Live Review: Soundwave

It's a blisteringly hot but utterly gorgeous day in Brisbane as the biggest heavy music event to ever hit Australia kicks off in our fine city. Soundwave has been big before, but never this big, and there are plenty of people in early to ensure they squeeze the most out of this incredible festival.

Local boys The Schoenberg Automaton make the most of their Soundwave debut and lucky main stage slot by delivering a brutal performance. They demonstrate a depth of technical ability that no doubt outshines some of their more garnered peers and also display a certain knack for inserting a bit of contrast into their rather dynamic compositions.     

There's only a thin number of people circling when British crew Sharks stroll out on the well large punk stage to pull through a short set of Clash-inspired rebel rock. There's nothing wrong with the tunes – there are some genuine rousing anthems to be found – but the songs today simply suffer from a lack of intimacy.

As soon as Portland's Red Fang get onstage, the crowd knows what they're about. One look at these guys and even the uninitiated are saying, 'Oh, these guys must be a jam band'. Proving a stellar example for judging a book by its cover, Red Fang keep things nice and slow and lock into the groove of some of the sludgier Murder The Mountains cuts. It's an excellent warm-up for those planning on doing some serious headbanging.

After an intro of Also Sprach Zarathustra, Japan's Crossfaith burst onto the stage with an all out frenzied attack of their electro-tinged metal. It's surprising just how huge they sound given the early slot. Their vigorous display only heightens the effect and soon the circle pit ensues. During their booming finale, a cover of The Prodigy's Omen, vocalist Koie Kenta commands the crowd down low so that an eruption occurs as the song kicks back in and they trail out in sub-laden glory.

No one seems quite sure what Chicago punk outfit The Lawrence Arms are doing on today's bill – their last full-length was released seven years ago and the EP they put out four years ago is only a five-track deal. That doesn't mean the three-piece don't rule on Stage 2B as they bang through the short, sharp hits from the Oh! Calcutta! record. Their no frills punk rock gets everyone pumped for a new album, which is apparently in the works.

Post-hardcore six-piece The Blackout unleash the beasts from the cage that are frontmen Sean Smith and Gavin Butler. Hurtling their way through Children Of The Night, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things and Radio, it's pretty darn hot under the midday sun for the Welshmen but the onstage banter is amusing. Smith and Butler rev up the waiting Anthrax crowd up with a few flips of the bird, telling us to make the words up if you don't know them 'cos hey, that's what they do.

A poor mix hinders the early stages of Fozzy's set. After a few songs they recover somewhat, however, their sound still never becomes quite forceful. Chris Jericho manages to confusedly turn off his mic with a slip of his thumb, but at least he takes it all in good humour with a modest bout of self-deprecation before launching into the abysmal She's My Addiction. Perhaps the return to wrestling was a wise move after all.   

Lucero's Southern rock doesn't fit Soundwave musically (surely they're the only band on the bill with a pedal steel player?), so it's no wonder only a handful are here – the band still deliver something truly special, though. On My Way Downtown still grooves hard without the horns, Nights Like These is as brilliantly gloomy in a hot tent at 1pm as it is in the wee hours and a new song Texas & Tennessee makes us very excited for their next LP. One punter calls out for My Best Girl – the band oblige brilliantly – before Tears Don't Matter Much, Drink Til We're Gone and Sounds Of The City close this brilliant set.

The black shirts are out in force and a vocal crowd start chanting for Anthrax. Keystone member and guitarist Scott Ian comes out first and the onslaught when the band burst onstage is physically impacting. The ever-changing Anthrax line-up has been a source of idle amusement but they made the right choice when they re-elected vocalist Joey Belladonna to office – his frantic energy puts the youngsters to shame as he bounces through Caught In a Mosh, Antisocial and Indians.

Put Jamey Jasta on a stage and he will have everyone moving, put Crowbar's Kirk Windstein behind a guitar and he will have everybody headbanging. Such is the promise of Kingdom Of Sorrow, which on their first ever Australian run, the band deliver upon. The hardcore/doom and sludge mash-up hits a big sound over on Stage 3, and gets a big pit moving with the material from their latest (and best) record, 2010's Behind The Blackest Tears.

US prog-metallers Periphery are a well-oiled machine. The instant the sextet literally drops into the first notes of Scarlet a precision act is guaranteed. Vocalist Spencer Sotelo's switch between growl and soaring wail adds to the band's multidimensional music, which carves up choppy, interesting rhythms and alternates from chugging guitars to Misha 'Bulb' Mansoor's sky-riding solos in Luck As A Constant. Clear favourite Facepalm Mute's blistering opening all but tears everyone in the tent a new one. Criminally underrepresented act of the day.

