Live Review: Soundwave Festival, Day One

A positive early turnout ensued for madcap Melburnians King Parrot’s thrashed-up grind. Front-man Matt 'Youngy' Young stalked the stage and hands-on started a wall of death, while leather-lunged Michele Madden guested on Shit On The Liver. Although plagued by the sub-par sound that hampered some stage four artists, they surely left with numerous new disciples.

The Treatment have been well-schooled in executing an engaging rock show, having toured with some of the genre’s biggest names. The English outfit’s AC/DC-esque riffs and sizeable hooks attracted a respectable turnout. The band was evidently pleased to be there, and Shake The Mountain’s infectiousness proved a highlight.

One group evidently feeling the effects of festival tour life were Melbourne’s The Bennies, who admitted to being wickedly hungover and struggling amid the indoor stage’s heat. Playing to allegedly their biggest crowd yet, they celebrated by sparking up a joint and sharing it amongst themselves. Elsewhere, a unique fusion of punk, reggae, ska and metal did a capable job of getting punters involved.

The sweltering lunchtime conditions seemed an unusual setting for Ne Obliviscaris; even more so when the violin-wielding extreme metallers had just 40 minutes to impress. This allowed time for less than a handful of the Melbourne act’s atmospheric, sprawling epics, but acquitted themselves with class and skill. Having established a considerable buzz in recent months, there will be no forgetting their name anytime soon.

It took mere seconds into party-starter Pussywhipped for Steel Panther vocalist Michael Starr to acknowledge their willing female fans.

Over at the main stages, Japan’s One Ok Rock were clearly an unknown entity to the majority. The exception was a small, but dedicated posse of fans up-front who vocally made their presence known between songs. Perhaps an odd selection for the main arena, but enthusiastic, if cheesy delivery of their emo/rock/metalcore endeared them somewhat.

Despite boasting current and former members of Ill Niño, Machine Head and Soulfly, relatively new masked "horror metal" mob Terror Universal were introducing themselves to the nation’s heavy music masses. A brief display (which appeared to conclude several minutes early) of groove-driven fare felt tedious, but covering Rob Zombie’s Superbeast had numerous fists pumping.

Another act bristling with energy was Crown The Empire, who arrived on-stage late and whose post-hardcore/metalcore offered little new, but was swiftly greeted by numerous screaming teenage girls and male fans readily getting in the pit. The Texans’ bounced about the stage with abandon, also supposedly celebrating the biggest gig they’ve played.

It took mere seconds into party-starter Pussywhipped for Steel Panther vocalist Michael Starr to acknowledge their willing female fans. The glam jokesters are tailor-made for festivals, having carved themselves a lucrative, spandex-wearing niche. The LA parodists blurred lines between lampooning and channelling the genre’s misogynistic history by inviting numerous young women keen to flaunt their wares to the stage. A crowd-pleasing move complemented by Starr and axeman Satchel’s quick-witted repartee. Their musical credentials deserve praise, though. Mock ballad Community Property remains a stitches-inducing jibe at infidelity and audience interaction favourite; preening and pouting bassist Lexxi Foxx’s "hair solo" amused.

The sound gremlins also afforded Fear Factory few favours, but festival-goers flocked en masse for a dose of cyber-metal and security personnel earned their pay due to the sweaty, active pit throughout. There weren’t too many surprises from the Los Angeles quartet, but as landmark Demanufacture record turns 20 this June, it was appropriate they closed with a series of its most beloved tunes. There are far worse prospects than giving your fans precisely what they want and this largely "greatest hits"-type affair did just the trick, ensuring their long-standing connection with Aussie fans remained intact.

By the time scarcely performed live Birth Ritual rolled around Cornell’s voice seemed a tad strained, but forgivable after what preceded…

It was Ministry’s first visit to these shores in two decades, and as the last remnants of the summer sun lingered they tried to compensate for said absence through sheer volume and intensity, accompanied by minimal chatter and eye-catching visuals. Earlier in the tour, fans had complained via social media that their set-lists were too reliant on recent material; so much so main-man Al Jourgensen felt compelled to respond online. He needn’t have bothered, and should have merely let this hour of pounding industrial metal - heavier than a busload of Sumo wrestlers - ram home the point instead. Referencing the vastly under-rated Bush trilogy via likes of raging thrasher Rio Grande Blood and Worthless was a winning move, and time was allotted for some late classics (N.W.O., Just One Fix).

Ronnie Radke is either genuinely unhinged or a great actor. As his extensive rap sheet has prevented Falling In Reverse from touring here previously we’ll lean towards the former. The large numbers certainly did the swaggering, oft-obnoxious and heavily-inked lead singer’s bidding, too – when he demanded a circle pit, they obeyed. The quality of their pop/punk-meets-metalcore left little impression on this reviewer, but clearly the majority were enamoured. It wasn’t just the younger demographic who were fond of the Americans either; The Music observed what appeared to be a mother and teenage daughter, dancing and passionately singing along in unison.

It was then back to the main stages to catch the bulk of Seattleites Soundgarden, whose hard-rock has always owed a significant debt to stadium-sized acts Sabbath and Zeppelin. Wailing frontman Chris Cornell’s charisma was evident, good-naturedly relaying the story of ill-advised remarks made during the band’s Big Day Out jaunt a few years back. Only scantly noting their acceptable, albeit less-than-stellar latest disc, they also had adequate staples (Fell on Black Days, My Wave, inevitable Black Hole Sun) to sate the casual onlooker. A rarity in the form of Kyle Petty, (Son Of Richard) (a Superunknown era B-side) was a surprising, but pleasant inclusion which confounded all bar the most dedicated, and the band clearly revelled in airing it. By the time scarcely performed live Birth Ritual rolled around Cornell’s voice seemed a tad strained, but forgivable after what preceded, and Rusty Cage satisfyingly concluded matters amid a wall of feedback.

It was a brave move to kick off with a new song (Motherfucker) which not only damn near broke the internet, but was subsequently given the thumbs-down by many. But then, the bold and unexpected has always been Faith No More’s modus operandi. There was crooning a passage from The Lion Sleeps Tonight during Midlife Crisis, or animated vocalist Mike Patton responding to an audience member’s use of the c-bomb by inciting a widespread chant of said word, and subsequently incorporating it into Digging The Grave. Immaculately decked out in white and surrounded by flowers (the surprisingly quiet volume did let the side down fractionally), the quintet contrasted sing-a-long smashes like Epic and Easy with far less festival-friendly but compelling Zombie Eaters or caustic Cuckoo For Caca during a dynamic, memorable performance littered with their shit-stirring humour. Previewing another fresh cut, Superhero, offered an additional taste of that new record due in the near future. Bring it on, we say.

Overall, it was an exhausting yet congenial event which ran efficiently. Now it’s time for a few hours’ sleep before doing it all over again.