Big Day Out

Rip It Up, Issue 222, 1 February 1996, Page 16

Big Day Out

BIG DAY OUT 96 Ericsson Stadium, Auckland, January 19.

It’s the morning after Big Day Out — on a personal level the most enjoyable concert yet — though the news about Gerald twists the feeling of casual euphoria into a sense of loss and helplessness beyond compare. It’s necessary to delve deep, to recall the many joyous moments that took place less than 24 hours ago. Now into its third residency in Auckland, the Big Day Out line-up strengthens each year, and with the poor showing of the English acts in 1995, the majority of USA acts this time round was most welcome.

At midday, the O’Rorke Road entrance immediately behind Stage 1 and 2 is jammed by a mob balancing on a thin line between polite and pushy. Those already inside the main arena are being eased into the day by Flying Nun’s GARAGELAND. The conventional stages of years past have been replaced by two massive silver domes, like escape pods from a spaceship — it’s all very Close Encounters. Subdued but confident, Garageland thrash through ‘Pop Cigar’, then lay down the pleasrging the rapidly growing crowd to life with a raucous rendition of ‘Comeback’. Any on stage animation comes only in the form of bassist Mark Silvey, while sister Debbie looks asleep on her feet — though her glorious guitar harmonies show that to be untrue. Bodies are. pouring into the stadium now, spreading out on the turf like lava. Up on the concourse, dwarfed by the main grandstand on one side and the Supertop on the other, is Stage 5. Young contenders THE PET ROCKS are displaying the off-the-cuff arrogance that will make them legends in any lunchtime. “I’d like to thank our sponsor. One of the reasons we look as cool as we do today is because we were given these swingin’ sunglasses to wear,’’ says frontman Simon Sampson, fondling what looks like,a pair of trampled-on Amber Shades. The Pet Rocks batter out a chiming mixture of 60s and 90s Brit-pop (yes, there is a difference), while all the while, the split in the crotch of Simon’s chequered flares widens with every Townsend-like star jump. He ends the set peeling off solo after solo, clad only in a T-shirt and a pair of fire-engine red underpants. Only Iggy could’ve done it better. Having seen the inside of the Supertop often in the past 12 months, its familiarity is breeding just what’s expected. Whereas the Logan Campbell Centre has its very own air raid shelter qualities, the big tent boasts the intimacy of a giant bat cave. Here Australians REGURGITATOR can be found making the best of bad surroundings. Like Fugazi, but without the crispness, the Oz trio dropped a shrill amalgam of industrial hardcore (‘Power Tool’) and grinding power pop (‘Blubber Boy’) to a small but appreciative gathering. Even those less of a mind to move were persuaded when Regurgitator wound up with a wiry cover of Marley’s ‘Exodus’. The now infamous Big Day Out flood began to take shape at 3.14 PM, exactly one minute before the Auckland trio CANE SLIDE were due to strike up on Stage 5. The healthy number that had just witnessed Bloom launched themselves at the tent or the covered grandstand with alarming speed,' leaving singer/guitarist Andrew Moore to praise the handful of "hardcores" who opted to forgo shelter for a dose of three-chord pop. Moore’s melodic combo of gat and vocals dominate, leaving the rhythm section of Boyd

Thwaites and Nicola Rush to anchor things down Velvets-style. As Cane Slide chug on the rain beats harder, until it verges on torrential and the stage is swamped just as they’re bashing out the unforgettable ‘Lunatic Fringe’. . j; Opening with the slinky ‘Short Black’, Wellington’s masterful four-piece SHORT stood heads down against the elements and almost won. All around Stage 5 roadies toiled to keep amps and mic’s operable and the electric shock count to zero. Eventually though, the storm proved too much, and Short were hauled off before time, and sadly, before ‘Blushing’. Out in the big paddock the viewing is spectacular. In the space of an hbur, Ericsson Stadium has been transformed into an enormous playground. Kids are racing on squares of cardboard down the grassy slope beside Stage 1, others are diving and skidding great lengths across the many lakes that have sprung up on the pitch. The scene is one of chaos, but the atmosphere is charged with laughter. In front of the stage, those, most faithful are holding sheets of plywood high above their heads, while skaters and hippies alike use them as platforms to dive from. Everybody’s making their own entertainment, and no one I speak to is whining about the weather.

