big day out

Rip It Up, Issue 234, 1 February 1997, Page 12

big day out

SricMcn Stadium, Auckland, Janury 17

Even Helen Keller couldn’t fail to notice. In the month leading up to January 17, the Big Day Out was inescapable — radio, TV, print, billboards, stickers — the jolly gaptoothed clown was everywhere. And it worked, the final event, played out in brilliant sunshine, was massive. Organisers announced the official figure as 35,000, although a stadium employee told RipltUp the number was closer to 40,000. Whatever, modern youth in their uniforms certainly turned out in full force. The stadium was a sea of tattoos, piercings, dreads, crewcuts, hot pants, baseball caps, nighties, camo’ trousers, mini skirts, chokers, and Korn T-shirts. And somewhere, there was the clone from whom all others were made.

Back in the paddock, the numbers have swelled to epic proportions and on stage, facing the masses alone for her first song, Bic Runga makes a striking picture. Her voice soars and fills the stadium, entrancing all except those queuing for beer or hollering for Fear Factory. Once joined by guitar, bass and drums, the focus shifts too far into jangle territory for my tastes, and only ‘Bursting Through’ truly shines. Exit the band, and Bic lays down ‘Drive’ to finish — it sounds awesome, and the moment is something more than special. Late afternoon now, and Flying Nun saviours Garageland are being welcomed warmly on Stage 1. Following a short summer tour, new

Cutting the ribbon on the main stage was Fontanelle, the group featuring current and former members of Thorazine Shuffle, and belonging to former Push Push pin-up star Mikey Havoc, who today sports a gleaming white ‘Enjoy Ecstasy’ T-shirt. “Loose lips sink ships,” says my wise companion. Fontanelle launch straight into it, and god bless ’em, they sound nothing like Push Push. Now, despite the hilarity that went down in the past, no one could ever convince me that Havoc doesn’t possess a ballbusting rock voice, the only drawback is, there’s this other bloke called Perry Farrell doing the rounds, and the resemblance borders on plagiarism. So, Fontanelle at their very best are a passable Porno For Pyros tribute band, peddling progressive, vaguely left field pop/rock wares, with song titles like ‘Elevate’ and ‘Catapult’. And it’s all a tad

— —-- — 1 — ~ — - too serious to sit comfortably. “Here’s one for people who like dance music without vocals,” announces Havoc before plopping down on the stage, didgeridoo in hand, further adding to my bemusement. ’ . A hop to the right on the adjacent stage sees Christchurch’s Gluefist cranking up, and with a line-up that boasts three former Pumpkinhead members, expectations were lofty. That said, understandably Gluefist aren’t quite coping with the bizarre situation that’s befallen them — their first Auckland gig is not happening in a dingy, half-empty club, but on the big stage at Big Day Out, in front of a rapidly increasing crowd demanding action. Initially, the going is tough, song one is fumbled halfway through, and midset guitarist Aaron Hogg sighs and mutters, “Yay, we’ve finished one.” Gluefist’s approach recalls the heavier, more brutal rock moments of Pumpkinhead, for the most part lacking the bold-as-brass vocal melodies that ensured that band’s instant appeal. ‘Pak ’N Save Girl’ was the exception though, building a subtle tune into its beefy grooves, while ‘Eat the Dirt’ heralded the first headbanging for the day. To close, ‘Fire’ is dedicated to “anyone who’s had to work in retail”, and a crazy number of spring water bottles are raised skyward. As the tide of humanity soaks into the arena, it’s up to the Boiler Room behind the grandstand to catch last year’s Smokefree Rockquest winners, the Mary Staples. It may be 1997, but never fear, the RATM/Chili Pepper/Supergroove legacy continues, with the Mary Staples leading the way. This is processed funk metal at its finest — exceptional technical competence,with not a hint of soul invested. Pass me a grenade.