Dave Quackenbush's voice is shot – allegedly due to ingesting white powder with Lars Ulrich – but The Vandals are still stupidly fun. The People That Are Going To Hell, The New You and Oi The The World are a good start, but the crowd get really excited for I've Got An Ape Drape (“it was funny about 12 years ago,” quips Quackenbush) and My Girlfriend's Dead. The rest of the shortened set is given to guitarist Warren Fitzgerald who runs through Queen's Don't Stop Me Now with over-expressive stage moves, lame crowdsurfing and a chorus of Waltzing Matilda.

Celtic-infused folk-punk never sounded better than from veterans Flogging Molly. Dublin-born Dave King and co. work their set the only way they've known how these past 20 years: tight, upbeat and meaningful. There's far too much going on: jigs, fiddles, pipes, banjos and beer flying through the air, all to the Irish working-man tunes of Paddy's Lament, Revolution and Seven Deadly Sins. They're punk-rock “where it counts” according to King, and by the look of the mottled crowd of thousands before them, there ain't no argument there.

Trimmed to a four-piece following this week's departure of guitarist Steph Carter, Gallows sweat out an intense and passionate performance, with new frontman Wade MacNeil, ever husky in a cut-off denim vest, roaring comfortably through the old (In The Belly Of A Shark, Orchestra Of Wolves) and new (Outside Art, Last June). Disappointingly, the guys depart after less than 30 minutes, one would assume either due to the loss of Carter or the sauna like conditions of Stage 6. Either way, the short set makes a massive statement.

As soon as Bullet For My Valentine take the stage, it seems like a metal tribute spills out of almost each and every riff. They gallop through Breaking Point and then bring things to a near halt midway so that vocalist Matthew Tuck can wind up the crowd and encourage a circle pit to marry with the mayhem that follows. What is lacking in inventiveness is nearly made up for with force as they power through the weighty set. Scream, Aim, Fire bids the crowd adieu by rolling into one final salute as Enter Sandman trails out.  

With the humidity still up but the direct heat of the sun waning, Canadians Billy Talent emerge to a sizable crowd on Stage 2B and work Brisbane over like the polished pros they are. Leading with Viking Death March, frontman Ben Kowalewicz is all gimpy legs and fractured moves as he freaks out through Devil In A Midnight Mass and Try Honesty, while the rest of his black-clad cohorts provide emotive backing vocals and plenty of riffs and fills to pump fists for.

When Kyuss Lives! are on main stage, legions of heshers and space cadets lose whatever of their minds have survived the years. Even with Corrosion Of Conformity's Mike Dean on bass (wasn't Nick Oliveri supposed to be playing?) watching Kyuss Lives! play classics like Freedom Run and El Rodeo is a revelatory experience. And then even those efforts are nothing compared to John Garcia, Brant Bjork and whoever else they have on stage with them hitting the material from the greatest stoner rock album ever, Sky Valley.

Over at Stage 3, Florida's Sleeping With Sirens are on a win with the underage demographic. Whether vocalist Kellin Quinn is busy explaining various uses of the word 'fuck' or blatantly showing off his vocal range in between song banter, he is countered by a frightening chorus of shrieking girls. It becomes hard to discern whether most of the crowd have come for the crunchy riffs and melodic hooks, or if they simply misread the band name for Sleeping With Prepubescent Sirens.  

The future of British metalcore is killing it at Stage 4A, with While She Sleeps pulling no punches with their honest and unpretentious pummellings. Guitarist Mat Welsh is tight with his wide-reaching riffs, while Aaran McKenzie is a danger centre stage, the big bass player whipping the instrument's long neck around viciously. But it's long-haired vocalist Lawrence Taylor who's the heart and soul here, releasing himself on Our Courage, Our Cancer and This Is The Six. The north stands for something.

Ontario bubblegum punk-rockers Sum 41 are one of the swag of early-noughties acts on the bill and the lack of black T-shirts and increase in baseball caps proves it. Singer Deryck Whibley looks a little worse for wear in the mid-afternoon heat but he's an appreciative frontman and pummels out favourites early like The Hell Song and We're All To Blame. The sound's a bit patchy on massive hit In Too Deep, and the We Will Rock You cover is a bit contrived but it goes down a treat.

Okay, when did Of Mice & Men become fucking pop stars? It's pandemonium when the LA metalcore troupe step out onstage, the guys working the crowd's energy with impressive ease. Vocalist Austin Carlile has this high-end screech working that cuts through your ear drums while his bandmates have their breakdowns on lock. The quintet call on everyone to get down on the ground following the first song; everyone then launches up and moves in a collective loss of shit. From there the madness continues uncontested.

Metalcore mainstays Shai Hulud have put their time and effort into frequently touring Australia, which makes the abysmal crowd showing at their mid-afternoon set on Stage 6 all the more depressing. These guys know how to sling a riff, and can write a pit-friendly breakdown like the best of them, so where is everybody? It's a bummer, but the band are determined to make lemonade out of the lemons as they slam through their Misanthropy Pure and just-released Reach Beyond the Sun albums.

