Praise be to the Maiden

And lo, twice last week did your humble scribe arose from his sick bed, cleansed his impure body and dressed, before donning the sacred vestments of his faith, the holy band shirt and the consecrated battle vest, then heading forth to worship at the altar of Heavy Metal…

Iron Maiden / Killswitch Engage
Qudos Bank Arena, 12&13/09/24

So, I’ve been down sick with a cold for the last week or so, but it’s been 8 long years since the mighty Iron Maiden last graced our shores, and there was no way in hell I was going to miss it. Not the least of which cause I was seeing both shows – the first show I had a floor ticket for (It’s the closest I’ve ever been!), the second show up in the stands with my Glorious and Beloved Wife. I cant say I’m a fan of support act Killswitch Engage, so I spend their set outside eating, though the version of Dio’s Holy Diver that ends their set seems to be received well. It’s been some time since I attended a large scale concert, so seeing what appeared to be phone torch semaphore going on between sections of the crowd was new. Not as cute as the young child who was on a parent’s shoulders down on the floor on the Thursday show though, that was parenting done right.

Our view from the gods night 2.

And then, it is time. The familiar strains of UFO’s Doctor Doctor ring out, the crowd begins to jump and sing, knowing the time is near. The strains of the Vangelis score to Blade Runner fill the air, the lights dim and Caught Somewhere in Time begins, the band hitting stage as the gallop launches in. What can I say about them? There’s Dave Murray, eyes closed in concentration, effortlessly blazing away on his guitar, Adrian Smith’s relaxed and nonchalant manner in complete contrast to Janick Ger’s wild flailing, both of his fingers up and down the fretboard and of his guitar. How he hadn’t lost several into the crowd I’ll never know. Steve Harris, one foot up on the monitors, machine gunning the crowd with his bass. Iconic. For someone who had a stroke about 18 months ago, Nicko McBrain’s drumming has barely missed a beat. Lastly, and certainly not least, is front man Bruce Dickinson. The crowd’s in the palm of his hand as soon as he hits stage, that effortless charisma on full blast. True, the between song dialogue is sometimes a little hokey and there’s a pun that’s positively Zaltzman-esque, but there are few who can match him for keeping a crowd engaged. And that soaring voice of his is still jaw dropping, more so given a bout of throat cancer a few years back.

The setlist is mostly taken from the Somewhere in Time and Senjutsu albums, an unexpected choice between ‘guitar synth led experimental album’ and ‘latest epic double album’. but the sci-fi and historical themes match up surprisingly well. A giant cyborg Eddie pays a brief visit during Stranger in a Strange Land then retreats again backstage, emerging once again in Heaven Can Wait to engage Bruce in a laser gun battle, the first pyro we’ve seen all show. It’s not my favourite song, but the rousing “Woah-oh!” section is irresistible. The thud of the bass drum during The Writing on the Wall threatens to scramble my innards like a Dalek death ray and I’m still amused that I first heard a Maiden tribute act perform Alexander the Great before the real thing. As cheesy as it is, rhyming ‘Aegean Sea’ and ‘334 BC’ is *chef kiss* to me. My face lights up hearing “We want, information. Information. Information” that intros The Prisoner and the level in anticipation that builds in the brief seconds between seeing the banner change and the intro to Fear of the Dark is spectacular, to say nothing of the sing along to it that is as mandatory as death and taxes. Death of the Celts gets a spoken intro from Bruce about how genocidal fuckwits always fail that’s well meaning but drags, and as good as the song sounds live, I still maintain you could strip a couple of minutes of melodic instrumental from the middle and affect it not one bit, Mind you, I’m not brave enough to tell Steve Harris that, and I suspect you aren’t either.

The main set ends with a triumphant blast through Iron Maiden, with a giant samurai Eddie stalking the stage (as well as Janick Gers), and a blast of pyro, not to mention the giant inflatable Eddie head that arose from behind the drum riser. All are thanked, sweatbands and drumsticks are thrown to the crowd and the band are away. We wait patiently, knowing there’s more, our devotion soon rewarded with Hell on Earth (The song, not the return of Scott Morrison as PM), and the raised stage erupting in bursts of flame, which is clearly where most of the gig’s pyro budget has gone to. The banner changes once again and I have to restrain myself from screaming with joy? Why? It’s The Trooper. We all go somewhat apeshit, both screaming along and air guitaring in my case. How can you not? The show ends with a triumphant run through Wasted Years, which is equal parts sadness and joy for me*, as the joy of the song is mixed with the show ending. More items are thrown at the crowd, Bruce promises they’ll be back (I’m fucking holding you to that!) and true to form, Nicko is the last to leave the stage. We shamble out into the night to the traditional show closer, Always Look on the Bright Side of Life, and embrace the chill night air.