Back at Stage 5, order is finally restored and BREAST SECRETING CAKE must be praying this brief dry spell holds. Talk around town still tends to suggest that BSC are ones to watch — like hell if they remain this dreary. Two bluesdrenched, folk-rock rambles are all I can stomach before I make like Tom and cruise.

As Tricky and ‘Black Steel’ boom from the PA, a series of deafening wolf whistles and Arseniostyle howls draws the attention of 5,000 seated punters to the sight of a couple in their early teens, fucking on a seat at the back of the stadium. Oblivious, apparently, to everyone but each other, they’re still at it 20 minutes later. As the Shamen would say: ‘Eeezer good’. RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE, “from Los Angeles, California”, suck to the front of the big stage the largest crowd I’ve seen assemble for any single Big Day Out act. This incredible grouping of people is rising and falling as one, like the huge surging wave that drowned Patrick Swayze at the finale of Point Break. Both formidable and phenomenal, this was a sight not easily forgotten. ‘Bullet in the Head’ lit the fuse, and Rage played with all the slickness, correctness, and energetic blandness you’d expect from corporate chasers. When Timmy C slapped out the bass intro to ‘Killing in the Name Of’, the audience eruption peaked, and Zach De La Rocha watched as thousands screamed: ‘Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me,’ right back at him, with all the venom they could muster. Rage fans are also RANCID fans. This I know because fresh from one pit, they swarmed to the tent, filled it half full, and pogoed themselves silly. After seeing Rancid, one thing is definite — those Clash comparisons have got to stand. Still, if you’re choosing to copy another band, best model yourself on a great one, and Rancid do the imitation/flattery deal with style. A frenzied ‘Roots Radical’ is offered up for starters, pounced on by the fans, and from then on, Rancid and their collection of gruff pop-cum-ska-cum-punk anthems could do no wrong. ‘Time Bomb’ and ‘Ruby Soho’ get early airings at a frighteningly loud volume, and the East Bay punkers can be heard clear as crystal across the way at Stage 5 — which can’t be that pleasing to EYE TV.

Despite being up against Rancid, and Nick Cave and the weather, Eye TV have coaxed a decent sized crowd into the open air. With ‘Basement Static’ and ‘Down With a D’, the artists formally known as the Nixons display the precision playing that only comes from arduous touring and gigging. Tonight, the trio have enough energy left over to bottle and sell, and ironically, despite their well-known abhorrence for anything ‘rock!’, bassist Mike Scott has a wide repertoire of stylish Lee Roth Metal Poses™.

Over at Stage 3, Big Day Out 96 is taken to the finish line by TISM, who are six-strong, dressed identically in red military-styled uniforms, and adorned with helium-filled, towering hats. Ultimately, they have no songs to speak of and can’t really play -- if Devo were the resident band on Sesame Street they’d sound like Tism — but that’s of no consequence to the audience going nuts in the Supertop. Operating, for the most part, on a one-dimensional technoflavoured bed of keyboards, ‘We’re Going to Get You After School’, ‘Greg the Stop Sign’ and ‘Les’ are greeted like old friends, though it’s certainly a case of heard one, heard ’em all. By the time TISM leap into ‘River Phoenix’, I’m outside searching for a bus home. During the mission, a bFM DJ comes over the radio of a blue Cortina stranded in a queue at the bottom of Maurice Road.

“Thanks to God for giving Auckland the biggest wet T-shirt it’s ever seen. It’s been a great day." At the time I could imagine no reason to argue with that. JOHN RUSSELL

To cut a very long story short: hungover, bus was late, missed the first band. So I only caught the APPLICATORS’ last song coming from the Supertop while I was jumping the queue outside. But it all sounded solid and manic — which probably incited all those kids to jump the fence. Guitars wailed like Prince shaving off Soundgarden’s facial hair with a switchblade, the drumming directed, the programme and the vocals recalled Daisy Chainsaw. Just to be fair, I asked a member of the band to describe their set: “Loud, hot and sexy.’’

Straight after came MUCKHOLE. Four guys from the shore. Motorhead meets Motorhead. Mr Muckhole sounded like he’d been gargling JD’s and concrete, but he was still polite enough to wish us all a “fucken’ good day". It was hard, mate, like a fire engine, or something. And, as two sweaty, singletted, Fraggle /?oc/<-hair guys from Timaru said: “It sounds good to us, bro!" So, it probably did.

