Live Review: Vans Warped Tour

It's been 12 years since Vans Warped Tour was last in Oz. Back then, the timetable was written up in marker pen on a ripped cardboard box; this time around you can find it on a large inflatable board. The names are still scrawled on bits of cardboard – punk rock and all that – but the organisation of the festival doesn't feel haphazard in 2013. It is organised chaos, but in that order.

Along with the expected school holiday crew kicking around, a surprising amount of oldies have skived off work early or simply taken the always welcome Friday sickie. It makes for a colourful scene at the back of RNA Showgrounds, and under a sun that won't fucking quit the crowd numbers are good, the beer and Vodka Cruisers are flowing, and guitars are sounding off all about. Everything is well in our Warped world.

Confession are doing their usual bully boy metalcore over at the Off The Wall stage. They have pictures of Chopper – the real and Hollywood version – acting as side-of-stage banners, while frontman Michael Crafter actually looks like the dead crim: handlebar moustache, pudgy, tattoos. They're slugging it out early and Crafter seems weirdly mellow, but soon enough he's barking orders of the crowd. The mix isn't kind to the band, and they are struggling in the heat, but they manage. To our left a man in a horse head slam dances enthusiastically.

There's more love getting felt for The Used over at the Kevin Says main stage. It doesn't start out great for the band; you can't hear the guitar, so drum sticks are getting thrown into the crowd to pass the time. Eventually though they get it going, smashing out Take It Away, before an enthused Bert McCracken struggles through the high notes of The Taste Of Ink, but his energy and charm is enough to get the whole thing over the line.

Crowd shot. Pic by Terry Soo.

As if to further scream they're pop punk survivors, New Found Glory go forwards and tick every stereotypical box that you could associate with the genre: fat bassist with his shirt off, guitarist in American flag shorts, hair wax still holding the spikes true. Who cares though, the sound is immediately better than anyone before them. They play It's Not Your Fault and a few other tracks, before announcing – on AJ's request no less – that they'll be performing their seminal record of 2002, Sticks And Stones, in full. As this all happens the skate and BMX pros do their thing. Steve Caballero is tiny. He's a year shy of 50, has a grey beard and doesn't stop smiling once while we watch him bust out on the half pipe.

We head over to Hatebreed and it's trench warfare, with the tent resembling a battleground and the hardcore legends simply destroying, making every band before them look like amateurs. One of the band's guitarists has a Saints shirt on – which immediately endears him to those in the tent. The double kick is brutal, while Jamey Jasta, rocking his trademark bandana front and centre, is the kind of frontman you'll one day tell your kids about.

There's more nostalgia to be had back on the main stage with Millencolin still kicking arse, playing and throwing moves like the same stoked Swedes that emerged from the Scandinavian skate scene more than 20 years ago. They toss a little ska in the mix for some fun, before giving the field of drunken afternoon punters exactly what we want – the hits, baby! Kemp, Fox, Penguins And Polar Bears, Bullion, Mouse Or Man – incredibly, the soloing from Mathias Farm and Erik Ohlsson is better than it was at the height of their powers one decade ago. Frontman Nikola Sarcevic gets struck by a hat, but it can't derail the momentum. He steps back, strumming the acoustic first verses of The Ballad, before it busts out in full volume, the guys even giving us an encore of No Cigar and Mr Clean, no doubt because we look so good.

RDGLDGRN are doing whatever it is they doing over on the small #NoRegrets Days stage. It sounds sorta like garage hip hop, with verses bounding out over rough live backing; the guys are repping their respective colours, and a small crowd mills about, seemingly curious more than legitimate fans. No time to hang around and see if they're converted, however, as The Amity Affliction have pulled easily the biggest crowd of the day in the Off The Wall marquee, and the potential for madness is too enticing to deny.

The Crüe's Girls, Girls, Girls screams out as Gympie's metalcore heroes explode for an hour, never letting the intensity levels dip once during that time. Greens Avenue and R.I.P. Bon kick it all off, with Ahren Stringer and Joel Birch continuing to work that light and shade vocal dynamic masterfully, while a clutch of Youngbloods songs mid-set, including the title track, Anchors and I Hate Hartley, get the pit spinning in the darkness. The guys have always been able to own an unexpected cover, and they turn Lana Del Rey's Born To Die into a track worth listening to, while the noise made during the breakdown verses on Chasing Ghosts is something else.

Getting a fix of Parkway Drive after Amity, it's hard not to feel an immense sense of pride with where Aussie metal is sitting right now. Both bands put every other act on the bill to the sword, with unmatched playing chops, passion and songs that scream for themselves. The Byron five-piece could go in any direction with their setlist and dominate, but tonight they simply grab our head and hold it under right from the outset. It's classic after classic: Dark Days, Sleepwalker, Karma, Home Is For The Heartless, Idols And Anchors. Spirit fingers are getting thrown everywhere, the collective voice calls out loud and proud at every opportunity, while each member operates on adrenalin – well-oiled machines performing at the highest possible capacity. They even treat us with The River, performed in Australia for the very first time – it's hard to ask for more.

After those steamrollers of sets, it's hard not to be tired by The Offspring. No arguing, the old Cali punks still sound solid and tight – Dexter looks like he's even cut down on the pies since Soundwave. Tracks like All I Want, Bad Habit and Staring At The Sun soundtracked a disenfranchised generation – this reviewer's generation – and they still kick hard. But it's the stupid songs that you just can't be arsed with anymore; Want You Bad and Pretty Fly (For A White Guy) have aged like warm milk. They close with Self Esteem though, which is really all that matters.

The Offspring. Pic by Terry Soo.

And as that hook swims in the brain with a fair bit of mid-strength beer, we stumble off towards the Valley. There's just something right about having Warped Tour back in our lives; let's hope the event becomes a staple once more.