It was a Maiden show. Part rock concert, part gathering of the tribes. it was genuinely heart warming to see both the love in the room, and the diversity. All ages, races and genders, all of us were there to have a good time and by Crom, we did. My body aches, my throat is shot from screaming and I’m brutally reminded of how out of shape I am, as 6 guys with more than 20 years on me have just kicked my ass. It was a damn good night, both of them. Long live Maiden, and all who sail with them. Amen.

SET LIST:
Caught Somewhere in Time
Stranger in a Strange Land
The Writing on the Wall
Days of Future Past
The Time Machine
The Prisoner
Death of the Celts
Can I Play with Madness?
Heaven Can Wait
Alexander the Great
Fear of the Dark
Iron Maiden

ENCORE:
Hell on Earth
The Trooper
Wasted Years

*Many years ago in the depths of a crush on someone I still regret, I spent 2 hours wandering Melbourne looking for a landmark that would lead me to where I was staying while listening to that song on repeat, completely missing the point of it. I was young and stupid, what can I say?

Hit it Steve.

Radio Birman / The Hard On’s.
Manning Bar Sydney, 07/06/2024

After 50 years, it’s come to this – what is likely to be Radio Birdman’s final gig. A momentous occasion, and one more than worthy of comment. I’ve spoken long in the past about the effect they had on me, and if you ever want to kill a lot of time, ask me about them in person. If you’d rather not, and I can’t blame you, you could check out the new biography of them freshly released (Yes, I own it), a recent warts and all documentary and look up any number of stories of their volatility, both musical and personal. Their myth casts a long shadow to this day over the Sydney rock scene. Hell, even their logo is reminiscent of some sort of cult sigil, and they were once accused of Nazism by Red Symons. No, I’m not joking. But the songs are where it’s at. Aloha Steve and Danno changed my life and I’d wager I’ve spent more time air guitaring to that song than some people have spent hugging their loved ones.

The Manning Bar is packed, I think for the first time I’ve been their when that’s happened. To be fair, the whole tour was pretty much sold out, but it’s nice to see. The crowd is mostly comprised of various shades of grey and/or balding, as I am, but there’s patches of youth among them. I couldn’t help but notice the two guys in-front of me, who barely seemed to move. I get that you may not air guitar as openly or enthusiastically as I do, but how can you not be moved by this?

Opening were the Hard On’s, now fronted by Tim ‘You Am I’ Rogers, in full Iggy Pop/Bon Scott tribute mode. We get a set of what I presume to be new, or at least modern, material, with Rogers commenting on that after queries from the crowd. At one point I looked away for a few seconds, and when I looked back at the stage the entire band were now shirtless. Some band members managed it better than others is all I’ll say. I’m not exactly a fan, but they do their thing and do it well, with some of the banter being a highlight for me. They seem genuinely happy to be there, and in awe of the headliners, with the story that New Race being the first song they tried to play back in the day going over well.

I try to be supportive towards support bands, as it’s frequently a thankless task, but they aren’t doing it for me. Still, they go down well, and that’s a good thing. But I’m here for the headliners, them and them alone. Seeing them walk out onstage for likely the final time, singer Rob Younger bowing as he gets to the mic, it was emotional for me. Lead guitarist Deniz Tek is playing the Epiphone Crestwood guitar that used to belong to Fred ‘Sonic’ Smith of the MC5, which makes that guitar into a rock and roll equivalent of a piece of the True Cross. For those keeping track, Tek’s also an emergency surgeon and former US Navy aviator, who’s callsign was Iceman. Legend has it the Top Gun production crew visited the squadron he served with, which led Birdman associate Mark Sisto to later write to Rolling Stone magazine to say “You see, I know the real Iceman and Val Kilmer, you are no Deniz Tek.” Keyboardist Pip Hoyle’s all in black, which combined with the red tie he’s wearing makes him look like a pulp hero. I’ve no idea if the Spirit or Shadow ever moonlighted in rock bands, but he sure looks the part. I can’t not mention the rest of the band though, with Jim Dickson (bass), Nik Reith (drums) and Dave Kettley (guitar) firing on all cylinders. But it’s hard to take the eyes from Younger and Tek – Younger’s stage moves are as chaotic as always, while Tek’s intense façade breaks and he cracks a smile a couple of times during the show. It’s genuinely unsettling.