(although temporary) guitarist Gary Korn looks settled in, and faithful, yet not particularly dazzling versions of ‘Beelines to Heaven’, ‘Tired and Bored’, ‘Comeback Special’, and ‘Fingerpops’ are bashed out. Close to the stage, the audience is thriving on it, though further back the impact is curbed for one simple reason, the sound system in the big field is shit. As more and more bodies have poured into the stadium and absorbed the sound, the PA is shown up as severely underpowered and Garageland have suffered because of it — as will Supergrass, Shihad, and the Prodigy, later on. In the sound department, BDO organisers have screwed up, and it’s a huge mistake. Almost always overlooked at Big Day Out, the Lilypad stage sits up on the concourse behind the Boiler Room, and is home to every manner of movers and shakers. This is where poets, visionaries, magicians and warlocks are invited to let their ‘freak flag fly’. Today, the hosts of the Pad, Duckpond and Larry, have kept the extroverts in line while pumping out a smooth blend of reggae, ska, techno, and acid, and it’s been a cool place to drop into on the way to or from the five bigger stages. A girl in a white tank top with a permanent smile and grinding teeth tells me she’s spent the entire day at the Lilypad, “eyes closed, just groovin’”. I’ll have what she’s having. Competing with the Lemonheads, who are tinkling away in the tent nearby (and who fired their bass player on stage for the crime of ‘rock star behaviour’), Auckland quartet Stella took on the Boiler Room crowd as late afternoon

became evening. Led by Boh Runga, Stella cruised through a brief set of low key pop tunes, with Runga’s strong, gorgeous voice being the focal point. There’s shades of Jan Hellriegel all over ‘Breathing’, and the ballsy rock of ‘Run’ impressed, though I still believe an earlier time slot would have better complimented their bright sounds. As twilight seeps in, at the lip of the big stage it’s madness. The crowd is a sweaty, writhing, seething mass, and personal space is a joke as lap dances from burnt and stinking beer bogans are par for the course. Shihad have just taken my mind into orbit, and rather conveniently it’s time for the Prodigy. The build-up is exquisite, making the head-rush sublime. With DJ Shadow’s ‘Building Steam With a Grain of Salt’ coming through the speakers, Liam Howlett and Leeroy Thornhill appear on stage to thunderous cheers, as the beat of ‘Breathe’ kicks in. A moment later, Keith Flint in a bright yellow ‘Dirty Dozen’ top and Maxim Reality in a white jacket and kilt, leap from the shadows and the Ericsson crowd erupts. So for an hour the energy builds, as they rip through ‘Voodoo People’, ‘Poison’, ‘Minefields’, and, ‘Their Law’. Howlett’s almost a blur as he works the computers and gadgets surrounding him, while Flint stalks the stage like a demented Tasmanian Devil, howling and pulling evil faces. It’s Reality who seems most unstable yet appears the one in charge, demanding the most from his audience — “Where are you?,” “Why are you here?,” he repeats. Keith excelled on ‘Firestarter’, as all over fans moved maniacally to the pounding beats and samples. It was simply awesome, but they left us far too soon. Like Shihad, Prodigy performed a set you wished would go on forever. With a mind that was relaxed and gently floating down stream, the very last thing I needed was a dose of fake punk rock courtesy of the Offspring (who incidentally, refuse to be interviewed on television, not because it’s too corporate — they’re signed to Sony after all — but because they don’t want kids to realise how old they are. For the record, Offspring are in their early 30s). Up on the Boiler Room stage, 800 800 Mace & Nutcase (formally Itchy & Scratchy) began with the medicine I required. For quarter of an hour, all around, wired bods with glazed and faraway eyes gyrated to the crisp live techno generated by the Aussie trio until, inexplicably, they went and blew the vibe. I’m not sure if it was hard house or the wild variation from that that is hard, uplifting house (bollocks), but it was house nonetheless. And house is crap. Cheers then to the 12 Tribes of Israel for the spirit-lifting reggae vibes happening in the Supertop. The rhythms are thumping nicely, the horn section are coming on strong, and up front a long-time favourite of mine, Brother Zeb, delivers soft, pop vocals. Next, Zeb moves to guitar and Sister Sheena drops a dub version of Desree’s ‘You Gotta Be’, prior to Asterix bounding on for Marley’s ‘I Shot the Sheriff’. The next generation makes an appearance too, with a stunning nine-year-old drummer belting out a solid groove for the Tribes’ final tune. Outstanding. The NZ leg of Big Day Out, four days in four years, offered up many out-of-this-world highs, and sadly, a number of devastating lows. But it’s

biggest achievement, I believe, is there would be very few who attended and did their best to experience everything, who would .not be. ready and waiting for the next phase. JOHN RUSSELL Q Livids,’ I think (as I stand in a I I queue to get to another queue which will get me ticket-checked, bodyprobed, bag-searched and into the venue), ‘I tried really hard to catch your set and am sorry I didn’t. If only you could see how hot and sweaty I have become with the effort...’ But then I amin, and I am running. I approach the Boiler Room at a gallop, just in time to see four boys • playing to a reasonably whipped-up crowd of around 30, catching the tail end of their first band of the day. My next thought is, ‘Dear Big Day Out Clown, why did you smile on everything except the placement of the fifth stage? Everyone hated its spot last year, and even the weather can’t shine away the noise confusion which leaves me unable to get a fix on the Livids.’ Dear Livids, your crowd made you look really good, and I’m sorry I can’t say more than that. .

