SOUNDWAVE FESTIVAL // Melbourne – Day 1 Review

On Saturday 21 February, four brave Hysteriavengers headed into Satan’s own ballsack (aka the otherwise great Melbourne Showgrounds) to sweat, hit and get hit in the name of rock n’ roll. This is only one half of the monster that is SOUNDWAVE FESTIVAL 2015. These are their stories.

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Finally, Melbourne finds out what it’s like being one of the first cities hosting the national Soundwave tour! After a mild snafu with ticket machines, I’m in and it’s beautiful to be back at the Showgrounds with no D barriers(!) to ruin anyone’s day. There’s just a certain something about the return to the location that screams “SOUNDWAVE IS HEEEERE!”

This Wild Life // Photo: Daniel Anderson

This Wild Life may not be the sort of band that people think of for a Soundwave lineup, but both Kevin and Anthony well and truly fit the look. Heavily tattooed with slicked back hair apiece, their ‘punk-acoustic’ received an overwhelmingly positive reaction from the early crowds. Their cover of Bring Me the Horizon’s Sleepwalking is a knockout, even if they did preface it by saying they’d be performing Kendrick Lamar’s Bitch Don’t Kill My Vibe. Sly dogs the both of them.

Twin Atlantic // Photo: Daniel Bedford

Twin Atlantic brought the first round of banter to the Soundwave stages, with the Scottish lads interacting with overzealous members of an already eager crowd. Their more rock-focussed style notably caused onlookers to balk after following brutal locals I, Valiance. They fit their mid afternoon timeslot perfectly however, with catchy jams aplenty with knowingly tongue in cheek titles such as Yes, I was drunk. Plus their charm is magnetic enough to warrant a return appearance.

Judas Priest // Photo: Lachlan Monty

Catching a rare seat, it’s amazing to see how many parents are willing to struggle through a day with eager teenagers by their side. It’s one of the best parts of the festival when it’s flipped on it’s head though, with the kids serving as the ball and chain for their parents running to acts like Judas Priest. In the former category, even the struggling parents still showed their rebellious spirit. Special shout out to the Dad wearing a shirt with a nun smoking a bong and stretcher holes being lead by two kids, you were an undeniable heart warmer.

All Time Low // Photo: Daniel Bedford

It’s time for All Time Low and they’ve well and truly taken up the mantle left behind by troubled jokesters Blink-182. Close your eyes and the blowjob jokes sound directly from the Blink playbook, but it’s a lot easier to stand when vocalist Alex Gaskarth’s voice isn’t hindered by a SoCal drawl. They have the crowd eating out of the palm of their hand, and there are more brassieres on stage than band members. Asking ‘rockstars’ (excited fans in the front row) to come onto stage to sing Time Bomb is a sweet touch and is sure to be the highlight of the decade for the lucky few.

Coldrain // Photo: Daniel Anderson

There must be something in the water in Japan because Crossfaith undeniably kill every gig they play, but Coldrain were a more than worthy follow-up. Plagued by tech issues, they arrived on stage 10 minutes late. They more than made up for it however, with stage presence and killer vocals obviously high priorities for the band. Fans of high pitched vocalists like Kellin Quinn would be wise to check out these rising stars.

Walking around the festival, there’s a definite buzz that everyone’s finally in a place with a distinct lack of judgment. Multiple people walk around with Slipknot jumpsuits in the blistering heat and coloured hair from red to violet is everywhere. Members of Melbourne band Copia were the most ingenious however, as they brought headphones attached to their phones for portable ‘listening stations’ and EP’s available on the spot. After working extremely well overseas, it’s surprising that other bands haven’t caught onto this tactic. Check them out based solely on the forethought they put into their plans!

Escape The Fate // Photo: Lachlan Monty

Escape the Fate have definitely caught a break with Danny Worsnop leaving Asking Alexandria. If they play their cards right, they’ll reach the level of stardom the English rockers tentatively hold. Craig Mabbit has always been a talented vocalist since Blessthefall and the rest of the band back it up with rockstar swagger and easily digestable breakdowns. No Situations though? No one cares if it’s heavily associated with Ronnie, we all just want to channel our inner 14 year old, guys.

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“Walking around the festival, there’s a definite buzz that everyone’s finally in a place with a distinct lack of judgment.”

[JONTY]

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Of Mice & Men // Photo: Daniel Bedford

Somehow, Of Mice & Men have built a rep as a band on the lighter side of metal-core. By their set though, onlookers would be hard pressed to find a band pushing the spectrum in the same way OM&M are. Their first two songs had zero clean singing, current album highlight Bones Exposed is built for circle pits and crowd favourite The Depths is a legitimately heavy banger that wouldn’t stick out in a straight hardcore set. It’s Second and Sebring that brings us all together though, and damn if Of Mice & Men don’t turn out to be one of the day’s standout acts. — Jonty Simmons

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Animals as Leaders // Photo: Daniel Anderson

I started my day in the Stage 5 shed with Animals As Leaders. From the word go they launched into a barrage of mind boggling polyrhythms and acrobatic guitar lines. They had me both astounded and laughing uncontrollably at how good these guys are. There is nothing more entertaining than watching a crowd try to headbang to odd time rhythms only to get more and more confused.