They open with Smith and Wesson Blues, and we’re off and racing. It’s functionally a greatest hits set, mixing material from the ‘classic’ albums (Radios Appear and Living Eyes) and a few from 2006’s Zeno Beach, with covers of Route 66 and the Velvet Underground’s Rock and Roll in the encore. It’s impossible to build a setlist that will please everyone, but this one bounces well between the faster and slower tracks – Alone in the Endzone, then Do the Pop or later on, a thundering version of Descent into the Maelstrom is followed by Man with Golden Helmet, at which point a slightly intoxicated seeming woman yells at me how it’s her favourite song. Also, it took a lot of restraint during Descent not to throw myself into the crowd. We’re packed in pretty tightly, so my air guitar reflex is restrained. My calves and hips over the other hand, ached for several days afterwards from toe tapping and beat keeping. I’d be curious to see what my brain activity is like during that song, but I couldn’t be lying down during the test.

Might be about the time I started to smell something in the crowd – could have been fresh paint from the graffiti tunnel I’d walked through, a curious ‘substance’ I’m unaware of or someone near me badly misjudged a fart. Mostly I was glad it didn’t appear to be me. The intro’s to Hand of Law and Monday Morning Gunk are extended, and both work beautifully – that bass rumble that begins Hand sounds all the more ominous being on repeat, and the way Gunk begins, with delicate picking that slowly ramps up speed, it’s just *chef kiss* Finally New Race kicks in, and a roar of cries of “Yeah Hup!” signify the end of the set. Mercifully, we get a few more songs after they come back. Murder City Nights goes down a treat, after which Tek says “We’re gonna do one more then we’re gonna get outta here”, and proceeds to thank management, crew and venue staff. At that point my hopes and prayers are answered as that drum pattern kicks in and we get Aloha Steve and Danno. I may have shed a tear or two as I cheered them goodbye, and I regret nothing.

I collect my thoughts, make sure the shirt I bought is still hanging in my belt and commence my journey home. It was a night for the ages. We will never see their likes again, and my nights are dark and empty when they’re not on TV. Book em Danno, Murder One!

PS: Apparently Albo, aka Prime Minister Anthony Albanese, was seen backstage.

An exhibition of sheer precision

The urge to write has kicked in again, so here’s what I’ve been up to since the last actual proper update. There’s been some gigs, some leather and more thoughts on LARP. So, let’s start with the music shall we?

Gig 1: The Sunnyboys. One of the leading lights of the early 80’s Sydney rock scene, embarking on their farewell tour. I had to travel down to Newcastle for this, though managing to book a room above a pub barely 200 meters from the venue was a masterstroke on my part. Also an accident, but enough of that. It’s been a while since I’d seen a gig with that much love in the room, and tears of love and joy. The songs were just as wonderful live as they were on record, with Trouble In My Brain hitting a lot harder knowing of both singer Jeremy Oxley’s undiagnosed (at the time) schizophrenia and my own brain issues. I’m Shaking and Tunnel of Love were beautiful in their intensity and Alone With You had the audience cheering and weeping in equal measure. I’d have loved to have my wife there to fall into her arms and weep. That song has quite the effect on me.

Gig 2: Heilung. A band best described as Iron Age folk music and who’s gigs are described as rituals, I was really glad to manage to get a ticket for it. Presentation and atmosphere wise, it was 10/10 and more shows should begin with an acknowledgement of country. A curious mix of people in the crowd, ranging from goths to Vikings to goth Vikings. Between the light show, the band chanting and people wandering round stage with swords and spears, there was no shortage of things going on. It also featured one of the most Australian things I’ve ever seen, with the cheers at the end of one song punctuated with a loud cry of “Aww, fuck yeah cunt!” Very glad I saw it, but the songs did kind of blend into one another, though not in a bad way, more a Ramones circa It’s Alive kind of way, if that makes sense. More atmospheric than air guitar, but it was a hell of an experience either way.

