More), and I admit that I wasn’t looking forward to the experience all that much (with the idea of returning to a 50 000-strong festival a little hard to stomach). Soundwave proved to be an overwhelmingly positive experience — enough so that I returned the next year. It became clear that you’d have to be a real fan of the music to spend $160 on a ticket to see this number of ‘heavy’ acts; consequently, most of the punters were respectful, the crowd seemed a little older and wiser, and I even spotted some families enjoying the day together. While I’m not attending the 2012 festival (it’s a little too much of a c.1998–99 nostalgia-fest for me), if I’m into the music on a future lineup I’ll be in attendance.
In 2011, I saw a Facebook post that gave me real hope for the future of festivals. A new event called Harvest was coming, and the organisers had somehow managed to convince Portishead (and a heap of other amazing bands) to play. The tagline was ‘A civilised gathering’ — which sounded like it was aimed squarely at me. There was also this:
Take the line-up of your typical European multi day event, cut out the filler and the acts that everyone has seen once too many times and pack all the greatness into one incredible day for discerning music lovers.
Given that this would likely be my one and only chance to see Portishead live, and that I was promised a ‘civilised gathering’, Harvest excited me. A lot. I’m pleased to say that I wasn’t disappointed. While I understand that the Melbourne event had some teething problems involving drinks tickets (which doesn’t concern me greatly as I prefer sobriety when watching bands so that I can take it all in with clarity), the Brisbane festival delivered everything it had promised. The lineup was full of quality acts (TV on the Radio, the Flaming Lips, the National, Death in Vegas); there was plenty of space between the stages; the portaloos were kept clean; if someone ran into you, they would stop and profusely apologise; and, most importantly, everyone was there for the music. I had the most amazing festival experience of my life right at the front for Portishead (and, yes, this fangirl got to have a brief encounter with the lovely Beth when she left the stage to greet the crowd), and the whole day was stress free. I left the festival that day with the same feeling I had leaving my first Big Day Out in 1999 — one of pure elation, having experienced something special with thousands of people who all understood.
Some people have suggested that my disdain towards the Big Day Out and other festivals could stem from just ‘getting old’. There are a number if reasons why I think that this is untrue. Firstly, I attended my last Big Day Out in my mid 20s — hardly ‘old’ by festival standards, especially since I’d been getting increasingly pissed off with the experience in the years leading up to 2008. Secondly, I have a number of friends who are a decade or more older and stopped attending festivals around the same time. It’s not an age thing; rather, it’s a fed-up-with-idiots-who-couldn’t-give-a-stuff-about-the-music thing.
It’s clear that changes are afoot for the Big Day Out. 2012 marks the first year without co-founder Vivian Lees. The people of Auckland, Adelaide and Perth got a raw deal with much smaller lineups, and Auckland will be completely dropped from the tour after this year. It seems like the perfect opportunity to rethink the approach and start again. Perhaps another hiatus, like the one of 1998, is called for. As it stands, I’d prefer to pay for a plane ticket to see a sideshow in Sydney or Melbourne than venture to the Gold Coast for the day (because, of course, Brisbane sideshows are never prioritised).
For me, the future of music festivals in Australia lies in the Harvests and the Soundwaves — niche festivals aimed at specific markets of music fans. You know, the type of person who would have to actually be a fan of the bands to even consider shelling out $150–200 for a ticket. Whether my dream for the future of Australian festivals will be realised remains to be seen, but I’d prefer to hold onto this hope rather than simply despair for what used to be.
09 April 2011
Iconic buildings of Brisbane: Demolitions in the Joh era (part 3)
Here is the (much delayed) third part to this essay...
Part 3 of 3
‘All we leave behind is the memories’: Demolitions and political protests in the era of Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen
Even marches for International Women’s Day were considered against the law. Women were confronted by the police as they left their forum on 11 February 1978 — they were chanting, ‘You sexist pigs had better start shakin’…Today’s pigs are tomorrow’s bacon’. As a result, forty-nine people were arrested for marching that day; forty-two of them were women. By the time the ban was lifted two years after it had been initiated, more than 2000 people had been arrested.
For most people, participating in these illegal activities was a conscious act of defiance. In addition to street marches being outlawed, so was any kind of demonstration, including distributing leaflets and putting up posters.
Art shows began to pop up around the city, and one of the most remembered of these was the ‘Demolition Show’ of March 1986, held at the Observatory Gallery. The show involved 13 artists who presented a range of works to mark the final exhibition at the Observatory, which was to be demolished, along with several pieces of contemporary art, in April of that year. Artist Lindy Collins stated of her work in the show:
Endnotes
39. L Hurse, interview conducted by email, 2 May 2007.
40. L Finch, ‘DIY defiance: Political posters during the Bjelke-Petersen era (1968–87)’, in L Seear and J Ewington, Brought to Light II: Australian Art 1966–2006, Brisbane, 2006, p.113.