r Superette come on all slyly, slowly and knowingly with ‘Killer Clown’, but the good start isn’t sustained by using the same approach for their new songs, which a band really should be throwing at a crowd this big. Hence, the only people jumping up and down in the early stages are the hacky-sackers. Nevertheless, ‘Kiss Someone’ is a bit more of a lesson in what rock ’n’ roll should be about, and ‘Touch Me’ gets the first mosh I’ve seen today going. ‘The Slide’ is a return to the earlier subversion of ‘Killer Clown’, played loud and nasty like they just don’t care — and face it, you can’t usually fail to whip up a crowd when they know they’ll get the chance to chant the odd ‘fuck you’ at strategic points throughout the song (as Soundgarden proved many thousand-fold later). Dead Flowers used their set to show how far they’ve come, kicking off with a really rather soulful take on ‘Same Same’, with a certain Sandy supporting on vocals to very sweet effect. ‘I Really Want’ gets a funky delivery, but it’s ‘You Drink the Water...’ that gets the crowd bouncing, toking, and pointing their fingers

I meaningfully at the stage. Was it just me, or did ■ ‘Plastic’ have a markedly ‘I Was Made for Loving ■ You’ interlude? This could have been what II tempted the first stage-runner of the day 8 onstage (where were you off to, you crazy, ■ wacky guy?). A final display of musical heritage I saw the Flowers wrap things up with the I Buzzcocks’ ‘Ever Fallen in Love’. Later in the I day, I saw a young girl who could have done I with taking Bryan Bell’s Big Day Out-stock ■ advice — “Do not eat, do not take the brown g kebab” — but judging by the pile she was leanII ing over, I guess she missed this set. ■ Dave Graney and the Coral Snakes’ nam- ■ sesake sported a pink velour suit complement- ■ ing an overall look my companion was sure ■ must have been stolen from a paedophile’s iden- ■ tikit. The audience were priceless — the morti- ■ tied kids, the deeply confused Prodigy fans, and ■ a small clutch of cheese-munching mice grinB ning from ear to ear. The self-confessed

Australian King of Pop gave it some shit when it became apparent no one was interested in sustaining a reaction to his show, before breaking rather appropriately into ‘You’re Just Too Hip, Baby’. By the time the guitarist broke suit to start soloing it, he might as well have been playing with himself. Much discussion preceded my visit to the Boiler Room for Breathe’s set. I was told how good they used to be, and I was told how much better they were now than they used to be. These equally popular and conflicting opinions proved a lot more interesting to contemplate than the actual set, which was clean and tidy but largely uninspiring. That said, their double percussion stint with bona fide rawk guitar duelling did get me on my toes. A calm and happy crush oozed its way towards Stage 3 for the Lemonheads, where Evan Dando and his all new company were tossing out the hits, the hits, and nothing but the hits; and even though these numbered no less than eight selections from across the most recent catalogue (including ‘lt’s a Shame About Ray’, ‘Drug Buddy’, ‘Rudderless’, ‘lnto Your Arms’, ‘lf I Could Talk’ and ‘Outdoor Type’), it seemed but 15 minutes had passed when Evan asked if anyone had a watch. So, he followed up with some solo acoustic stuff and a spot of techno fiddling that seemed to please the ever-pre-sent Prodigy fans, even as it appeared to deafen others. Tim Teen and the Teentones played songs with names like ‘Astroturf’ and ‘Backfeed’ that were small on length and big on rock stylings. Tim is intense and earnest, churning out the choons as if they are the only thing he has to hold on to in this cruel and crazy world. An aspiring mad professor type to his right twiddles around on an FX box, at one stage pausing to give the crowd a drink of his Coke — on their heads no less, the little charmer. The crowd were wowed by this inspiring display of geek rock bravado, with several members stepping forward to shake their booties with the kind of gleeful abandon I’m guessing took deep digging to find in many of them.