Gig 2: Metal Gods. A tribute to the works of Judas Priest and the late great Ronnie James Dio, fronted by former Priest vocalist Tim ‘Ripper’ Owens and featuring former AC/DC drummer Simon Wright. This was a night of air guitar, flailing limbs and HEAVY FUCKING METAL, some of my favourite things. Look, Ripper’s between song banter could have been trimmed, but getting Kill the King, Electric Eye, Hell Bent for Leather and The Last in Line all performed in a row was basically an out of body experience for me. And that’s without mentioning the two older gentlemen near me who were having the time of their lives – the excited hug they gave each other when the intro to Holy Diver started didn’t just warm my heart, I damn near wept. Yes, I can weep with joy and air guitar – it’s called multitasking. Guitar solo’s probably should have been left back in the 80’s, or when the singer badly needs to pee mid concert, but the encore of Heaven and Hell made it all worthwhile. A glorious night at which I air guitared as if my life depended on it, and I regret nothing. I’ve talked with my wife more than once about bringing her to one of these shows so she can watch me. She likes doing that.

Gig 4: Henry Rollins. The artist I’ve seen the most over my life (in band and talking mode), it had been far too long since he’d graced our shores. Basically, he will hit stage and talk at (not to) the audience for around 2 and a half hours barely taking breath and I’d missed it so damn much. It’s hard to explain unless you’re there, the way he can go from side splittingly funny to brutally emotional in about 2 seconds flat, but he manages it like no other artist I’ve ever seen. It was a friend of my wife’s first time seeing him and I’m not sure she had any idea what was about to hit her. She’d heard his spoken word albums, but the experience of seeing Henry in the flesh is something else.

So yeah, there’s been some great shows. Some other great things have arrived in my house of late – there was the giant hat I wore at Path of the Warden, which took nearly a year to arrive but was worth the wait. Thanks to an op shop I got my hands on a long held dream, that being a heavy biker style jacket. My wife calls it my Ramones jacket, I call it my mid-life crisis. Sleeves are a little long for my arms, but putting the thing on just makes me feel good, and really, that’s what’s important. Though I’m torn between feeling hell bent for leather and wanting to hitch a ride to Rockaway Beach… Lastly, some armour! I was at a recent medieval event, demoing with my sword group, and while wandering early in the day, saw it. The leather worker was kind enough to let me try it on, it fit, and unknown to me my fate was sealed there. I checked with my wife, who approved, and while I held out as long as I could, by the end of the day the urge was too strong and I raced back and purchased it. it’s not exactly a fit for my Warden character, but I’m eyeing it off wearing it at Lost Settlers next year.

Speaking of Warden, it’s been on my mind a lot, or to hear my wife tell it, “It’s all he’s been able to talk about.” She’s not wrong. Future events are still unknown and my feelings are “Don’t give me hope.” Don’t get me wrong, if one is announced I’ll be there like a shot, as I adore my character and want to continue his story, but only if things are worthwhile. I don’t want an event for the sake of one, but only if there’s a good reason in character for it. I don’t want to cheapen the experience, or have diminishing returns. If I lived closer I’d be petitioning for a smaller scale event, whether that be my character’s wedding or the PC’s coming back together to tell bullshit stories about our exploits. I also just really want to see all the other players and crew again, as they were universally lovely. To spend more time with those I barely talked to that game, swapping “No shit, there I was” stories and bouncing round terrible ideas, like a convention after party but with foam weapons. *ponders* There’s an idea in that…

It’s also had me musing on how much the short format event pushed me out of my comfort zone and to get shit done, as does the threat of perma-death. I’m sure I’ve talked about this before, but for new readers I’ll give you the short version: basically, I need deadlines to get shit done. Regular events have me going “Oh, I’ll do that thing next session” whereas one shots have me all “Gotta get stuff done ASAP!” I like getting stuff done in games, it helps things stick in my head. All too often a session will end and I’ll think “What actually happened that session?” It’s no slight at all to the other players or GM, just how my brain functions. I really enjoyed how much I managed to get done/experience at Warden, and hope to continue that at future games I get to. I’ve been looking into getting to Concord at some point, game in New Zealand again, or even trying to run something myself again, hopefully having learnt some lessons from my last few attempts. Pheno first though, for which I should be writing.

Time for bed now. Be seeing you,.

