SOUNDWAVE FESTIVAL // Melbourne – Day 2 Review

Broken but not defeated, the Hysteriavengers return to brave the sweat-soaked Melbourne Showgrounds pits o’ mosh. Act II of Soundwave Festival 2015 drove toward a mammoth conclusion, overflowing with bands, beers and cheers. How did we fare? Read on. (Read our review of Day 1 here.)

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King Parrot // Photo: Daniel Anderson

It’s a struggle getting out of bed for day two of Soundwave. I find my aching feet approaching the gates, again. It’s sweltering but there’s merciful cloud coverage for a much more reserved start to the day.

Lower Than Atlantis // Photo: Daniel Anderson

There are people lounging everywhere at stage one during Lower than Atlantis and the band are thankfully chill with it. It’s pretty easy to spot who bought a Sunday-only ticket, since they’re the ones bouncing energetically to the English lads rocky efforts. Nothing against the guys on stage though – they’re playing a solid crowd-pleasing set – but some people haven’t even had their coffee yet. Swap them with Twin Atlantic’s set the day before and we’d have a vice-versa situation happening, so it’s just luck of the draw.

Terror Universal // Photo: Dan Bedford

With a break in the schedule already, there’s only one thing that’ll (ironically) cure the early afternoon haze and that’s The Bennies. It’s party party party but more of the ‘sit back and relax with your mates’ Ska rather than getting absolutely maggoted. Chilling at the back watching equal parts of the crowd bouncing around like maniacs and smoking joints snuck past the sniffer dogs is the perfect summary of day out at Soundwave.

The Interrupters // Photo: Daniel Anderson

Settling down on the grass at Stage 2 for a cheeky nap quickly turns out to be a horrendous idea. A nice relax in the sun? Nope, more like YOUR PHONE’S BLACK, YOUR WALLET’S BLACK, YOUR SHORTS ARE GREY AND IT’S ALL MAKING SURE YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE A PORTABLE HEATER SO SUCK IT! How there are goth kids in full black trenchcoats, and all black everything standing in direct sunlight is beyond me. At this point I’m literally more of a recluse in this situation than a goth, and it’s a sad time.

Gerard Way // Photo: Dan Bedford

Thank God for the shaded stands at the Showgrounds though because being “that sweaty dude” at Gerard Way sounds like a description on a police rap sheet. Unfortunately, the bass is way too heavy and drowns out his vocals. It’s a shame because if anyone’s born to be a frontman, it’s the former My Chemical Romance ringleader. He’s on stage for one song and his request for the huge crowd to fan him is eagerly accepted. At one point, he pretends to collapse and it’s obvious no one’s ever going to take the showman out of him.

Steel Motherfucking Panther // Photo: Dan Bedford

No offence to Gerard, but the excitement when his pasty white face disappears off the stage is palpable because STEEL MOTHERF’ING PANTHER ARE ALMOST HERE. Obviously there are boobs flashed on stage and on shoulders, there are blistering riffs, and there are jokes about banging people’s mums throughout the set. But no one in the crowd can deny that the band – whilst lampooning them – are actually performing above and beyond their heroes at this point. Heavy metal’s back and Steel Panther stands as its vanguard.

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Oh Ronnie Radke, how I wish I could hate you.

[JONTY]

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Monuments // Photo: Daniel Anderson

When a group of 40 year old dudes killing time before Faith No More crack out grins during a relatively new band, it’s obvious they’re a genre-crossing winner. Monuments are the cause of their elation and it’s no wonder with the band dropping ferocious djent-bombs all over the place. There’s even a mini-nod to Slipknot’s Spit it Out ‘sitting down’ trick, and the crowd still bring as much energy when they jump up this time as they did to the event’s headliners.

Falling in Reverse // Photo: Lachlan Monty

Oh Ronnie Radke, how I wish I could hate you. Falling in Reverse’s lead single Alone from Fashionably Late is an absolute trainwreck of nu-metal proportions. The chorus is so damn catchy and pleasurably guilty and oh no, now we’re all jumping in the moshpit together?! When did that happen?! On his best behaviour, Radke’s far and away from his troubled past and he seems genuinely thankful to have finally made it to Australia for the first time ever. Waving to the crowd, smiling away and putting on a killer live performance comes as a huge surprise. Whatever, I loved/hated/loved Ronnie before it was cool anyway.

Antemasque // Photo: Dan Bedford

This is a public service announcement: The Aquabats are a must see. No matter age, gender, scene cred, whatever, they are a treasure this world must cherish. They’re superheroes, they have a slow motion fight on stage with a crocodile man and they’re calling us ‘Melbs’ because they keep accidentally pronouncing it ‘Mel-born’. Their song titles read like an 8 year old’s sketch book: Shark Fighter, Pizza Day, and Super Rad but it’s all good clean fun. The crowd end up with giant inflatable pool balls bouncing around above them during set closer Pool Party and the Bat Commander does a backflip off the drum set. If you’re not seeing The Aquabats, you’re damn well doing Soundwave wrong.