Tonight Alive // Photo: Daniel Bedford

After, Sydney locals Tonight Alive on the main stage. Jenna wailed out to the crowd and the crowd wailed back. They sung along to every powerful chorus, matching the volume of the band themselves at times. Energy throughout their set was so infectious passers-by felt compelled to see what all the commotion was about.

Papa Roach // Photo: Daniel Bedford

After taking a little hydration break, I headed back to the main stage for Papa Roach. Admittedly, I went in with low expectations (I honestly expected them to suck) but I ended up being very pleasantly surprised. Their set was very well put together, classics like Last Resort and Between Angels and Insects kept older fans happy but tracks from new record F.E.A.R. showed that they really don’t have to rely on the hits to get the crowd going.

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There is nothing more entertaining than watching a crowd try to headbang to odd time rhythms only to get more and more confused.

[NICK]

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The sea of shaved heads and soaked black t-shirts indicated that I was definitely at the right stage for Judas Priest as the sun began to set. The vibe was electric as rock hands were strewn across the crowd and cheers bellowed towards the stage. Whilst the musicianship was incredible and the guitar solos were impressive, it was tough watching vocalist Rob Halford struggle with his signature falsetto throughout the set.  That said, it was still impressive to see them going for it after so many years.

Fall Out Boy // Photo: Daniel Bedford

You know what? Fall Out Boy are just a good fucking band. I have very rarely seen a vocalist as on point as Patrick Stump or a four piece band sound that massive. It was also so refreshing to see a band with a back catalogue as vast as theirs so unafraid to play songs from their first few albums for the die-hard fans. Yes, I totally sang along to Grand Theft Autumn and I really fucking enjoyed it too… — Nick Simonsen

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I didn’t catch Cello-metallers Apocalyptica because it took too god damned long to get in. Every hindrance to easy entry was thrown up in our path. The sun was a vengeful sun. I hate the sun. Fuck you, sun. Though only about 1pm, I moved through a row of distraught bodies leaned up against shady walls. I swear to christ, I thought I was happening upon a refugee camp. Not one of those depressing ones from a World War, one of the nicer ones you see on TV shows.

Killer Be Killed // Photo: Lachlan Monty

Killer Be Killed was the first band to gum up the timetable. Greg, Max and Troy are veterans all, but god damn are they possessed with the fire of young turks with shit to prove. They fucking proved it, too. KBK’s thrilling debut crushed hard enough make your insides quiver. Proving just how off tap Greg is, he speared a mic stand through a tower of Marshalls. That was before he shot himself in the head with a spray gun. KBK was #SW15’s official™ trending topic. A cloud rolled overhead. Bliss.

Godsmack // Photo: Lachlan Monty

Godsmack were backgrounded by a logo resembling the cheapest, nastiest tattoo in the shop. They pulled a healthy crowd, playing metal with training wheels still on. Chicks got their dance on to it, which I’m sure is a vitally important thing. A clap of thunder took out their sound system for a moment. The cheer when all resumed accounted for their success.

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Killer Be Killed’s thrilling debut crushed hard enough make your insides quiver.

[TOM]

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Crossfaith // Photo: Daniel Bedford

Experiencing Crossfaith is experiencing every gnarly party you’ve ever been to all at once. If SW15 Day 1 had a mosh capital – a Moshington, D.C (hurr hurr) – it would’ve been the Crossfaith pit. There’s nothing not mental about Crossfaith. Kenta Koie screamed over hulking beats wrestling with steamrolled guitars. Hotboxing themselves in the Agricultural Hall, this party was a god damn pressure cooker. Pretty sure that’s how Crossfaith dig it.

Exodus // Photo: Lachlan Monty

Not sure why Exodus don’t have a place in the Big 4 of American Thrash. Mustaine’s pretty much had it, why not give these lads a shot? They thrash wildly with the god damn best of them. Heathen guitarist Kragen Lum stepped into Gary Holt’s lead shoes, unavailable due to family issues. Sadface. For about a minute. Bonded By Blood saw battle-jacket rivetheads gleefully skip toward the pit like little girls promised new Barbies. This was truly thrasher’s hour. In the rain, no less. Ahh.

Mayhem // Photo: Daniel Bedford

If Mayhem have fun, it’s by accident. The crew solemnly set up, grim-faced and portentous. The devil’s work isn’t taken lightly. 15 mins in and a no-show, a blackened crowd chants their name to coax them out. Half-heartedly. Cloaked and hooded in black, the keyboardist emerges. Then Necrobutcher, pumping his fist. Finally Atilla, smeared in corpsepaint and (fake?) blood and dime-store Wehrmacht uniform. Rapidly devolving into a dervish of fog and ire, clearly these men are unhinged. They don’t hammer out thrilling black metal because they’re completely fucking normal, hey. If blast beats could kill, these would be guilty of massacres.