Then it was off to MARTIN PHILLIPPS and the new CHILLS. Starting 10 minutes early didn't help. Neither did a mix which had the drums drowning everything out (especially ‘Pink Frost’!). They opened with ‘Come Home’ (‘We still need you’), which was ironic, because most of the Big Day Out kids appeared quite indifferent to the performance. Martin dedicated ‘I Love My Leather Jacket’ to Mikey Havoc (after the bogonic Push Push cover), and changed the sentiment from reverence to anger. It could’ve been called ‘The Curse Mix’. Disturbing. They were full of melodies, the new songs glided and snuggled (did ‘Dreams Are Free’ sound like Al Jolson’s ‘Tootsie’, or am I going mad?), and they played the hits for the (few) oldies in the crowd.

• Stage 1. TUMBLEWEED. Small town Australia. Rock. What do we call grunge now? The fight in the crowd with the pink punk — surreal. Crowd moshing like mad bastards. New stuff more sprawling. Mental note: remember to write proper review later. The heavens opened and pissed on us during JESUS LIZARD’S set. The rain saturated everything and everyone within a couple of minutes. About 50 people ran at the merchandise tent and knocked over the tables to find shelter (only to have grumpy stall owners turf us out moments later). Then sheets of wood that were supposed to protect the pitch were ripped up within seconds and used as rain shields.

By the time BAILTER SPACE came on the wood had moved to the front of Stage 1, making the mosh pit look like a shambolic Roman army in Asterix Goes to Hell, or something. And when some mad bastards climbed on top of the boards, we got our first glimpse at real crowd surfing. Bailter Space had to kick out an other worldly blast-fest to compete with the elements and chaos around them. The sound suited the mood, the tracks off Wammo suited the stadium. And the line, ‘Stop wasting our time’, from ‘Splat’ seemed perfect as Alistair screamed at the sky above. There was no thunder and lightening during the storm, but Bailter Space brought their own. We’re unlikely to be struck twice by such an experience. The sexiest band on the bill also had the most problems. ELASTICA were plagued with technical disapointments from the moment they went on. After 20 minutes they left Stage 2 to fix up whatever was wrong. Justine said “sorry", but that didn’t stop the crowd chanting “bullshit”, for a good couple of minutes. They were saved by their short songs, because when they came back 10 minutes later, recharged and determined, they recovered the set and played as many songs as the rest of the acts. The hits got the biggest crowd response of the afternoon — perfect, compact bursts of adrenalin that sounded more natural live. Their newest and longest (over four minutes!) song, ‘I Want You’, finally got going after two false starts. It was more poppy than anything off their album, complete with an 'ooap, ooap’ disco call. Bound to be a hit. Abbe Travis, their new bass player (who we got to see before England!), fitted in perfectly, and with all her jumping and spinning around the stage she obviously enjoyed the music as much as the fans.

By the time Elastica had finished, Ericsson Stadium had become a slip and slide pool, as The Kids tried their best to destroy the pitch (I even saw someone digging it up with what looked like a little shovel!). The rain had started

to clear, so thousands came out to play — splashing, skidding, re-living dreams of diving over the try line. But me, I had to trudge off to BILLY BRAGG in the steaming, dark Supertop. And cross a moat that had developed around it. Grumble, grumble. Once inside, it was like time warping back to the Town Hall in 93. The fact that it was a solo set didn’t make our kid’s performance any less powerful. ‘Greetings to the New Brunette’ and ‘Levi Stubbs’ Tears’ were greeted with football stadium cheers. ‘Sexuality’ and ‘Accident Waiting to Happen’ both got the mob swaying. There wasn’t much new material, but ‘Upfield’ confirmed Billy hasn’t turned into a capitalist during his two years off. And then I was free of the reviewing millstone. So, I was off to the newly liberated corporate boxes to watch in horror as the crowd ignored Tricky and Nick Cave, only to go gaga over Rage Against the Machine three years too late. JOHN TAITE