“You know where the **** you are?”

Guns N’ Roses, with Cosmic Psychos and The Chats.
Accor Stadium Sydney, November 27th.

This was a day a long time coming, and I don’t just mean the gig, delayed near 2 years owing to Covid. This was something 13 year old me had dearly hoped for and 42 year old also dearly hoped for. As a beardless youth (Yes, back in the dawn of time you could see my chin) Appetite for Destruction was the angriest thing I’d heard, and while it’s long been eclipsed on that front (I hadn’t yet heard Slayer for one thing), side A (Kids, ask your parents what that means) still holds a lot of nostalgic power for me. For all I talk about my punk credentials, at heart I’m a metal guy, and the more over the top the better. Call me what you will, just don’t call me afraid to air guitar.

As for Guns, that early fire soon died away in a chemical, financial and egomaniacal haze. With singer Axl Rose the last remaining of the original group, it didn’t feel like Guns anymore. The bad blood between Axl and everyone else was legendary, the endless squabbling and lawsuits, and the seemingly never ending saga that was the Chinese Democracy album, to quote the song Pretty Tied Up:
Once there was this rock n’ roll band
Rollin’ on the streets
Time went by and it became a joke.
We just needed more and more fulfilling… uh-huh
Time went by and it all went up in smoke

So, news of guitarist Slash and bassist Duff McKagan’s return in 2016 for the aptly named ‘Not in this Lifetime’ tour was met with joy and nervousness. Could they set aside all that bad blood? Could they recapture the fire they once had, and lost to drugs and egos? Could Axl’s voice hold up? Could Slash’s top hat still stay magically attached to his head? Did Axl ever destroy the white biker jacket he wore in the Paradise City video, or did he pass it on to Lars Ulrich? Inquiring minds want answers!

The choice of supports was baffling, to say the least. To be fair, Guns have a history with Australian rock, covering Rose Tattoo’s Nice Boys (Don’t Play Rock And Roll) back in the day. But choosing two of the more aggressively well, Australian, acts out there, despite the Psychos long history and the Chats hot new thing status, still doesn’t match to me, with the last burst of genuine aggression from the 80’s LA glam scene. Still, that’s why I’m not booking gigs I guess.

I enter the venue and embark on a journey to find my seat as the Psychos are early in their set, and Nice Day To Go To The Pub blares out. It’s frequently a thankless task as a support band, but they do their thing with abandon, guitarist John McKeering showing off his… substantial lack of abs during closer David Lee Roth. Next up, The Chats, and I find myself craving a pub schnitty. Coincidence? The venue’s verging on half full by the time they start, and that’s where things get…. Hmmm. Now, the bass sound for the Psychos I’d expected, but the Chat’s sound is even worse, not helped by the bands seeming tendency to play even faster than on disc. In a smaller venue that might work better, but in a half full stadium it turns the gig into a blur. I’m reminded of the difference in the Ramones albums It’s Alive and Loco Live – the former is at full speed, the latter is at ludicrous speed and the worse for it. Mostly it reminds me of my preference for smaller venues – stadium size pyro and staging are a lot of fun – it’s always amazing seeing the giant Eddie emerge at an Iron Maiden gig – but being packed in a tiny room and 3 feet from the stage while jams are kicked out, that’s a feeling like few others for me.

“Who’s keen for the Gunners? Bad news, we’ve a couple more songs.” That line from Chats singer Eamon Sandwith immediately lodged itself in my ‘Greatest Things I’ve Heard on Stage’ List. Off they go, and then comes the rain. And yes, the gig was in November. *sighs* The skies been threatening all afternoon, and now the heavens open. This delays Guns by about 20 minutes or so, waiting for lightning strikes to pass, but the intro tape finally begins, the bass rumble of It’s So Easy starts up and we’re off and running. I am also off and air guitaring, in news that should surprise no-one. There’s Ukrainian flags side stage and Axl has an Aboriginal flag and kangaroo warning sign on his pants. Nice. He also has a fine line in stage jackets, at least two of which I was disappointed to find replicas weren’t available outside the show, not to mention the hat he wore during Paradise City. Cosplayers, do your thing!

