There are some experiences that are uniquely Melbourne. Strolling through the charm of the St. Kilda esplanade, sipping a late afternoon latte at a Degraves cafe, and this – Cherry Rock, the city’s premier rock music festival. Only in Melbourne could you find a human zoo of rock n roll diehards spilling out of a grungey laneway in the middle of the afternoon, congregating beneath the proud blue plastic sign of ACDC Lane.
Now in its ninth year, Cherry Rock is Melbourne institution Cherry Bar’s flagship event. Run by the legendary James Young, Cherry Bar is the go-to venue for funk, soul, and good old fashioned rock n roll for any Melbourne music fan worth their salt. It’s the perfect setting for the celebration of all things dirty, sweaty, and messy that is Cherry Rock.
My Left Boot provided a set of hard rock to party to. The thudding rhythm section lay a base for free-wheeling solos with a bit of show-offmanship – a requisite ingredient at any rock gig. The crowd remained irritatingly still during this early portion of proceedings – if there was ever a band to headbang to, this was it, and they provided a fitting introduction for the parade of rock glory to come.
Beastwars opened with an onslaught of shredding, thought-conquering drums, and vicious vocals. The kiwis laid down riffs you can shake your ass to, with some flying guitar lines to break up the rhythm. They absolutely slaughtered the stage – thick grey beards and all – proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that age is just a number.
Next came the highlight of the night, or at the very least the most all-out fun: local hardcore punks Clowns. This reviewer must admit she was unable to keep still for long enough to take too many notes during their set, but her bruises speak for themselves – it wouldn’t be Cherry Rock if you didn’t end up thrown onto the ground at least once, with a circle of concerned metalheads there to help you up.
The band matched the crowd for pure raucousness. Vocalist Stevie threw himself across the stage, dived into the sea of eagerly waiting hands below him on more than one occasion, and lay prone on the stage with his mouth open as one generous punter poured beer all over him. You can take it as rock n roll spunk or just plain rude that he spat a mouthful back into this drink-sharers face.
The festival took place on Mother’s Day, but Clowns had another cause for celebration in mind. “Happy mushroom season everybody!” Stevie warmly wished the crowd, before launching into a song dedicated to the noble hallucinogenic fungi. A well appreciated gesture, but a little out of place here – drug culture may have overtaken many other festivals, but at Cherry Rock the only course of action that makes any sense is to get totally fucking drunk.
Clowns performance took place within the venue – the festival is structured around two stages, one indoor, one outdoor. The outdoor stage, tucked away at the end of ACDC lane, is certainly something. ‘Get Well Soon Lemmy’ (of Motorhead) posters paper the dirty brick walls; apartment blocks soar above the stage. There’s an open-space intimacy that could only be created by hundreds of like-minded people gathering in a discreet laneway, drawn together for a single purpose.
Sunlight – at least for the first part of the festival – threw the rock regalia usually only found within the dim semi-darkness of a dive bar into full display. Here, double denim will never go out of style. Boots and beards abound, Doc Martens are eternal and black reigns supreme. Hair that sits above the shoulders looks bizarre and out of place; much more appropriate are dreads that almost skim the ground.
That being said, the indoor stage – Cherry Bar’s regular band stage – provided the better atmosphere. The sweaty, intimate vibe of Cherry Bar simply cannot be beat.
Back outside the Shrine put on a solid performance; this Los Angeles band are clearly experts at their craft. Complicated drum patterns interwove with skilful guitar, replete with impressive virtuoso solos. The smooth roughness of vocalist Josh Landau’s ideal hard rock voice carried perfectly through the open air, the melody intercepted with assaults of pure noise. Waves of heavy distortion were sent rippling out into the city, no doubt rudely interrupting the quiet plans of many a Sunday afternoon in the surrounding blocks.
Melbourne stoner rockers Fuck the Fitzroy Doom Scene put on a thrillingly unpredictable set. Whirlwind guitar that made full use of every note on the scale played off erratic drum beats that frequently put the rhythm section centre stage. At times heart-racingly fast, their high octane pace was cleverly interjected with breaths of quieter melancholy. They also, incidentally, provided the best eye candy of the night.
Portland metal superstars Red Fang headlined the event, and triggered, in true metal fashion, what can only be described as a crush of people. Every rock n roll fan in Melbourne, it seemed, swarmed inwards to get as close to the stage as possible, creating a wall-to-wall mash of bodies and sweat. Elbows were flying, heads were banging – it was impossible to breathe, in the best way possible.
Red Fang’s performance was of the type that made such an enthusiastic crowd reaction inevitable. Their base-heavy, brutal rock was anchored by an impenetrable base of swampy guitar. Bassist Aaron Beam and drummer John Sherman combined to form a rhythm section that shuddered through the bones, while guitarists David Sullivan and Bryan Giles’ work reverberated through the nervous system. The skilful call and response between the two guitar parts kept the audience constantly on their toes.
Red Fang, and the litany of bands before them, did this iconic festival, at this iconic bar in an iconic location, more than proud.
Check out the full gallery from the festival here.