The day starts early with NOTHING AT ALL! on Stage 5 — refreshement of choice: bottled water (an horrific $3.50). The boys from the Shore deliver their customary good-humoured blistering pop, taking to stadium rock like fish to water (of which there were, of course, ample later in the day). The appreciative audience is a happy mix of the faithful and instant converts. Again on Stage 5, now post-deluge, are CHUG from Dunedin. Warmed through by coffee (superb, $2.50, from DKD tent) and pop music, things are looking up. Chug are half greatest-NZ-band-ever Goblinmix, in the form of bass player Alf Danielson and guitarist (and 3D) David Mitchell, complimented by ex-Look Blue Go Purple Norma O’Malley on guitar and tambourine, and a drummer whose lineage I wasn’t able to research. The songs are anchored by Danielson’s trademark, muscular, melodic basslines, and carried aloft by Mitchell’s trademark beauty and the beast guitaring. While Chug don’t ascend the heights of the aformentioned G Mix, they turn in a set of perfectly remarkable pop tunes, including the one that sounds a bit like ‘Viva Las Vegas’. Kebab, $6.00 from Fatima’s, very nice, thankyou, and SUPERETTE, again on wee Stage 5. Using the intimacy of the smaller space to actually play with each other, Superette climb into a set of edgier pop than the Chuggers, driven by the bass and drums, with Dave Mulchahy’s guitar grinding over the top. Songs segue nicely into each other, with the drive easing up for some melodic space in the songs later in the set.

Practising the not-recommended combo of

eating an ice cream ($2.50 from some little caravan thing) and crossing muddy ground, being jumped on by wet, half naked oiks ‘dancing’ to Rage Against the Machine, I make my way to my position for the Bad Seeds (dead centre, four people back). And so, little lambs, distant thunder rumbled, the rain stopped, the clouds parted, and a beam of moonlight smote the stage as NICK CAVE and his band strode into the night. Dressed like a murmur of sinister lawyers (except Blixa Bargeld, topped with my Grandmother’s straw hat), these middle-aged men set to raising something dark and wild from the night, with ‘Stagger Lee’ from the new album a blood-curdling treat. Despite some sound problems that seemed to infuriate right-hand man Mick Harvey, they played a delicious mixture of Bad Seeds classics and new murder ballads, including an astounding ‘Red Right Hand’. Quietening down they played a clutch of their terrifyingly beautiful songs, including my second favourite song in the whole world, ‘Your Funeral, My Trial’, and a new number, never played live before (the young couple of disciples next to me shared a special moment, looking into each other’s eyes, as he clasped a small white hand to her breast). Cave called it the best song he’d ever written — and, you know, he may be right. Perhaps the first touring band ever to not play their single in the charts, the Bad Seeds ended with old favourite ‘The Mercy Seat’ — a wonderful song, of course, but I could have listened to more of the quiet, less popular ones till the

cows came home

Which of course, little children, they did. Coffee two Oust as good, muddier tent) and KING LOSER are playing Stage 5 when I arrive... or are they still setting up? One of them seems to be having some sound problems, but the others are playing anyway... The bass player switches to guitar and joins in, and it all merges just fine. Chris Heazlewood’s guitar is the star on the day, duelling with Celia Patel’s vocals and police siren organ. I have to wander through to my next assignment, Head Like a Hole in the Supertop: extra popular today for its liquid reflecting properties. HEAD LIKE A HOLE are no longer naked or wearing wacky suits They are, however, extremely buff. Featuring body by Jake, Booga now resembles Glenn Danzig with sideburns (and longer legs), and even Datehole cuts a chisled form under his fashionable little blue ‘T’. Actually, "Mr H Beast”, as the drummer is introduced when he comes out to play guitar on a song, is still tattooed and near naked, save a studded codpiece. Musically, HLAH are a different beast. Along with the addition of another guitarist (and sometimes trumpet), the band really have songs. Still nicely noisy, HLAH’s music has evolved into something ferociously groovy: a remarkable meld of chaos and genuine soul (as opposed to ‘soul’), without any hint of the plodding ‘funky’-ness that plagued ‘alternative’ music a few years back. The future is in the hands of these guys, so you better watch out. MR J KING