Many fine things had happened by the time Soundgarden were set to storm Stage 1 at the climax of the main stage action, but this set stole much of the preceding thunder and certainly sorted out the men from the Munchkins in

the stadium rock department. I was happy to be sitting next to a bunch of wee boys who had whipped themselves into a state of very heartening hysteria, which allowed me to follow suit without standing out in the crowd too offensively (and to the ‘lady’ in front of me who was perturbed by my hollering, fuck off and what are you doing at the Big Day Out anyway?). If anyone’s parents had ever managed to convince them that, no, Chris Cornell was not actually God, such lessons were severely undermined by this performance, and a couple of stellar takes on the actual Jesus Christ pose as well as the song about it. Things got off to a percussive start with

‘Spoonman’, and were followed by another case of the kind of hit mongering which makes you I pretty sure the band are using their hair to hide I their horns and their pants to hide their tails. I ‘Rusty Cage’ was ripped back from Johnny Cash I

and given a crash course in the new modern I rock. ‘Black Hole Sun’ started with Chris I solo and acoustic — a less is more I approach which provided a unique highlight I to the performance for more than just me I judging by the screaming it garnered. He later stole the show again with the irony I heavy, innocent musing of, ‘Nothing seems I to kill me, no matter how hard I try,’ at the I beginning of ‘Blow Up the Outside World’. I Not to be outdone, Kim Thayil effortlessly I got his guitar behind his head for the cover I of ‘Search and Destroy’, and the band en I masse worked the crowd into a ‘situation’ I style frenzy for ‘Ty Cobb’. The sight and I sound of a crowd so big you have to reduce I them to maggot size to fit them into your face screaming ‘hard-headed fuck you all’ in unison are ones that will stick with me for a lot longer than that of the celebratory fireworks which wrapped the main stage action up — and fireworks are pretty much my favourite things in the whole world.

BRONWYN TRUDGEON

And so my Big Day Out begins with the maximum attitude of Solid Gold Hell, which seems a strange noise to be hearing at this time of day. As usual sweet crooner Glen Campbell looks like a bogwashed Elvis impersonator, but his fashion sense and snarled vocals are in keeping with what the three other Hell brethren are doing — and it ain’t pretty. They surf on a wave of their own sonic muck for | a good few songs before really nailing it. Sometimes in the first second of a song you know it’s going to be good — that funny buzzing sensation starts to creep up your spinal column. SGH have that effect today, and storm to the end of their performance as a single, chemicallybonded nugget of mean', slide guitar, distorted bass, punished drums and hangover hollerin’.

The three gentlemen behind me are obviously impressed, and show their respect by sparking up the kind of cigarette your mother warned you about.

Now we cross live to Thorazine Shuffle on Stage 1, where punters can risk snow-blindness due to the sun reflecting off the white plastic covering the grass. Still, after something like

$25,000 worth of grounds damage during last year’s event, it’s a necessary evil. There were a couple of things I was hoping for from this performance. Needless to say, there was some disappointment when the fat guy from their latest video did not appear dancing naked on stage to a 20-minute dub-mixed flute solo. Never mind. What the Shuffle did deliver was a typically consistent set of their breezy guitar pop, including my personal favourite, ‘Harry’. This song is allegedly about the screeching, power-hungry tyrant singer/guitarist Josh Hetherington once had the misfortune of working for. It must have given him some satisfaction to deliver those lyrics through a large PA, and get the Kids to mosh to them so early in the afternoon.

With a poster advertising their new CD Stumpy taped to a mic’ stand, Messrs Knox and Bathgate, aka Tall Dwarfs, set about doing whatever the hell it is they do. In half an hour they reproduce some of the finest moments in their distinguished songwriting career (sounds like a Kenny G press kit) including ‘The Slide’, ‘The Brain That Wouldn’t Die’ and ‘Crush’. However, today’s rendition of ‘Nothing’s Going to Happen’ reigns supreme, accompanied by some brisk, dubbed-out percussion courtesy of that strangely shaped piece of grey plastic Chris Knox carries around with him. This really gets the crowd going, until a broken string ends the fun prematurely. We all walk away with a single question burning in our minds, one which will no doubt keep music industry cellphones ringing for some time — has Chris Knox discovered drum ’n’ bass?