41. ibid, pp.113–14.
42. ibid, pp.113.
43. L Collins, in Demolition Show, Brisbane, 1986.
44. K Ravenswood, ‘Signs of the Times: Political Posters in Queensland’, Eyeline, no.17, summer, 1991, pp.31–32.
Part 3 of 3
‘All we leave behind is the memories’: Demolitions and political protests in the era of Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen
Even marches for International Women’s Day were considered against the law. Women were confronted by the police as they left their forum on 11 February 1978 — they were chanting, ‘You sexist pigs had better start shakin’…Today’s pigs are tomorrow’s bacon’. As a result, forty-nine people were arrested for marching that day; forty-two of them were women. By the time the ban was lifted two years after it had been initiated, more than 2000 people had been arrested.
For most people, participating in these illegal activities was a conscious act of defiance. In addition to street marches being outlawed, so was any kind of demonstration, including distributing leaflets and putting up posters.
They weren’t ‘unlawful’ in inverted commas, they were unlawful, and often deliberately so. The law as enacted and enforced by the Queensland government under Bjelke-Petersen had curtailed democratic rights that had been fought for over a period of many years by unionists, workers, and political organisations. My unlawful actions were a conscious act of defiance in order to win back those democratic rights.(39)Illegal public demonstrations weren’t the only outlets for outraged citizens. The University of Queensland (UQ) became a meeting place for discussions, and Brisbane’s community radio station 4ZZZ, established in 1975 and still operating today, also provided a platform.(40) Screen-printing courses were held, leading to the rise of do-it-yourself posters full of anti-Joh messages. Several printing workshops were established around the city, including Activities at UQ, Craft Press, Griffith Artworks and Black Banana. The posters ranged from crude, hastily produced, stencilled paper to more advanced, meticulously designed art works.(41) Either way, the intention was the same — to publicly denounce Joh Bjelke-Petersen, his government and his actions. Teams would post the prints around the city under the cover of darkness, and they typically didn’t stay up for very long.(42)
Art shows began to pop up around the city, and one of the most remembered of these was the ‘Demolition Show’ of March 1986, held at the Observatory Gallery. The show involved 13 artists who presented a range of works to mark the final exhibition at the Observatory, which was to be demolished, along with several pieces of contemporary art, in April of that year. Artist Lindy Collins stated of her work in the show:
The needs of people in this city are not being thought out carefully. We need areas such as George Street for young artists and galleries to operate in creating a special atmosphere in an otherwise desolate city. As individuals we have no say in the destruction of our city. So far since 1977 in the inner Brisbane city area 24 buildings registered with the national trust have been demolished.(43)Once Joh’s reign was over, a number of exhibitions were held around the country displaying Queensland’s and Australia’s political posters of the era. Just some of the exhibitions included the Earthworks Poster Collective show ‘Political Posters of the ’70s — Work from the Tin Sheds: A Partial Survey’, held at Flinders University Art Museum (1991); ‘Signs of the Times: Political Posters in Queensland’, held at the Queensland Art Gallery (1991); and ‘Hearts and Minds: Australian Political Posters of the 1970s and 1980s’, held at the State Library of New South Wales (1993). These shows served to now legally display some of the posters that for so long were unable to be exhibited. Many of the works were purchased by major galleries and libraries to form a permanent record of the struggles that took place.
‘Signs of the Times’ recognised and gave credit to the fact that political art offers a freedom of community liaison which few other art forms can match — it is one of the few times art really matters on a street level and it is from this position that it derives its potency.(44)Many individuals across Queensland have their own personal reasons for reminiscing about the Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen years. He was regarded by many people, particularly in regional centres, as a Premier who was acting in the best interests of the state. However, to the thousands of Brisbane residents who witnessed first-hand the destruction of heritage buildings and the distress of those arrested whilst trying to do nothing more than have their collective voices heard, he was nothing more than a rogue dictator. No matter which side of the fence an individual wants to sit on, there is no denying that Joh is arguably the most remembered Premier Queensland has ever had. And, one can expect that it will remain that way for many decades to come.
Endnotes
39. L Hurse, interview conducted by email, 2 May 2007.
40. L Finch, ‘DIY defiance: Political posters during the Bjelke-Petersen era (1968–87)’, in L Seear and J Ewington, Brought to Light II: Australian Art 1966–2006, Brisbane, 2006, p.113.
41. ibid, pp.113–14.
42. ibid, pp.113.