Just-managed-to-get-here disorientation and BLOOM got my Big Day Out off to a less than exhilirating start. Bloom are a four-piece who rely on a rockin’ good duel guitar drive to prop up the overly stretched vocals of lead singer Pip Brophy, which tend to flatten when they’re supposed to peak. The lyrics strike me as inane, and the drummer looks so stiff I’m surprised he doesn't fall off his seat and smash (now, that would have been interesting). Nevertheless, the guitars get good and pretty on ‘Butterflies’, and ‘Coyote’ proves the vocals can come together when Pip cups her guitar-freed hands around the microphone. I wonder how much the bad positioning of Stage 5 this year has to do with the strain this band shows, as they battle to be heard over the sound of Regurgitator blasting out of the Supertop. CHRIS KNOX is faced with a mighty big audience in front of Stage 3 due, in part, to the fact the tent is providing sheleter from the rain, rain, rain... Perhaps this is what causes him to tell us he’s forgotten his own name, in lieu of an introduction. He too is up against some stiff competition in the noise department — what with the sound of the rain and the intermittent cheering for the bike show down the back. This requires him to turn it up in two ways — volume and showmanship — which he does. “A really strange error” is the source of much amazement when he sets up his one-man-band equipment for the wrong song, and perseveres with the cacophony until he realises. Jeez, this draws some pained looks — like: ‘This can’t be art, can it?’ But for my quarter, it’s just one of the many reasons we love the guy (and pretty damn funny too). He unplugs his body at set’s end and beats his bad guitar on the floor. The mad home scientist does a bit of knob twiddling and this noise sounds great — like a spaceship landing. I’m sure it’ll be wreaking havoc with the idiot trying to use a cellphone just in front of us. Due to some unfathomable timetable mix-up I am told Melbourne’s DIRTY THREE instigated by being tardy, I am lucky enough to introduce this band to my initially sceptical friends. I’ve had one eye watching Warren Ellis, the cheeky digger who fronts them, polishing his stage moves on Stage 4 for the crowd throughout Chris Knox’s set. Now’s the time for the crowd’s total conversion.

On album, these guys come off as a frantic instrumental band who speak to the listener in a mighty passionate manner via violin, guitar and drums. On stage they are still frantic, but the visuals and between song Wazza-bites are the key that turns this audience on. One of my friends went for the three step total conversion approach...

Step 1: "These guys suck!” [Before they’ve

played a note.] Step 2: “These guys sound like Jethro Tull. ” [Mere notes in.] Step 3: “I love these guys. They are my favourite band ever!" [At set’s end.]

Warren charms the crowd with a blend of vio-lin-cum-gymnastic mastery and proficient spitting which is sure to have made him his violin teacher’s worst nightmare. Indeed, he is causing severe headaches for one roadie in particular, and it is to the full credit of guitarist Mick

Turner and drummer Jim White that they manage to a maintain a near fatal cool in the face of his antics. He introduces songs with titles so long I wish I had brought a new Mighty Pad to record them in, and as for the descriptions of the songs...

