It was an hour shy of midday when I joined the staggering hordes of Soundwavers snaking for hundreds of metres around the length of the RNA showgrounds. I was quickly infected by the familiar buzz of the festival-goers. Maybe it was the thick and humid air, or maybe it was the sight of a fist pump of an ink-sleeved arm here and a raucous impromptu sing-along there, but beads of anticipation were quickly running down my face. A glance skyward was enough to see this breezy Summer morning was quickly disappearing, but not even the looming grey clouds would be enough to dampen the spirits of the dark-clothed festival-goers.
Inside the gates, New Jersey power pop rockers Saves The Day are playing an album tribute to seminal 90s band Weezer on the main stage, under a large Pinkerton banner. Apart from a handful of frenzied sing-alongers, the lack of enthusiasm proved why Weezer have continued to ignore Australia on their tour schedule for the past 15 years. With a quick “thank you guys” and a banner drop to reveal their own band name, Saves The Day finish the second half of their hour-long set to a little more movement among the crowd. Despite the cold blanket of rain, it was a satisfying warm-up for the many more people who had now begun to fill up the showgrounds.
If anyone was pleased to see the rain, it would be Steel Panther who took to the main stage next and introduced a running joke about how much pleasure they took in knowing all the ladies in the crowd were already “wet” for them. This would prove to be the tamest of the sexual innuendos which flooded their set. The four-piece unabashedly blasts out the hits and any birds and bees by playing many songs from their latest album Balls Out (this unsurprisingly causes many boobs out among the lady fans). With a few final synchronised pelvic thrusts and swish of lush hair that would make any girl jealous, Steel Panther leaves the stage to loud applause from both fans and groupies.
Welsh natives Lostprophets offer a similar air of overconfidence, strutting on stage with a wee bit too much “try-hard” in their step. It was not until singer Ian Watkins took a playful plastic bottle to the back of the head that the set became more light-hearted and enjoyable. Closing with hit “Last Train Home”, Lostprophets manage to get what any decent rock band should: a bit of mosh, sing-along, and fist-pump action.
After a brief hunt for some miscellaneous foreign delight from a food stall, my soggy feet carried me back to the main stages. I arrived just in time to witness a burst of smoke towers and shower of beach balls as the next band bounced on stage: “We are A Day To Remember from the United States of America and it’s good to be back in Australia, baby!” The post-hardcore/pop-punk outfit were clear favourites; it didn’t take any convincing for the more daring to obey the instructions being yelled out from on-stage and have crowdsfurfers “literally” surfing other crowdsurfers. Each successful participant exiting the side of the barrier would get a merry cheer and a raised-beer toast by a large group hanging over the side of the 18+ area. Hits “All I Want” and “The Plot To Bomb The Panhandle” closed up the band’s fast-moving set, as a final burst of confetti certainly left the energised crowd with something to remember.
I was inundated with a wave of high-pitched screams as I escaped from the rain under the huge tent erected over stage three. Sydney-based Tonight Alive could easily be mistaken for another Paramore carbon copy—fronted by a sugar-sweet female who sings, sways and speaks with an astounding resemblance to Hayley Williams. Nevertheless, the joy in Tonight Alive’s performance is infectious, and I receive a high (on something)-five from a stranger as we both sing along to the band’s pop-punk-injected cover of the Mumford & Sons hit, “Little Lion Man”.
Cobra Starship continues the big tent party on the adjacent stage with their catchy synthpop, offering something a little different to Soundwave’s metal-heavy line-up. With the addition of a maraca-shaking stand-up drummer from now defunct band The Academy Is…, the beat from the two drum kits makes it very hard for anyone in the tent to not want to show a bit of a shoulder shimmy. I found my queue to exit, however, when the band started playing a cover of “that Barbara Streisand” song.
Back at the main stages, the night was beginning to pick up speed as I could sense almost tangible anticipation for the four main headliners. Two red caps barge past me in an act of perfect foreshadowing as I stand amongst the enormous crowd waiting for Limp Bizkit. Soon DJ Lethal took to his turntables high above the stage and raised his arms to the roar of tens of thousands. Peering over the heads of everyone I finally see the rest of the band stride on stage and launch straight into “Why Try” from their latest album. But it’s not until the band play tracks from their earlier full-lengths, Significant Other and Chocolate Starfish and the Hotdog Flavoured Water, that they really receive and overwhelming response.