Slash // Photo: Daniel Bedford

Slash featuring Myles Kennedy and the Conspirators (my, what an untweetable name) slow-burned the crowd’s remaining energy. Most of us were sitting down. Not the dude with a hat upstaging Slash’s own topper, though. He was toughing it out. Bluesy as ever, Slash busted out more licks than a bordello in peak season. He even out Yngwied Yngwie on a double-neck Anastacia. This was all prelude to spreading everyone’s jams – Paradise City, Sweet Child O’ Mine. Can’t go wrong. Didn’t go wrong. Yes, I too paid tribute to Judas Priest. I silently thank the longer sets for allowing me. You do not ignore your metal gods. Godly they still are, if frayed around the edges. Worth it to see Halford’s chrome bike. There is nothing not macho about that guy.

Slipknot // Photo: Daniel Bedford

Slipknot were the drawcard, leaving no patch of grass unbodied. Curtains were drawn and anxiety crept in. Bang – this insane carnival was forever on the brink of exploding. It did, and often. With plumes of pyro and drums rising into the air, crazed drummers flailing. Slipknot pummeled The Heretic Anthem, mechanically moving like the clockwork devils they are. Masses of bodies leapt into Psychosocial, one of the prime highlights. Unlike Soundwave ’12, Slipknot after dark is the only way to go. A showman with few equals, Corey had us eating out of his withered hand, his leathery mask drawing us ever closer to his mania. Wearing into Eyeless, the crowd thinned; mostly due to battling fifteen other crowds ambling home. Punters’ thoughts turned to regain strength and battle it out again, tomorrow. — Tom Valcanis

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Millencolin // Photo: Daniel Anderson

Millencolin know that after 23 years of playing shows anywhere from basements to stadiums, all the crowd just wants to hear is Pennybridge Pioneers. The success of a record can loom over a band— ‘Is this all that will define us?’ the Swedes (possibly) mutter as they shake snow from their eyelashes and meltdown on stage. Unfortunately, yes and happily so—Tracks from Kingswood don’t pick up traction like No Cigar and Penguins & Polarbears. Nikola Sarcevic’s probably played The Ballad as many times as you’ve taken gulps of beer. If it still tastes sweet the first time down, the 394th time is just as radical. “You sir, are drunk!” says my friend Megan. Yes Megan, I’ve had a taste of emotional comfort: It’s overpriced $12 cans of alcohol and Fox.

Marilyn Manson // Photo: Daniel Bedford

I’ve torn my skirt jumping over the D barrier and it takes three men to rip me over the side. The crowds waiting for Marilyn Manson are kind men and frightened teens who’ve heard the horror stories and want to witness chaos before school on Monday. They don’t last. Close to 30 people push past me to get outta the fight. Pussies.

If you wear a four piece coal-black suit in weather that’s hotter than the shaft of the devil’s dick, you’re a badass. If the words Manson spoke appeared on his skin, he would still be beautiful and dangerous, like the call of a siren from the sea. Deep Six sounds like he’s screaming ‘teen sex’, blowing kisses to the crowd and I’m blowing kisses back, close to blowing my fucking nut because I’m trying to be objective and pick up that his voice is weaker or the sound isn’t as tight but I don’t care, it’s Manson Rising. There are no stale moments—The lightening in the sky lands into his ass and drawls out Third Day Of A Seven Day Binge; on Killing Strangers, he’s like a sleazed prowler with a soft affection for his victims. Sweet Dreams makes girls wet, and not just from the rain; Disposable Teens makes men hard, and not just from the dense crowd. “We pack demolition/we can’t pack emotion” are lyrics written in warning of love and connection, but Manson embraces his subjects—His subjects hail to the Emperor.

Smashing Pumpkins // Photo: Lachlan Monty

Billy Corgan has a surprisingly sassy disposition for a man whose eccentric behaviour to say the least (remember the photos with the kittens? I actually thought that was photoshopped, which made me laugh till I died it was REAL you guys). His eccentrics aside, Cherub Rock, Bullet With Butterfly Wings and Tonight, Tonight overrode suspicions and speculation as to if he can deliver without cracks. This is a man who tried to launch his own wrestling federation. Sometimes he looks like he has a meanness inside him, real as an organ, something that he would slice out. He’s resigned himself to being painful and polite and wishing he was back in Greenwich, dropping acid instead of swimming so far into his own ocean of lunacy. But then there’s the inarguable genius: Disarm, Tonight, Tonight. Songs that sent 90’s kids angst-y and crying into their pillows during boarding school. Pumpkins offer olive branches in the one two punch of Disarm and Zero*. It’s all brilliantly strange and impossible to ignore Jeff Schroeder, whose guitar is as essential to Smashing Pumpkins as is Corgan’s wily character. The sun is long dead, buried in the horizon. We walk into a river of bodies accepting a slow death bleeding out of every orifice of the Showgrounds.

— Martina Bailey Pitrun 

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Read our HUGE review of Day 2!

*EDIT: The original sentence listed Silverfuck following Disarm. This was not the case.