" “Thees song ees about one theeng, and one theeng 0n1y...,” goes the second half. of an intro that started about 10 minutes . ago as an endorsement of telling your friends to fuck off and let you take as many drugs as you want to (a notion many of this crowd are openly down with), “...and that ees Jesus Christ...,", shocked gasp from the stunned crowd, “...doesn’t want me for a fucking sunbeam'.” This impassioned rant gets a roar of approval which rivalled even those Rage Against the Machine mustered later on. . Positioning myself for SHIHAD, I manage to catch the dribbling end threads of Elastica. Shihad wup them good within seconds, and hearing them chase up the former poppy punkpretenders is enough to make you laugh, really. Something else that made me laugh was my own stupidity, when I mistook a tent bailer on the roof of Stage 1 for the fool-bravest stage diver on earth. Oh, well, it was a thrilling illusion. Shihad’s music is made for stadium spaces, as is their crowd mastery.- One minute they’re sorting out the men from the munchkins in the. mosh pit with ‘Derail’, then they’re getting an almost tribal ambience going as ‘Deb’s Night Out’, chimes through the air. The only bummer is when the set is rudely interrupted by the antimud establishment, with a stage announcement ordering the muddy mud skipping kids to knock off all that fun they’re having. When Jon Toogood retakes the mic’ to ask us if we wanna rock, it fails to quell the feeling that everybody’s just been smacked on the collective hand. Surely the announcement could have been made between sets, asshole. PORNO FOR PYROS certainly benefit from the most gorgeous atmosphere of the day — partially due to the draped cobwebs-of lights and plants adorning their stage, partially due to the fire dancers ,in the closed off back half of the field, who provide the perfect visuals for the Pornos’ vibe. Perry Farrell takes the stage with arms stretched wide, holding a bottle up to the faithful down the front. The crowd is huge, second only in size to Rage Against the Machine’s, and the. smarties groove in what little space there is left in front of Stage 2. The new and extended band line-up now includes bass master Mike Watt (who’s making out with . a bass so long-necked it might as well be a sign saying: ‘Yes, I am the bass man), and an acoustic guitarist who looks a lot like Perry did when he was in Jane’s, as well as Stephen Perkins and Peter DiStefano.'We’re treated to a set of oldies, debuting newies, and even some Jane’s Addiction, numbers. The new songs have an organic, jammy feel, which makes me think of orange beaches and crimson sunsets,, pretty? drinks and yummy people. When Perry asks: “Do you feel a little different?,” it’s easy to answer: “Yes," for this sure does send me — and everybody else, by the looks of things (save the you-wanna-go-but-you-don’t-wanna-travel gang of young’uns,behind us, who have hung around especially to see “Porno for Pirates”). ■ ■ When technology- fails Perry’s all essential first lyric on ‘Mountain Song’ the amping crowd don’t mind filling the' tiny hole. ‘Pets’ could be. the theme for the day, ’cause I’ve sure been seeing some ‘teenagers, fucked up in the head’, and ‘adults [who] are even more fucked, up’. Right now they’re all joining .that devilfish high priest of perception in a spirited sing-along. ‘Meija’ explodes in stellar fashion’ and Perry retitles ‘Black Girlfriend’ to be “‘For All the Beautiful People. in This Beautiful Land, Which is Our Land’” (yeah, I know it would play havoc with the grammar of the lyrics if you actually applied it to them, but the gesture -fair warmed 'the soggy cockles of my heart). Perry’s affections,for the crowd are returned rapturously, and Peter brings out flowers to thank the crowd one more time at set’s end. I went home and replayed as much of the set as I could on the stereo, but it will take the new album,: Good Gods Urge, to complete the experience. Here's hoping it’s not too far from release. BRONWYN TRUDGEON

throughout every song of those on Stage 5, like FIGURE 60.

The first disappointment of the day was to discover last year’s Stage 5 had been turned into a food hall. Instead of a nice piece of lawn to recline on, this year’s Stage 5 was concrete and about 10 metres away from the Supertop. The rumble of the bands in there could be heard

Call me old fashioned, but I still believe you need at least three people to make a rock band. Figure 60 figure they can rock with just a guitarist and a drummer. The music was very loose — ‘free metal’ is how they described it — and seemed to involve the guitarist jamming and ending with him dropping his guitar or rubbing it up against anything handy. Oh, and somebody coming on stage and banging a triangle exactly out of time with the music. They’re very determined, in case their was any doubt, to not become the next big thing now that they’ve been signed to Flying Nun. But I 've got a copy of your early EP Bludger, from back in the days when you used to be called Baby-Bailterspace and were actually quite good. What happened? Today, their limited offerings are, according to their guitarist, either “pointless instrumentals or tuneless singing". Take your pick. If PJ Harvey had have played, TRICKY would have been 10 times better. There he was, all ready to wrap up proceedings, in the dark, in the claustrophobic Supertop, when PJ Harvey suddenly pulls out and Tricky is pushed onto the main stage to play his moody set in broad daylight. What was missing, besides a suitable atmosphere, was a sense of performance, of interaction, of passion. Another gig in some small, god forsaken country in piss poor weather it may have been, but his between song patter of either "Respect”, or “Thankyou", for someone credited with having a brain, was not particularly arresting, especially compared to the wit and performance of Nick Cave. Despite that Tricky and female vocalist, Martine, sounded brilliant — the sweetness of Martine and the growling menace of Tricky mixing and overlapping, recreating the brilliance of Maxinquaye. The songs were more than just the album tapes with Tricky and Martine over the top, there was a full band of session musos present, and everything except the beats and samples were played live. But Tricky is a sound that is claustrophobic, that requires extreme volume in an enclosed space, and instead we were given quiet volume in the open space of Stage 2. The audience caught the vibe though, and there was a gentle, slow sway through the set. Everybody exited peaceful and content — trying to escape Rage Against the