Without knowing any song titles there’s not a great deal I can say about the Feelers other than I enjoyed their set of fairly straightforward rock, which was sometimes reminiscent of Superette and presumably included the track which currently graces the bFM playlist. Cheers. I am some distance from the main stage when Shihad begin - in fact I cannot even see it. Yet through the collective voice of the crowd and the filtered sounds of other bands it is immediately obvious they have begun. Some otherwise excellent acts seem to struggle when placed in the challenging environment of a stadium — Supergrass for example. But after beginning their set with the first three tracks off their latest album (‘Home Again’, ‘Ghost From the Past’ and ‘Hate Boys’), Shihad prove they can deliver an effortless and intense performance in front of thousands with the same ease as playing for their mums at a summer barbie. The new material seems purpose-built for large crowds; as Karl Kippenberger’s metronomic bass thuds through the masses during ‘Hate Boys’, no one has a choice but to start moving. Surely it can’t be too long before he makes use of his surname and follows Jonah Lomu into the lucrative world of fast food endorsements. After a brief but humorous foray into the world of country music, fans of the older material are soon rewarded

with blistering versions of ‘The Call’ and ‘Screwtop’ among others. But the crescendo is reached with ‘Get Up’. This song is one of the band’s finest — powerful, dramatic and emotive, with Jon Toogood and Tom Larkin’s respective roles of vocals and drums pushed to their limit. Shihad leave the stage triumphant, to be met by members of Soundgarden expressing their disappointment at only having seen three songs. It’s been said before, but it hasn’t been said enough: if any band in this country has the potential to reach a far greater global audience, Shihad are it.

The 3Ds. Oh, dear. If there was anyone who really suffered from the sound quality on Stages 3 and 4 (which, let’s face it, was consistently shite) it was the ’Ds. There is no denying their live ability — their support of the Butthole Surfers a few years ago totally blew me and the Buttholes away — but tonight something is missing. The band appeared to really flounder amongst snares ricocheting off the back of the Supertop into the fairly unpleasant mud coming through the stacks. By this time my ears had taken quite a pounding and I was regrettably forced from the tent.

I’m pretty sure I would enjoy the sound Bailter Space make even if it was played through a string into a plastic cup. Those who are already fans will know what I mean: the trance inducing drums, deep, melodic bass, canyon-sized guitar chords delayed to all buggery, and something else underneath it all that you can’t quite define. Tonight they start off OK, and get better as they go on. But for me this is really a warm up to a later live date in a more fitting venue where it will be reasonable to expect a show that will move the earth. Having said that, the head count of audience members swaying with their eyes closed indicated they had got what they were looking for. Lava Lava were delayed due to technical difficulties but the crowd didn’t seem to mind; DJs Gideon and Chelsea had obviously been up to their usual excellent, standard and the fair sized audience were happy to groove while the problem got sorted. Lava Lava’s solid beats definitely moved the crowd but I couldn’t help wanting a

bit more in the mix in addition to this good foundation. This may have been the fault of the soundman or a continuing technical hitch, but in any case, their sound was a little sparse. Ben Staple’s live drumming combined with the dancer did compliment the performance —- with a group such as this it’s always good to have something to watch other than knob-twiddling. And so ends the era of the Big Day Out — by far the most successful, certainly in terms of attendance. I can honestly say that during the entire event I encountered only two instances of negative behaviour. The first was from the pious, sour-faced security ape on the door of the Immortals Bar, who insisted on checking my pass every bloody time even though we both knew I’d been in there at least four times in one hour. The second was an arrogant couple (who should know better) abusing people who didn’t hurry out of their way as they ascended an extremely congested stairwell to their privileged viewing position. Shame. Still, three out of 35,000 ain’t bad. JUSTIN REDDING

Worked myself into a frenzy to get to Stage 5 in time for my first assignment, Jordan Reyne. Frenzied, because to get there it was necessary to gun down 500 people crushing through the main gate security, while stomping over the mountains of discarded Bacardi and Jim Beam bottles littered about. Beyond the gates things were relatively sedate as the clock struck midday, and it was no trouble to find a cosy spot to soak in the heated rays and Jordan Reyne. It was my first taste of Ms Reyne, who did her best up against the seeping sounds of Solid Gold Hell and then Nothing At All! from the nearby Supertop. By set’s end it was possible to discern separation between the two stages and I came to the assumption that the crowd-pleasing Reyne was an angsty Johnette Napolitano over heavy rhythms and opus style guitar rock, sorta like a female version of T 001... personally, I’d pass. Winner Worst Sound Award.

Next act on my list were bFM’s 1996 sensation, Pash! I’d heard them on the radio after

friends had raved about their early gigs, and wasn’t convinced their three-chord bubblegum rock could hold its own weight. Stood through their current (recycled) hit ‘Doo Wop’ and a few others, and decided they weren’t that good looking and I didn’t like pub rock. However, I did understand an earlier comment someone had slung my way that to appreciate them you had to be under 17 or female, ’cause they made up most of the crowd. But I’d like to think I’m not that cynical, they’re nice lads, I’m told. Some call them our own Supergrass, I’d dub ’em the New Dudes! Winners Best Collection of Bonds T-Shirts Award.

