Live Review: Midnight Oil, George Telek & David Bridie

The much-anticipated Great Circle 2017 reunion tour by Oz rock legends Midnight Oil has snaked its way around the globe over the course of some six months to finally reach Brisbane, and a huge and rabid crowd has turned out for the second of two Brisbane Riverstage shows.

Not even days of torrential rain - or the threat of more to come - can deter the sense of nervous excitement coursing through the throng who're intrinsically united by their love of this great outfit, and none of who've seen their heroes in the flesh for at least 15 years (if at all).

The ever-altruistic Oils have been sharing the joy by regularly rotating support acts throughout the Australian leg of the tour - providing career highlights for different acts in every city - and tonight we're lucky enough to be warmed up by Papua New Guinea's preeminent singer-songwriter George Telek and his long-term partner-in-crime David Bridie (of Not Drowning, Waving and My Friend The Chocolate Cake fame). These two have been collaborating now for decades and both the respect and rapport between them is obvious from the outset. The tribally adorned Telek takes centre stage with his acoustic guitar while Bridie remains ensconced behind a bank of keyboards on stage left, the pair augmented by a three-piece band and a revolving array of Papua New Guinean musicians. Telek sings for the most part in his native Kuanua tongue, his voice pure and beautiful and proving that sometimes you don't need to understand the language to gauge the emotion. Bridie takes the vocal reins for old Not Drowning, Waving tune Blackwater - which he dedicates to the ongoing West Papuan struggle for independence - before they proudly unfurl the Morning Star flag favoured by independence seekers as Telek offers an emotional rendition of his freedom lament West Papua. It's quite inspiring and the perfect precursor for what's to come, from both a musical and social consciousness perspective.  

The muddy hills sloping towards the stage are treacherous underfoot but at least the intermittent rain has stopped, the huge sea of eager fans rather disappointingly missing out on the perfect chance to proffer the elongated "Oiiiiiiiiiillssss" chant that used to precede Midnight Oil shows back in the day (often somewhat-cruelly starting up while the support band was still in action). The roar that greets the predominantly black-clad members as they finally emerge and run to their places lacks nothing, however, the crowd coming alive as one as the Oils power into Redneck Wonderland like they've never been away.

Towering frontman Peter Garrett is immediately as imposing as ever, whether belting out his thought-provoking diatribes or letting his band's powerful music course through his veins and reacting with his now-trademark dance moves, his style jerky and spasmodic but genuine and compelling. The band themselves also return to perfect sync from the get-go, held down from the back by the pummelling percussion of enigmatic skinsman Rob Hirst, who teams perfectly with the weighty bottom end provided by stoic bassist Bones Hillman.

Garrett's voice is as strong and expressive as ever and from a distance he hardly seems to have aged since the band's heyday, the staccato burst of Read About It getting a strong response as the band delve deeper into their extensive catalogue. A three-piece horn section - helmed by Hunters & Collectors' mainstay Jack Howard - appears on their right flank and adds immediate heft to the scathing Say Your Prayers, before Hercules erupts into an incendiary squall, the guitars of Martin Rotsey and Jim Moginie snaking together in perfect simpatico. They bring the tempo down significantly with Now Or Never Land - all shimmery guitars and atmospheric keys, with Garrett pounding a cowbell as if his life depends on it - before the anthemic Truganini ramps things back up towards the red, Garrett howling an impassioned, "Let it burn!" that seems to drag out forever. The response from the crowd is one of unadorned adoration and the band seem genuinely delighted by the unreserved nature of this reception, with even lesser-known songs like Golden Age receiving a strong response. But when they dig deep into their back pocket and pull out the evergreen Stand In Line - from classic 1979 second album Head Injuries - the hardcore contingent of fans present go into immediate raptures, the track still taut and lithe and powerful (and sadly still much too resonant), with Moginie coaxing weird alien tones through the squall on his pedals as Garrett hovers over his shoulder like a crazed apparition.

The band by now is firing on all cylinders but it's time for a mid-set change-up, Hirst coming to the front of the stage to man his smaller "cocktail kit" and take main vocals on When The Generals Talk - Garrett changing the lyrics of his own mid-song vocal breakdown to deliver a pronounced environmental spin - before they move onto a haunting acoustic rendition of Minutes To Midnight. Moginie's keys usher an ominous undertone to the anthemic Short Memory - Garrett's spitfire vocals still bringing goosebumps - before they give a relatively subdued acoustic spin to the vitriolic US Forces, which nonetheless prompts an immense crowd singalong. Hirst is still up front on the smaller kit as he belts out the words to Kosciusko, which starts as a vocals-and-guitar, bare-bones version before the band scurry to their original places and burst back into full-band mode mid-song, the change immediate and visceral as they continue with the pummelling Only The Strong.

Until this current tour the haunting Arctic World had hardly appeared on setlists since the '80s but this piano-heavy rendition works nicely, while Hirst gets to offer the obligatory drum solo on the trademark watertank to the right of his kit as the rousing Power & The Passion transforms the hill into a single dancing entity that delights in belting back the song's gutsy refrain. Singalong mode is retained for radio staple Beds Are Burning before Garrett offers the first overt politics for the night with some strong anti-Adani rhetoric, the singer suddenly silhouetted on the drum riser offering the thrilling harp intro to Blue Sky Mine, which again turns the hill into chaos. They offer a rousing run-through of the driving King Of The Mountain and then it's all-too-quickly over, the band abandoning their gear and disappearing into the backstage darkness with little fanfare or ado.

They've been away too long to leave on that meek note - that much is clear - and the band are soon back in their onstage positions, Garrett's heartfelt return spiel ending with the powerful mantra "Every person deserves to be treated equally and with respect!" as the band embarks on a thrilling journey through The Dead Heart, surely one of their most powerful and enduring missives. They take their leave once more after a frantic Forgotten Years but return forthwith for one final statement, Garrett guaranteeing the band's genuine affection for Queensland before eviscerating our past cultural improprieties with a thrashing version of Dreamworld to bring it all home.

The time that Midnight Oil spent away from the spotlight has clearly not diminished the group's incredible chemistry or musicianship one iota, nor has it eroded the power of their message nor their underrated ability to get people thinking about important societal issues for themselves. One of our country's best and most important bands is back with a vengeance, and we're all the better off for it.