Remember those things that seemed so amazing when you were younger: basketball cards, Yoho! Diablo, Hypercolor? You loved that stuff, but you grew up, you realised they didn't mean anything. Now, you shake your head and laugh at your past obsessions. Well, in a few years time the crowd down at Stage 3 will think back to when they watched All Time Low turn punk into watered down piss and chuckle, 'Why the fuck wasn't I at Slayer?'

They're completely baffled when it comes to mixing hip hop at this festival, but even an atrocious mix is not enough to completely mar Cypress Hill's funky thunder. Like a breath of fresh air, B-Real swings through classics Hand On The Pump, When The Shit Goes Down, and How I Could Just Kill A Man, and Sen Dog funks things up a level with Latin Thugs and Latin Lingo. A dancing crowd is a rare treasure in such an environment, but the real gems are found when the guitar driven numbers Rise Up and (Rock) Superstar receive a more sympathetic mix and bring things home on the highest of notes. 

Slayer sound tight, loud, heavy and really fucking evil in the afternoon sun, proving they are still a vicious beast with the opening blast of Disciple and Die By The Sword. It's a shame Dave Lombardo isn't here, but Jon Dette fills his spot more than capably and Kerry King doesn't miss a note as he grimaces at the mainstage crowd. Frontman Tom Araya is wry as ever as he introduces Mandatory Suicide, but the real highlights are towards the end with Seasons In The Abyss, Angel Of Death and Raining Blood.

The groove of New York hardcore masters Madball is so concentrated and heavy, it's just a beautiful thing to witness. When asked, many of the crowd admit to never having seen the band before; even after 25 years these guys are converting people to their brand of hardcore. This festival is full of frontmen far younger than Freddy Cricien, but he takes them all to school – he's a devastating vocalist with boundless energy.

It's a blast from a past that metal-lovers either love or hate, but there's a humble amount of love shown for former Guns N' Roses bassist and Velvet Revolver cohort Duff McKagan and his Loaded outfit. And despite being segregated to practically the 'carpark' stage of the festival, there's a decent turnout and deservedly so. McKagan's position as a guitarist and frontman is an acknowledgment of the man's talent and ability to satisfy '80s hair metal diehards with epic guitar solos and chugging bass in Sick and We Win.

Killswitch Engage back with vocalist Jesse Leach is a like the second coming of a metalcore messiah. Or it's like the return of the prodigal son… Something biblical, seeing the band take to the stage to revisit the Alive Or Just Breathing material seems like a religious experience for the crowd packed up the front. The screams of delight meeting Life To Lifeless and My Last Serenade are matched by the excitement when the band play a new one from their unreleased new record.

The setting sun welcomes A Perfect Circle onstage and the reconfigured line-up, including James Iha, go to work on their cover of John Lennon's Imagine, alongside mainstays guitarist Billy Howerdel and Maynard James Keenan, who prowls in the corner as usual. The Hollow is the most anthemic and it gets a huge singalong alongside the industrial Counting Sheep To The Rhythm Of War Drums, shared with Iha's crystalline guitar in People Are People. Diehards dig disquieting numbers When The Levee Breaks and The Outsider but it's a stretch for most at the waning of day.

The electric onstage presence of Paramore riles up a young crowd this evening, their appeal helped immeasurably by the fancy free frolicking of frontwoman Hayley Williams. She dances, headbangs, waves at fans mid-verse, lies on the stage – it's no wonder so many youngsters love her so much. Their slick emo-pop is executed gloriously, The Only Exception is sweet, Let The Flames Begin is powerful and the vinyl-only single Monster is aired for the true believers. The biggest bang is saved for last though, Misery Business eliciting screams and squeals from the pit.

The Cancer Bats are on fire. Their hardcore punk vision hasn't been compromised for almost a decade and today Brisbane gets to enjoy a band at the top of their game. They're big bastards, making their fluid stage moves all the more impressive, and with a monster cover of Beastie Boys' Sabotage positioned in between headbangers like Bricks And Mortar and Hail Destroyer, Liam 'Scrappy' Cormier and his Toronto brothers make sure the Canadian flag continues to fly high.

While Sweden's Ghost capture the hair-raising power of 2010's Opus Eponymous on Stage 3, the sun sets. Watching the enigmatic six-piece play, this kind of feels like more intervention from the desolate one/some kind of black magic than the obvious by-product of their 6.20pm timeslot. Amidst plumes of smoke, Papa Emeritus and his Nameless Ghouls offer up a rousing sermon, hailing Satan and Mercyful Fate by working through proto-black metal gems like Elizabeth, Ritual and Con Clavi Con Dio.