43. L Collins, in Demolition Show, Brisbane, 1986.
44. K Ravenswood, ‘Signs of the Times: Political Posters in Queensland’, Eyeline, no.17, summer, 1991, pp.31–32.
25 January 2011
Helping those facing hardship overseas
Over the past couple of weeks, we've all been witness to the extraordinary generosity that people have towards their fellow Australians when disaster strikes. These acts of generosity, both monetary and the volunteering of time, further confirm that the concept of the 'lucky country' is a real one.
In many places around the world, people are not so lucky. Pakistan also faced widespread flooding last year, but the toll on the country is far greater than we can imagine. 20 million people were displaced - that's almost the entire population of Australia — and roughly 3000 people were killed. However, as a developing nation, the people of Pakistan will not recover in the same way that Australia will — they are not a rich nation, so their people can't afford to give in the same way that Australians are able to give to each other in times of need. That's why those of us who are fortunate enough to live in a rich nation should also remember to help those overseas who are in need as much as we can. There are a number organisations through which people can help — I personally support Plan Australia in their Pakistan aid, but there are many others out there as well.
In addition to the 'big guns', there are also many overseas aid organisations that go largely unnoticed. Some are simply overlooked as a place to direct donations as they are unable to provide a tax deduction, and most simply do not have the marketing power of the bigger players that we are all familiar with. I wanted to share with you three such organisations that I've become aware of recently.
Project 18 is lovingly run by Cate Bolt, and 'exists to improve the quality of life of orphaned and underprivileged children by providing a safe environment in which to grow, whilst educating them for a brighter future living in harmony with their environment'. Project 18 does not have tax-deductible status, but Cate and her team selflessly run their sustainable orphanage and wildlife sanctuary project with amazing love and dedication. Plus, you can buy chocolate 'bricks' to help build classrooms — organic, fair-trade chocolate!
OrphFund is an entirely volunteer-based organisation that helps vulnerable children around the world, regardless of their ethnic background or religion. They guarantee that 100 per cent of funds donated, although not tax-deductible, will reach children living in poverty. OrphFund founder Steven Argent also sells 'photo blocks' of his work to further add to the funds of the organisation.
One Girl focuses on educating underprivileged girls around the world. Like Orphfund and Project 18, donations are not currently tax-deductible. But, for only $10 a month (roughly the cost of three takeaway coffees), you can provide a scholarship for a girl in a country such as Sierra Leone. You can even sponsor an entire classroom by joining together with colleagues or family members.
Please take the time to visit the websites of these organisations and, if you can spare it, make a contribution to their amazing efforts.
In many places around the world, people are not so lucky. Pakistan also faced widespread flooding last year, but the toll on the country is far greater than we can imagine. 20 million people were displaced - that's almost the entire population of Australia — and roughly 3000 people were killed. However, as a developing nation, the people of Pakistan will not recover in the same way that Australia will — they are not a rich nation, so their people can't afford to give in the same way that Australians are able to give to each other in times of need. That's why those of us who are fortunate enough to live in a rich nation should also remember to help those overseas who are in need as much as we can. There are a number organisations through which people can help — I personally support Plan Australia in their Pakistan aid, but there are many others out there as well.
In addition to the 'big guns', there are also many overseas aid organisations that go largely unnoticed. Some are simply overlooked as a place to direct donations as they are unable to provide a tax deduction, and most simply do not have the marketing power of the bigger players that we are all familiar with. I wanted to share with you three such organisations that I've become aware of recently.
Project 18 is lovingly run by Cate Bolt, and 'exists to improve the quality of life of orphaned and underprivileged children by providing a safe environment in which to grow, whilst educating them for a brighter future living in harmony with their environment'. Project 18 does not have tax-deductible status, but Cate and her team selflessly run their sustainable orphanage and wildlife sanctuary project with amazing love and dedication. Plus, you can buy chocolate 'bricks' to help build classrooms — organic, fair-trade chocolate!
OrphFund is an entirely volunteer-based organisation that helps vulnerable children around the world, regardless of their ethnic background or religion. They guarantee that 100 per cent of funds donated, although not tax-deductible, will reach children living in poverty. OrphFund founder Steven Argent also sells 'photo blocks' of his work to further add to the funds of the organisation.
One Girl focuses on educating underprivileged girls around the world. Like Orphfund and Project 18, donations are not currently tax-deductible. But, for only $10 a month (roughly the cost of three takeaway coffees), you can provide a scholarship for a girl in a country such as Sierra Leone. You can even sponsor an entire classroom by joining together with colleagues or family members.
Please take the time to visit the websites of these organisations and, if you can spare it, make a contribution to their amazing efforts.
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