Arrived in time for Caneslide’s first song, ‘Change the Channel’, and was pleasantly anaesthetised for the next half hour (and beyond) by such wiggy ’Slide hits as ‘Never Shake a Baby’ and ‘Autobahn’, charmingly augmented by Mark Peterson’s addition on second guitar/freak-outs and vocals. If you haven’t had the pleasurable pop experience that is Caneslide, keep your ear to the ground, they’re threatening to take over the world (or part of it) soon. Best Sound Award.

The Snitches rock and rolled onto the same stage 15 minutes later, and ignited the very

large crowd with an incendiary set honed by their visit to the Kings Arms the night before. Here’s a band who definitely know how to have a good time and can infect a crowd with the same sensation. Sounding like the firstborns of garage kings Dead Moon, the Snitches are the lead donkey out of the Frisbee stables. Most Improved Act (from the night before). Passed by Garageland to stake a piece of scorched earth for Supergrass, who arrived to plenty of applause but little volume coming from the PA. However, technical problems were soon forgot as the likely lads went through the hits like they really did still enjoy playing them all these years after I Should Coco. One new track,

‘Richard the Third’, was greeted with heads bobbing and steaming cadavers exiting stage everywhere. Some smart cookies shed clothing and sought a breeze from the flying fox to enliven the Supergrass set, hope the cell wasn’t too cool on their bare asses! And before the allotted 45 minutes was up the 90s version of Slade were gone, 10 minutes early in fact; some were disap-

pointed, I was glad to escape the heat. Best Set Length Award

Watching the crowds fight against each other to get through the various bottlenecks from the safety of the bar in the main stand gave me an edge in insanity navigation. None more so than

the single gate theory — a single gate to the Lyon Rouge bar, a single gate to the Sooopertop — proved the most infuriating aspect of 30,000 punters rockin’ together. When the Lemonheads finished in the Big Top it was a full 15 minutes before the lemming exodus had quelled sufficiently to pass through the gate and catch Shonen Knife.

Knife bass player, Michie Nakatani, had fallen ill, so a late replacement saved the gig. Our editor passed comment that Michie’s stand-in was the most butch woman he’d ever seen; funny how he missed the introduction of Michie’s husband, who can thrash and drag with the best of them. Anyhow, I arrived for their current video hit ‘ESP’ (fucking love that song!), and got treated to the most glittering stage show this side of Kiss (sans cod pieces and pyrotechnics). Sure, there were the cartoon Japanese pidgin English stabs, such as Naoko Yamano’s shameless self promotion, “We have new album, please rush to rekid store. Thank you [giggles].” Everyone remaining in the tent was giggling along with them (must have been something in the air) as they rocked out, hair flailing, to ‘Tomato Juice’. Shonen Knife win the loosest band of the day award.

If the exodus from Stages 3 and 4 after the Lemonheads had been huge, after Shonen Knife it was complete. Shihad and Prodigy were up on Stages 1 and 2, leaving about 100 in the tent for the arrival of Aussie all star band the Beasts of Bourbon. Lead Beast Tex Perkins (Cruel Sea), noticing the apparent lack of interest, bellows fiercely, “We’re from Japan and America!” And with that he and the remaining Beasts — including a Scientist and a Johnny -- spit flames for 45 minutes and are the only band to have a truly awesome sound in the tent. Call these guys lame old fucks and watch ’em stove yer skull in; they rock like they mean it and are prepared to maim to prove it. By sets end a small but enthusiastic crowd remained lapping up a show that improved the more sloppy and fucked-up it got. All in attendance agreed the Beasts of Bourbon were the scariest, most violent act of the final BDO, probably of the millennia! This being the first time I’d seen the Headless Chickens since they spun into dance realms, it was almost a revelation. The tent sound, however, was pussing out, and a crisper mix was required for Chris Matthews’ guitar shards to shine out. Still, the essentials were there: CM was wearing his monumental bad attitude persona, “Kiss my arse, give themselves strange ideas,” filtered through the mix. Of course Fiona MacDonald came out to rapturous applause for ‘Cruise Control’, but really the muscular three-piece shone on new numbers like ‘Black Water Rising’, where they flexed angular rhythms and guitar lines. Best Second (or is that Third?) Coming.