It’s clear that the Bizkit were every twenty-something’s favourite nu-metal band in high school, when every word of front man Fred Durst’s rapid verses is recited in verbatim. Even after having grown-up somewhat in ten years and knowing every lyric you’re shouting out is about being pissed off or misunderstood, it’s definitely still a whole lot of fun. “Is this real? We missed you, we really fucking missed you!” shouts Durst. Nostalgia is a clear winner here and although I arrived at the stage being sceptical of signs of a has-been, Limp Bizkit proved themselves as worthy headliners.
The band seemingly cements approval in the eyes of the Soundwavers as Durst launches into an extended speech against Big Day Out organisers when they played the festival, as he cites, “exactly 11 years and one month ago”. Durst sounds genuinely repentant and humbled as he mentions the death of teenager Jessica Michalik, who was crushed during the band’s last tour in Australia because of a lack of crowd control, according to Durst. A giant pink banner behind the stage sporting her name is then revealed to much applause and remains there for the band’s set. “Everything we do right here in Australia is for you, baby” Durst states to the banner, then thanks the crowd for having him back in the country.
The mood is lightened after a few songs when Durst throws a box full of Heinekens into the front few rows. “Break Stuff” is decided as the set closer after a brief crowd poll conducted by the “weird!” (according to a girl beside me) guitarist Wes Borland, who sports painted-on white skin and a black Guy Fawkes-esque moustache. A final circle pit breaks out besides me as the final chorus explodes into the air and leaves the crowd buzzing.
Attention was soon drawn back on stage as a giant black curtain fell as Manson stomped his way on stage in his trademark platform boots. He launches straight into “Antichrist Superstar” followed by “Disposable Teens”, strutting about the stage while unleashing his powerful guttural vocals over his band’s distinctive brand of industrial metal. The controversy of Manson’s character doesn’t seem to have as much widespread appeal as the preceding headliner, I find as I gaze around at the mildly interested crowd floating around the outer barrier.
But my impressions are immediately changed and I find his appeal is passionately appreciated in others, as a long-haired man in an electric wheelchair whizzes past me yelling Manson’s lyrics. “I’m fucking high but don’t tell anyone,” Manson soon announces, “on nar-cot-ics.” “Who’s gonna do narcotics?” he later demands, as he offers a patch of white powder on the top of his hand to a festival worker off stage. Being my first time seeing Manson, it was hard to tell whether his lunacy was the norm or really an effect of his consumed “narcotics”. Regardless, Manson proved himself an entertainer and that is what the crowd paid money for.
The masks, warm flames and elevating drum kits of Slipknot are incredibly entrancing, but this punter finds her way over to a much, much more empty stage tucked away one of the showground’s large sheds. Here, New York’s I Am The Avalanche are belting out honest and angsty, modern punk tracks from their first album in six years, Avalanche United. The turnout is disappointing, but a small group give the band some well-deserved ecstatic and he artful cheers and sing-alongs.
Before returning to the main stage for the final headliner, I find myself, well… stuck in the mud. If I was going to get dirty once in the day, this was the time and place and the band to do it with. Before anyone had even begun to make cleanliness decisions, a group of English rascals danced onto the stage. “We are Enter Shikari and we’ve been abusing music genre’s worthless boundaries since 2003!” shouted the singer in a thick London accent. Anyone in the sizeable crowd who didn’t know what they were in for might have been shocked at the chaotic post-hardcore-slash-“electronicore” songs being blasted out. The accustomed fans knew exactly what they were in for, however, and showed no hesitation in completely throwing the last of their energy and any inhibitions away in clearing ground for circle pits and constructing pyramids from mud and humans.
The anarchy was over all too soon before I quickly trod my mud-splattered body back to catch the last third of System Of A Down’s set. The evening had truly turned into a night of nostalgia as myself and the seemingly endless crowd around me sung along to the soundtrack of our former selves. Back after a five-year hiatus, singer Serj Tankian appeared stronger than ever; he effortlessly displayed his vocal versatility from the low growls of “Aerials” to the high, frantic squeals in “Vicinity of Obscenity”. The triumphant headliners played a healthy mix of their five-album discography before returning to their beginnings, and playing a string of passionate favourites from their self-titled debut album. Closing the set and the festival with the comical “Sugar”, we were left with a huge, victorious and joyful smile from Tankian—a smile to perfectly sum up the day which had now regrettably come to an end.
– Jade Davis