New Found Glory // Photo: Lachlan Monty

Two nice girls are concerned with my lack of friends before New Found Glory – being a lone wolf reviewer is hard guys – and we head into the crowd to be 14 again. You either love pop punk or hate it, and at this point it’s definitely a crowd full of love. The dude-bros are hugging it out and screaming lyrics about feeling lovelorn while the band pull out song after song with little signs of slowing. At this point, young girls are just happy to finally have a pit where they won’t get purposely pushed out (if you’re someone who does that, you’re why we can’t have nice things) and everyone’s bopping away It’s impressive that these pioneers of the genre on stage are onto their eighth album: It’s no surprise. They’re talented; they’re heartfelt and damn if I’m not feeling a tad remorseful about not having them as a big part of my teenage years.

Crown The Empire // Photo: Lachlan Monty

Finally everyone’s stumbling through the glorious misting spray and out of the venue. Two days of Soundwave might be extremely exhausting, but with tickets staying the same price and a significant lack of clashes (except Slipknot and Fall Out Boy) it means that Australia is finally heading in the direction of all the blockbuster European festivals we hear about. If it can find its way through a declining festival market, Soundwave may well become one of the biggest heavy rock events in the world. — Jonty Simmons

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One Ok Rock // Photo: Dan Bedford

Having never heard One Ok Rock, I walked into the main stage arena to be met with some fierce energy. These young and energetic gentlemen certainly knew how to play and how to perform. They captured the audience within seconds and kept them wrapped around their fingers the whole time. Within three songs, they had definitely converted me and many others into new fans.

The Color Morale // Photo: Daniel Anderson

It was very clear that The Color Morale didn’t come to mess around, inciting a riot with a punishing breakdown to open their set. Vocalist Garret relinquished the mic to crowd to sing along in Suicide Stigma, but the moment he reached a hand to his adoring fans it was back where it needed to be in a flash. The connection between band and audience was just so vivid. An unspoken, yet completely mutual appreciation for one another.

He Is Legend // Photo: Daniel Anderson

Watching He Is Legend’s vocalist Schuylar Croom dance across the stage whilst his band mates churned out grooves en mass was my highlight of day two. Newer material bought a darker and moodier vibe to their set, but closing with classic The Seduction showed that their upbeat roots were still intact. I may have spent a few minutes losing my mind in the pit…

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Brandon Boyd showed thousands of people that he is not only one of the best vocalists of this generation, but also one of the most captivating frontmen the genre has ever seen.

[NICK]

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Incubus // Photo: Dan Bedford

I waited with giddy anticipation as the house music went down on main stage for Incubus. An ambient jam segued perfectly into Wish You Were Here and I found myself lost in a blissful euphoria I hadn’t felt in years. Brandon Boyd showed thousands of people that he is not only one of the best vocalists of this generation, but also one of the most captivating frontmen the genre has ever seen.

Atreyu // Photo: Daniel Anderson

After a few years away on hiatus, I anticipated Atreyu would pull a big crowd. That said I never expected them to completely pack out the the Stage 5 warehouse with a few thousand crazy kids. It was so plain to see that the band was so happy to return to the stage and play to their loyal fanbase. A career spanning set (highlights were Doomsday and Blow for me) full of crowd chants, fist pumps and guitar solos made for an immensely entertaining time.

The Devil Wears Prada // Photo: Dan Bedford

Guitars rung out as The Devil Wears Prada walked onstage. No words were spoken, but within seconds the crowded opened up and a pit to rival most of the day’s heavier bands ensued. Mike Hranica fed off the crowd’s energy and belted out song after song with unrelenting ferocity. I found myself so captivated by drummer Daniel’s frantic yet precise playing, never missing a beat and giving it his all. — Nick Simonsen

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Hey, clouds? Good, thank fuck. I need you now. I’ll tell you why. I have the uprightness of beef jerky. I flake as I walk. If I’m not peeling, I’m dripping. Dazed. Confused. Who are these people? This isn’t my beautiful house. How did I get here? My daydreams floated on Freon breezes. I felt like crawling. I felt like crawling and begging. I felt like crawling and begging and rocking. I wanted to rock. I begged myself to rock. Dee Snider taught me everything I ought to know about rocking. In theory. He’s never been to a second day of Soundwave. He doesn’t know what we’ve been through. What we’ve witnessed. What we crave. He’ll never know.

Godflesh // Photo: Lachlan Monty

It was fucking obvious who turned up yesterday. They were red and black all over. Supernova red and fulgin black. My Gods these people deserve medals. So do Godflesh, by the by. Godflesh are so loud you can no longer hear yourself exist. I can’t think, therefore I vanish into pulses of Streetcleaner. Bassist Broadrick and guitarist/screamer Green stand at opposites; Broadrick the hammer, Green the anvil. Together? Metal struck pure. It confused the kids. Where’s the drummer? Ugh. No matter; they’re the band every other heavy band wishes they were. Grey clouds gathered but Godflesh was the storm.

