Live Review: Soundwave Festival, Day One

A belligerent sun greets punters as they enter the RNA for another year of festival brutality.

The mild shower on the day's radar invites a wave of relief. However, the flirtateous courtship of the clouds becomes little more than a tease toward these barren grounds and the two day event begins to look as if it's really going to be a musical marathon.

The respective history of Killer Be Killed is really quite something. With a trifold frontline of Greg Pucianto (The Dillinger Escape Plan), Troy Sanders (Mastodon), and Max Cavalera (Soulfly/ex-Sepultura) it's no surprise the punters swarm in on mass for this rare opportunity to witness the supergroup in action. Though it's only their fifth show to date, their accumulative experience shines through as they blast through their debut material with the precision of a really precise thing. For the final three songs Pucianto puts his guitar down and lets loose, crowd surfing into a circle pit and whipping the crowd into a further degree of fury.

The lingering sunlight does Marilyn Manson's image no justice, but then again his performance doesn't do his former self any justice either.

While they may be saddled with an unfortunate time slot marred by a major clash, Animals As Leaders wield their technical wizardry with characteristic flair. Their sound is not as crisp as they deserve, but it does improve, and from there on in they proceed to knock the sweaty socks of the small crowd gathered.

After 17 years long years, Godsmack have Soundwave to thank for their eventual arrival on our soil. Tested far beyond the reasonable limits of patience, their fans are ready to explode, and the pin is pulled the moment 1000hp comes cranking out of the speaker stacks. Frontman Sully Erna makes some cliché comments about Australian women, and they carry on with Cryin' Like A Bitch. They never really scale too high, but they do their thing and that's all their people have been asking for all this time.

The members of Japan's Crossfaith take the stage one-by-one, each stepping up on a front-of-stage riser for a moment's heroic display before taking his place. It's an overtly theatrical entrance, but by golly it works, and before too long they are serving up a brutal concoction of cyber metalcore - complete with the odd dubstep bass drop (yep, it works too). They are the sharpest dressed, the most ecstatically energised, and possibly the most infectious of the day. They hit all right marks, and with Max Cavalera nodding approvingly from side of stage throughout their ascension looks near-certain.

Like a weakening vampire caught out of their comfort zone, the lingering sunlight does Marilyn Manson's image no justice, but then again his performance doesn't do his former self any justice either. It doesn't even look as if the drugs like him anymore. The band is sounding a little better than their last dismal appearance at this festival. However, there seems to be little spirit left in Manson's stage presence as he mopes about the stage haphazardly humping foldback speakers (the scene is about as thrilling as watching your geriatric grandpa making the move on his favourite rocking chair). Theatricality is reduced to the use of novelty microphones, including among them a knuckleduster, and a knife with which Manson savagely disembowels an unsuspecting beer can. Rock is dead, great! Perhaps shock is dead would be more relevant though, 'cos there's little that's shocking about mediocrity. Not even Johnny Depp could have saved this one.

The final light is fading as 'The True' Mayhem appear. Frontman Attila Csihar leaves his black cloak hanging up tonight, reducing the theatricality of his entrance somewhat. At first it seems as if he's treating this one a little casual. However, within a few minutes it's becomes apparent that he's intensely invested, and he gives the kind of show stealing performance that has drawn the attention of, and led to collaborations with, so many of his infamous peers. Sole remaining, founding member, Necrobutcher, introduces Pure Fucking Armageddon and the brutality takes hold. Providing a refreshing respite from the '90s nostalgia, the Norwegians deliver a heart pounding 40 minutes of dark extremity.

Ancient metal-titans, Judas Priest, show they've still got the goods with one of the most effective stage shows of the night.

Ancient metal-titans, Judas Priest, show they've still got the goods with one of the most effective stage shows of the night. Rob Halford commands the crowd of young and old devotees like the great mentor he is as the band rolls out a solid set filled with weighty classics, including Metal Gods, Jawbreaker, Breaking The Law. It all reaches a peak in excessive when Halford rides a motorcycle out, then straddles it and waves a leather whip about the stage for the duration of Hell Bent For Leather.

The legend of The Smashing Pumpkins' live prowess precedes them, but this is just not one of their nights. Golden oldies like Cherub Rock and Tonight, Tonight come through as if caught in a web of lethargy, and the following newbie, Drum + Fife, is simply tiring. Marred by lacklustre sound, underwhelming stage design, and an aura of apathy, they fall well below the bar. And all this after Billy Corgan's recent run of media hype(rbole) and incessant claims to greatness. One can't be blamed for expecting a little more - he's set himself up for the fall really.

Headliners Slipknot arrive in a flurry of flames and dazzling lights. They are greeted by the greatest mass of sticking bodies this year's festival has seen thus far (no surprise there, really), and get right to business unleashing their hateful sonic-spawn with the venom they're known for. Their sound is big (still not quite nine people big though) and they are in as rambunctious form as ever. Where they really drop the ball is with their tacky stage design. It's lit up like a horror themed novelty store, or rather, a Rock Eisteddfod stage set for a Halloween themed show of song and dance, and completely fails to reflect the disturbing and shocking nature of this circus we collectively call reality. The band soldiers on and somewhat rises above the few upsets, however, to deliver quite a powerful, career spanning set of some applause worthy length. Surfacing brings it all home with a wondrously nauseous thud, and the music is laid to rest for the night.