Machine. LOVES UGLY CHILDREN were left to finish things off on Stage 5. The idea, I guess, was to finish with a big explosion of noise, pop, punk and yelling — but all that came across was the yelling. LUC place an emphasis on stuffing as many lyrics into a line as is humanly possible — there is.a message here, no doubt something about capitalist exploitation — but singer Simon MacLaren was nigh on unintelligible, seemingly defeating the whole purpose of LUC. The only thing left to do was pogo Qumping up and down on the spot, popular circa 1977, kids). An anticlimax to the best Big Day Out yet. MITCHELL HAWKES

Lines, lines, lines. You expect them at events like this but it doesn’t mean you have to enjoy them. A note to the promoters: perhaps a few more gates open next year? By the time I was processed by the friendly security guard and let through, Hamilton’s finest, INCHWORM, had been and gone. By all accounts, my loss. Oh, well, at least the weather’s g00d... PUMPKINHEAD are made for the stadium setting, filling the vast Stage 2 with ease — mostly due to Brent’s apparent lack of the ability to stand still. Donned in tight silver trousers and an open shirt, the Christchurch band’s main singer probably ran a half marathon over the course of their 40-minute set. As the clouds moved over the park, hinting at a brief shower,

Pumpkinhead churned out a mix of crowd favourites with a few new tracks, the best of which, ‘Weightless’, lost some momentum as the PA periodically cut out. Loss of sound was a problem that seemed to plague Stage 2 for most of the afternoon, continuing during the set by the first of the ‘real’ internationals (let’s face it, Aussie bands don’t really qualify), JESUS LIZARD. These guys have played together for a while now, and it really came across in their tight, punchy performance. Munching on a banana donated from a crowd member, singer David Yow introduced his band “Oasis”, before proving that the Lizard are about as removed from the Brit-pop superstars as they could be. In a gallant attempt to combat the sound problems, Yow turned his monitors around to face the crowd, so at least the first few rows got to hear a complete performance. But unfortunately Yow had less control over the elements, and couldn’t do much but play on as the expected rain arrived in force. And, boy, did it rain. While the committed remained front of stage, those concerned with the food colouring running from their hair on to their new RATM T-shirts sprinted for the grandstand. Others got together with complete strangers to build makeshift shelters from the advertising boards, proving the communal festival spirit is alive and well. In fact, some of the structures — obviously those designed by architecture students — were so sturdy and waterproof they almost warranted a visit from the Open Home programme. Then again, the tent was looking pretty dry about now too as Australian band SPIDERBAIT entertained a crowd larger than they may have anticipated on a drier day. A blessing in disguise, maybe, since Spiderbait were an unexpected treat — a noisy three-piece who mix polite pop songs and chunky riffs with the ability to kick out a real groove. With the female bassist and the bloke on drums sharing vocals, they’re able to keep the sound fresh throughout the set. It’s easy to see why these guys are being raved about across the Tasman. A real find.

It was the Stage 5 acts that were really pissed on by the rain. Recent Deepgrooves signing JORDAN REYNE’s set was completely cancelled as it poured down for the whole of her allotted time slot. Dunedin three-piece HDU weren’t much luckier, managing to fit in a brief set between showers. But it was never going to be a classic HDU performance, and 15 minutes in, the rain came down again, prompting both band and crowd to dive for cover. A real disappointment, as HDU are a much better band than their set suggested. Back in the tent, it's the JUNGLE FUNGUS gang strutting around the stage. Funky? For sure. Tedious? I’m afraid so. These guys still seem to be merely a poor man's Supergroove, and although the funk is definitely there, it all seems so goddamn empty. Never do they actually find a real groove and stick with it, and not once does the sound provoke more than mere toe tapping. Now, as for that kid toasting at the Lillypad — he had soul. DOMINIC WAGHORN

Big Day Out 96, and although it would be churlish to complain, the overall lineup was a rock fan’s wet dream and a dance fan’s nightmare. Still, the whole event is an experience in itself, and wasn’t the rain fun? Soon sorted out those who were serious about their fun from those who were seriously worried about their shoes. Anyway, on with the show... It was quite a tough call for the local hip-hop acts to win over the largely guitar orientated crowd. DARK TOWER also had to compete with Tricky coming on towards the end of their set, which further depleted the crowd of any hip-hop fellowship. An all white group from Christchurch,

the Toyver took a while to kick off, with some initial hesitation from the soundsystem, but then their DJ took control with some simple but effective scratching. The two rappers then proceeded to kick some seriously ruralised flavour. The Tower scored a hit with ‘Zeal Man’, somehow connecting with the heart of kiwiana — you know, the rugby, Weetbix and, er, farmboys and sheep song. Anyway, it went down well with the groovers in the tent, and the two rappers can rap competently enough and they looked like they were having fun. Good to see some local hip-hop that's proud of its local rural accent. These guys are definitely a product of the South Island.