Dragged myself to my last assignment, watching the E craziness set in on Stage 5 for the final act of BDO, Nathan Haines and Manuel Bundy. While the battle weary and French fried either walked out the gates or into the tent for HLAH, the inner space voyagers who had enough fuel or drugs (same thing really) rushed their bollocks off to the freakin’ flute sounds, turntables, live percussion, and other bits of the Haines ensemble. Couldn’t figure out if Mr Haines was performing music or dance, and some times it seemed to be more of the latter — not that it mattered to him or Stage s’s largest crowd all day. I never get it if I can’t hear the guitar, oh well! Winner Biggest Class A Convention. Funny thing though, walking for the gate and, further afield, a taxi, no one leaving was smiling! Perhaps a Big Day Out, but possibly a small nightmare over? MAC HODGE You knew right from the Ellerslie-Penrose turn-off this was going to be the biggest Day Out ever. Dribbling along at two-and-a-half km/ph, I thought we were never going to actually get to Ericsson and that would mean seeing nothing at all of Nothing At All!

Thankfully I did catch some of the North Shore skate-punks’ set and was — as always — impressed with their punchy, fast sound. By quarter past twelve, a good sized moshpit had already formed for Nothing At All! in the tent, another good sign of the large things to come from the day ahead. A half hour later, still in the tent, another horde of punks took the stage and tried to get the crowd going. Unfortunately Blitz Babies, Onefoot Records’ latest Aussie signing, had the pace and the power of a good pop-punk band but not much else. The three-guy-one-girl lineup easily set the record for ‘most songs played in designated time’, going from one track to the next within a matter of minutes, but that’s about it. Mediocre.

Still, it was starting to get pretty cosy in the tent, and with all those burn-time warnings it was a great way for us tan-challenged types to catch good bands as well as avoid the evil rays. Anyway, the newly renamed Bressa Creating Cake were cornin’ up, so I wasn’t going anywhere. These guys were one of the day’s true highlights with a set high on groove, fun, and weird arm movements. They also almost became one of the very few bands to have ever played an encore at the Big Day Out after finishing well within time and returning to the stage for one more. Ten minutes of tuning up later they were off again, after playing one of the best non-encores of all time. A shame really. Time to brave the sun and get a bit of solace from the rock thing, I headed down to catch the Trueschool Crew in the paddock. We were promised two DJs and four MCs, but sadly this didn’t necessarily mean two DJs with working turntables and four MCs with working mic’s. The Trueschool Crew were plagued with faulty equipment and bad sound — the last thing they needed while trying to convince a mainly rock crowd that this hip-hop thing is pretty cool after all. Still, they tried and at times succeeded to get the crowd going; Che with ‘Chains’ and Mighty Asterix’s late set-toasting both got pretty good responses, but the biggest cheers came when one of the posse came on for a break-dancing exhibition. Very cool it was too.

Back up the hill, past the huge line for body piercings and into the tent for some very un-hip-hop sounds from Australian trio Tiddas. I’d not

heard too much about this all-female acoustic group, but was more than impressed by their great songs and excellent harmonies. Taking up where Billy Bragg left off last year, Tiddas talked about important shit, y’know, like rainforests, racist politician Pauline Hanson (“better off six feet under”), and the huge number of tampons the three of them would have used in the seven years they’ve been performing together. Come to think of it, I don’t think Billy actually covered that last issue.

Things were beginning to heat up in the boiler room (ho, ho) about SPM, as Dunedin threepiece HDU invaded the stage in their usual highnoise fashion. HDU always seem to tread a fine line between chaos and control, often sounding better in the former mode; and that’s what we got a fair bit of, with singer Tristan even admitting at one point he was starting to loose control. Fuck knows what HDU played — probably a good chunk of their delicious debut album. It doesn’t seem relevant to talk about HDU songs — 30 minutes or so of beautiful soundscapes is more to the point. Delightfully intense.

Of course, not everyone’s a winner at the Big Day Out and as Prodigy took the stage downstairs, not many punters were left in the other

two venues. Bad luck for Beasts of Bourbon in the tent, and double bad luck for funksters In the Whare in the Boiler Room. It’s probably quite fortunate no more people witnessed In the Whare than the twenty or so present — they aren’t a very interesting band at all, I’m afraid.