Sleepwave // Photo: Daniel Anderson

Ambling bow-legged-christ-this-shit-chafes over to Sleepwave, I felt offended. Offended enough to kill, strength willing. The handful of moshers assembled was so pathetic, verging on criminal. Where was everyone? Do people not dig honest rock n’ roll? Fuck me. Metalheads, Underoath fans, even a mother and son (I assume) took position centre pit, smiling and mouthing the words at each other. Sweet or creepy? Fucked if I know. Spencer Chamberlain’s love affair with the mic and chaos he creates spilled over the stage’s lips and into us, the ever loyal. People talk about truth; they’ll build monuments to truth. Sleepwave is truth.

Spencer was the strong father, the frightened child, the wild man within all bound together. We breathed The Wolf’s heat. Shivered in the cutting cold of Disgusted : Disguised. Spencer’s summoning of suffering was feeling the bite of bloodied fangs. It was just real, so real. Only four or so months old, it was like they’d been playing for decades. We felt like we knew it for longer. Awestruck, Nick Simonsen leaned over to me: “Spencer is nailing this!” No shit, friend. If you missed Sleepwave, you missed the platinum motherfucking standard in rock and roll music.

Fear Factory // Photo: Lachlan Monty

Whisking over (relatively speaking) catching Fear Factory’s special Demanufacture mini-set, Burton C. Bell was already beginning to sound like Scooby Doo, thanking Australia for being, well…antipodean? Oh, supportive. A Sarlacc pit mawed open saying this: go hard or go see a haircut-n’-feelings band on Stage 3. Dino and the Factory’s cyborg riffs gleamed like fresh polished American steel. 25 years of Demanufacture? Doesn’t feel a day has gone by. Special shoutout to the fizzy brained chick who dry humped THREE security guards on Stage 4’s grassy fringes. I hope you got very lucky. As in, not thrown out.

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If you missed Sleepwave, you missed the platinum motherfucking standard in rock and roll music.

[TOM]

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Ministry // Photo: Lachlan Monty

There was a twinge of melancholy hearing Uncle Al’s command to buy merch cos he left a mountain of bar debt behind in Sydney. According to his majesty, it would be the last damn ride. Ministry would depart forever. Not before whacking a dent in our brains, though. Paired with full nightmare acid trip visuals, hungover rave victim Al (fuckin’) Jourgensen exposed the rotten core of our bullshit world, its rivers flooded by sleaze. LiesLiesLies contrasts go-go dancers with a beat that would blast the White House to rubble. Condemnations of fascists were dumped on us like hot gravel. Innocently shrugging calling himself an asshole, his crowd-charming presence begged the question: is this dude really gonna quit? Someone ought to tell him he can’t.

Lamb of God // Photo: Lachlan Monty

Dragonforce took fucking forever setting up and their set was cut short. How does singer Marc Hudson push past ZP Theart’s range? Genetic enhancement? Steroids? Anyway, three minutes in and I’m craving mezze and German bailouts. Pimping their DVD after every song wasn’t very Dragonforce. Their blink-and-you’ll-miss-it assembly into their patented guitar wankery tableau definitely was. What sucked was boring new stuff, plodding along sub 1,000km/s. Symphony of the Night is simply Sonata Arctica done wrong. Valley of the Damned and Fury of the Storm is Euro cheese grilled to perfection. More of that, boys. More of that.

Faith No More // Photo: Daniel Anderson

By Faith No More, Melbourne turned it on. Under a caramel dusk and gentle cooling breeze, you couldn’t ask for a more perfect coda to Soundwave. The stage curtained by flowing white and littered with discount funeral flowers, it was all calming. Calming like an episode of Twin Peaks after three shitty cones. Mike Patton and band dressed in crisp ivory doctors’ scrubs soothed us. Epic had our pulses pumping, Motherfucker the same. From Out of Nowhere was the rallying cry for the rock n’ roller no matter how old, how tough or how jaded you were. It was the song that spoke unwritten languages of rock. Every repeat brings that tastiest flavour. Even Patton’s weird, shrill delivery is artful as ever. Faith No More’s influence is everywhere now, so obvious it’s like staring at air. They attempt everything and nail it. Evidence smeared sexual chocolate over our fellow travellers, Patton as lounge singer on Easy (Like A Sunday Morning) was lapped up instead of met with jeers and riots. Any other band would have.

Faith No More // Photo: Daniel Anderson

Faith No More is impossible to follow. Musically? Forget about it. As entertainers? Don’t try it, you won’t win. Experiencing Faith No More freewheeling through their canon is mandatory, no matter what age Patton, Bordin and Gould are. No matter what age YOU are. They will last forever. Even a Lion Sleeps Tonight singalong mid-Midlife Crisis and a god damned Bee Gees cover is worth the price. As The Worm Turns, and we’re secretly wishing for it not to end. Please don’t end. Please don’t let me go back to my stupid life. This music is so much better. Soundwave is so much better. Please don’t let this be over. I’ll do anything. Anything. Just let me have five more minutes. Five more minutes and I’ll be content. One more slap on Billy’s bass. Another fill by Mike Bordin. No. It’s over. It’s over and the feeling radiates through me. I feel it in the air. I feel it pass through our raised horns and buckling legs. Don’t let the wind take me away. Let it take me back. Take me back to Soundwave. — Tom Valcanis

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