. Anyway, that was fun, and after running down into the middle of a storm to shower with Tricky (maximum respect, my brother), I had to get back for DAM NATIVE on Stage 3. I turned around and was dismayed to find hundreds of Rage fans running toward me through the rain with the intention of instigating the mosh pit from hell. After quickly negotiating my drenched, yet still cute, little ass out of there, I was back for for Dam Native.

I quite like Dam Native for being pure, hard New Zealand hip-hop. You won’t catch these guys talking about gumboots and sheep. Hard beats, hard rhymes, this was something for your mind — not to mention your ass. There were a decent crowd in the area, getting down and dirty, and we all cheered when Teremoana came out for the chorus of their latest single, ‘Hori'fied One’. It was kind of obvious that she was lip synching to a DAT, and that meant her recorded voice sounded better than the live rapping but no complaints.

Time now for JOINT FORCE and TEREMOANA on Stage 4, and I don’t know what was happening, but there was a fair bit of mucking around before Teremoana did a couple of unplugged songs with a guitarist and a someone on congo drums. She seemed a tad pissed off with someone and ended her set with a terse “seeya”, and that was that. Very strange. DLT was next up in the area, dropping his own flavour-fuelled beats and truely phat B-lines for Otis and Slave to rhyme on. Again, it was a hip-hop challenge for these guys to pull it off in front of a smallish, but loyal, crowd of supporters, and a large and growing restless crowd of punk kids waiting for Rancid. They’ve been doing this hip-hop thing for a while now though, and still deliver a strong performance. Like Teremoana, they kept it short and sweet. 'Burntime’ got an airing, as did some phat material that sounded new to me. Once again, in a venue not that suited to it, local hip-

hop blew the spot up. Respect.

Because there was a whole heap of people in front of me, I was sadly unable to check out the wares of the band known as KRUSHING DAY — my first assignment. However, whilst forced to mingle with the ‘common people’, I did hear the strains of the Applicators wafting past my nose. Sickened by the stench of punk rock, I passed out until revived by the manly, macho balderdash of FUTURE STUPID. After catching a couple of songs from this terrific threesome, I was instantly perked up. Powered by a huge drum sound, Future Stupid blazed across Stage 3, rapidly building up an appreciative, merry band of metallic enthusiasts. Every gargantuan riff was accompianed with an equally ferocious vocal delivery. The whole experience was not unlike viewing Biohazard minus Evan Seinfeld’s wacky stage banter (probably a good thing too). Assignment number three was to view SECOND CHILD. I approached this one with some trepidation, hoping not to be disappointed by one of my all time favourite New Zealand groups. When the Child rocked out with ‘Crumble’, I knew my fears were groundless — nay ridiculous. Any group capable of writing songs like ‘Crumble’ and ‘Disappear’ is bound to be an aural treat no matter how little they move or gyrate on stage, but as if sensing a desire from the youth of New Zealand to see wiggling, it was goodbye guitar and hello funny body movements, as vocalist Damien Binder let the music take control. After some rockin’ out type stuff, Mr Binder slipped back behind his sixstring shield and provided the first highlight of the day, with a brilliant rendition of ‘Disappear’ (you know, the one where Shortland Street’s Lionel is a sad magician).

A short time after Second Child had vacated the stage, the second great happening of the day materialised on Stage 4, in the form of the now four-piece DEAD FLOWERS (no Riqi) blasting through easily the loudest set of the day. Sticking mostly to the singles from Sweetfish and some new songs, the Dead Flowers erased any worries about missing Jesus Lizard (why couldn’t they have been on during Bailter Space, or Tricky, or summit?) with a totally amped, powerhouse, switched on and plugged in version of ‘She Can’t’: As the heavens opened above and the main stages became a mucky hellhole, the wise and sanctimonious Dead Flowers acolytes bathed in the warm glow of kiwi songwriting at

its best... maaate.

KEVIN LIST