More bad news for the second to last act in NZ Big Day Out history, Ma-V-Elle. In what’s surely one of the stupidest pieces of scheduling

seen for a while, this run-of-the-mill R&B trio had to take the stage before Head Like A Hole. As Soundgarden finished up on the main stage and the tent filled to capacity with hard-out rawk fans, Ma-V-Elle battled on bravely, singing competently over their horrendous backing tapes. It’s lucky New Zealand audiences are reasonably polite otherwise we may have seen a serious injury. As it was, a flying bottle of water flew over the top of sister number two, and they finally got the idea and left soon after. You have to feel sorry for them though — regardless of how much talent Ma-V-Elle have, they shouldn’t have been playing on that stage at that time. DOMINIC WAGHORN

Traffic jams, overheating radiator, queues and general mayhem. But that’s what the Big Day Out was about — dealing with the chaos was almost as important as the music. New Plymouth’s Kitsch, one of the first acts of the day, seemed to enjoy their set and were appreciated by the smallish audience. Just over an hour later, when Future Stupid really kicked out the jams, the crowd had swelled in a major way. With their debut album, Cannon Fodder, just about out, Future Stupid were in set-to-kill

mode, charging with energy. Bassist Jason Young, with razor cut, stormed around the stage angrily and contributed some mean vocals. Guitarist/vocalist Tony Hallum was only slightly more restrained, pummelling hardcore riffs and dense harmonics from his SG. Selections including ‘Greed’ and an updated ‘Shit Biscuit’ incited the first mosh of the day for many, and got the day off to a fearsome start. Sugarbug’s search for the perfect pop sound did little to impress. Laidback and plaintive in the sun, the four-piece require much more intimate surroundings and a different state of mind than this festival inspires to be fully appreciated. You Am I, on the other hand, are now vastly experienced stadium operators, even though Tim Rogers’ somewhat lame attempts at stage humour fell flat. Their classic-flavoured rock ’n’ roll (MCS anyone?) saw a large crowd taking notice, certainly more than at their previous appearances. But You Am I’s straight take on rock ’n’ roll will never grab the imagination of New Zealand audiences. The same can be said of Powderfinger, who pulled a pretty miserable crowd on Stage 4. And miserable was the music — the Seattleisms are so overt it’s almost litigious. Not that we expect too much in the originality stakes from Aussie guitar rockers, but why the hell were they playing on the New Zealand leg instead of a local band? Powderfinger were simply an insipid, unspirited, pseudo-soulful waste of space. Fear Factory, viewed as something of a consolation prize by Sepultura’s audience, proved more than worthy replacements. The audience went seriously nuts for perhaps the first, but certainly not the last time. Intense cyber-metal for the new age, Fear Factory exploded with ‘Self Bias Resistor’, ‘Demanufacture’, ‘Scapegoat’ and ‘Replica’. Vocalist Burton C Bell stalked around, alternating his deathly growl with a voice of surprising timbre. Interacting with the crowd, Bell, along with guitarist Dino Cazares, drummer Raymond Herrera, and bassist Christian Olde-Wolbers, seemed to be having a great‘time — unlike the perfunctory keyboardist, who looked like he was at church, standing there with a bored expression on his face, pressing a key every now and then. Anyway, Fear Factory delivered the goods with standouts ‘Martyr’ and ‘Scumgrief’; pile-driving, emotionless, adrenalised in the extreme. Dull? Only if you are. Commanding the attention of much of the 30,000 strong crowd, the Offspring played the hits and some new material from Ixnay on the Hombrey, and sounded pretty flat to these ears. With a bad, muddy sound, they jumped around enthusiastically (as did the masses of pierced, temporary hairdyed youths), yet only a few songs raised themselves above the mire —- those being, of course, ‘Come Out and Play’, ‘Self Esteem’, and ‘Nitro’, all from Smash. The rest just didn’t live up to the hookiness and pop sensibility of those huge singles. Certainly the crowd was well into it, but with the ecstasy of the Prodigy’s set still in the air, who wouldn’t be? Head Like A Hole got something of a raw deal, even though they were the last ever band to play at a.New Zealand Big Day Out. Due to some hiccup that saw a mass audience exodus catch the end of Ma-V-Elle (who they did not appreciate), HLAH were a little late starting, and were nearly cut off after five songs. Understandably perturbed, they gave the organisers the finger and played on regardless, bless ’em. And it was another stunner — a set encapsulating the chaos and madness of the day. ‘One Pound Two Pound’, ‘Nevermind Today’, ‘Cornbag’, ‘Crying Shame’, and a rousing version of the Grease classic ‘Summer Lovin” ended the day with the kind of kinetic energy that produces spontaneous combustion. In the words of Nigel Regan, “We’re just gonna keep playing anyway.” And how they did.

GAVIN BERTRAM