Scheduling Linkin Park fans alongside a waiting Metallica crowd sure makes for interesting banter hardly suitable for the dinner table, but the nu metal sextet have far too good a time to care. Early-noughties classics like Papercut, Breaking The Habit and Numb warm things up, but technical issues halt a song mid-entry, making things a tad awkward before singers Chester Bennington and Mike Shinoda ditch it and move on to What I've Done. Their electro metal is pretty note-perfect and their enthusiasm is infectious, closing with mega-hit In The End.

With four out of the five band members doing their best to look like a young Milo from Descendants, Polar Bear Club instantly feel familiar and friendly. Their full-fired nerdcore is pretty damn likeable too, and although Jimmy Stadt could probably work on curbing his chatter between tracks the band make the whole experience feel like a basement gig on a festival stage – no small feat.

As if no time has passed since their '90s heyday, Garbage are in truly fine form. Their sound is full and dymamic throughout, and when Shirley Manson lets loose on classics such as I think I'm Paranoid, Push It, and I'm Only Happy When It Rains, that old magic seems to really return. Not much has been made of their recent efforts, but it sure is good to still have them pumping it out in the live arena.     

The reformed Vision Of Disorder finally return to Australian shores after a gruellingly long wait. Preceding the wave of popularity that washed over the intersection of metal and hardcore, early era numbers like Suffer and Imprint are delivered with all the intensity of the studio counterparts and still sound as relevant at the times they were penned in. The crowd is unfortunately thin, however, they emanate a level of enthusiasm that goes some way to making it feel like the event that's long been waited for.  

As Damian Abraham is giving the entire audience a taste of his sweaty back hair and just flat out being the coolest frontman of the day, the rest of Fucked Up are careening between cantankerous hardcore, melodic power pop, rock and just about everything in between over the course of their 40 minute set. For how quick, wild and unrestrained their set is, the Canadian outfit hold their music together unbelievably tightly. For this reason, their set is marvellous to experience.

Travis who? That's pretty much the general vibe following Blink-182's punk show/dick joke happy hour, with fill-in drummer Brooks Wackerman absolutely nailing it. Even though Mark and Tom are legitimately middle-aged men they bring the party, and still break up the songs with plenty of zingers: “Sydney can suck our collective cocks!” A black sheet dropped when the guys launched into Feeling This and what was revealed was a very slick stage show, all bright spotlights and big screens, with the setlist full of nostalgic classics (Rock Show, What's My Age Again, Josie, Dammit) that got everyone wearing fantastically stupid grins.

Diehards and the vaguely interested alike are at the point of no return; there's literally nowhere to escape from the main stage as the now-familiar sights and sounds of The Ecstasy Of Gold bring Metallica out. The foursome are well represented by their “Metallica family”, clad in various vintages of band tees, as Hit The Lights gets things rolling with a bang. From there on in the ageless band unleash a show that dazzles not only in pyrotechnics but in their forever staunch commitment to a fool-proof live performance. It's hit after hit, covering decades' worth of Metallica gold including Harvester Of Sorrow, Welcome Home (Sanitarium), Fuel, Fade To Black, One, Nothing Else Matters and Enter Sandman. There's a gaping hole where The Unforgiven should be but Creeping Death and Seek And Destroy make up for it in the encore, along with black Metallica-emblazoned beach balls. With a hint from Lars about a swift return following their lengthy and appreciative departure, the insatiable may get another shot to catch the ever-reliable heavy metal heavyweights sooner than they thought.

New York's Cerebral Ballzy are a passable thrash band, but Honor Titus' vocals are the real point of different. The slurred, messy vocals are unlike other bands in this genre and it only really seems effective half the time. The band run through Junky For Her, Insufficient Fare, Cutting Class, Don't Tell Me What To Do and On The Run proficiently enough, but it doesn't look like they're having much fun, which kind of defeats the purpose of this style of music.

Such Gold sound fucking awesome and their live show is intense, engaging and damn punchy. Shame there is nobody watching. Well, that's a lie – there are probably 40 people – but even they are nonplussed, seemingly only in attendance as a stopgap while their partner/friend/pick-up grabs a burger or uses the bathroom. You gotta feel for these great smaller bands who are playing their hearts out to vacant faces and concrete, but such is the Soundwave beast.

Californian skate punk legends The Offspring have certainly earned the right to close things out over on the second main stage tonight, even if they insist on playing post-Conspiracy Of One material. It's these bland, latter day sins that plod along, even if they are compensated by iconic post-grunge anthems like Come Out And Play and Gone Away. Even if The Offspring don't have the energy they did even a few years ago, their classic material – The Kids Aren't Alright and Self Esteem­ – can't be faulted.

So another epic instalment of Soundwave is done and dusted, and the hordes of heavy music lovers disperse into the night to either rest their weary necks and limbs or to continue the mayhem elsewhere, but all and sundry are sure looking forward to being back amongst their brethren this time next year – bring on Soundwave 2014!