Mr Brownstone and Chinese Democracy follow, as does the first cover of the night, Velvet Revolver’s Slither. First impressions are that Duff McKagan has aged very, very well while Axl’s voice has lost a little of it’s youthful power, that scream still remains. I could make a unfair comparison to Vince Neil‘s recent vocal struggles, but that would mean admitting his voice had any power in the first place and that’s a hill I will die on. Voices change for most people and that’s fine- there’s only one Ronnie James Dio after all. Anyhow, we get the first of several indulgent solos (Link Wray’s Rumble, to be precise), till a familiar echo pedal kicks in and we know where the fuck we are, we’re in the jungle baby! I’m pretty sure my grin is a mile wide at this point. On goes the show – Live and Let Die, despite the middle section, cracks like thunder, and the solos (For Slash and rhythm guitarist Richard Fortus) during Rocket Queen have me thinking it’s time to quest to the toilet. Any discomfort is forgotten at the intro to You Could Be Mine – I’m curious what the people around me though what was I doing as I raise my arms to the sky in joy, assuming they weren’t looking at the stage AS THEY SHOULD BE. It’s around this time I notice there’s a sizable gap around me – the people a few rows in front are wearing plastic ponchos or dealing with the rain and most of the people behind have retreated under the awning, so I have several rows to myself. It’s as if the universe went “See the mad fucker air guitaring like he’s possessed – just stay the fuck away from him.”

I’ve no idea if anyone was watching me. At the end one of the friends I went with said “You looked like you were having a good time” I’ve not gone thought their footage yet to see if I made the cut, and I’d likely be incredibly embarrassed to see myself. Live music light’s a fire under me like few other things can. There just seemed to be a lot of folks just in their seats watching the show calmly and those who’ve been with me to shows know that is most certainly NOT how I roll. Once again, my bladder desperately tries to get my attention, as Axl hands the mic over to Duff, but another familiar rumble begins and suddenly I’m going nuts to I Wanna Be Your Dog. I seem to be the only one around me doing so. Philistines. A massive Ukrainian flag on the monitor intros Civil War and Slash get’s another solo. I’d rather have heard Out ta Get Me or Don’t Damn Me myself, but let’s be fair here – the man could walk onstage, fart in a kazoo and leave and we’d still likely go ape shit. Sweet Child O’ Mine induces a massive sing along as the place is lit by smart phones and November Rain feels oddly short. Worth it for the solo though.

We’re getting close to the end of the night and I’m feeling punch drunk with joy and exhaustion. No time to rest though, as the intro to AC/DC’s Whole Lotta Rosie has me up and racing around, albeit nervously, as I’d rather not stack it over the chairs. I love the idea of mosh pits, but I know my tolerance for pain and it’s piss poor. Knocking On Heaven’s Door and Nightrain close things out and I mercifully collapse. A short wait and they return, with Coma and the acoustic double bill of Don’t Cry and Patience cooling things, but the couple in front of me tenderly embracing through the former 2 songs warms the heart and makes me wish my wife was there. The selfie I sent her earlier can in no way explain how happy I am. Live music isn’t her thing (with the notable exception of the upcoming tour by K-Pop group Stray Kids), but she does like seeing me happy.

To end things we get Paradise City, and a singalong ensues, before several thousand rather damp people try to find a train home. A group of people at the train station call out for Adam, a call that’s taken up by fellow passengers. Several calls of “I’m Adam and so is my wife!” ensue, along with “ADRIAN!” It’s good humoured, unlike some post gig moments I’ve had over the years. The 1:47am coastal express from Central brings back unpleasant memories. Soon enough it’s my own bed, and trying not to wake my wife.

Many, many thanks to the friends who bought me a ticket all those years ago – hopefully you could tell how much fun I had. Hell of a show. Not without fault, between sound, setlist and an odd choice of supports, but no gig is perfect, with the possible exception of Maiden in 08, and Birdman at the Gaelic – they opened with Do The Pop and my head damn near exploded. But I can’t complain. 13 year old me got to live out a dream, and 42 year old got to look like a fool all in the name of fun. What more can you ask for?

snores What?

It’s a Sunday afternoon, and my head is a mess. I’m over tired, and kinda fried. I took the first sleeping pill I got from one of my doctors Friday night and I’m glad I waited till then, as it wiped me out most of Saturday. I’d been looking forward to Saturday night, in which I was going with Godson, Age 10 and his mother to see Alice Cooper, the boy’s first rock show. Well, unless you count the Wiggles gigs he saw as a nipper. Things did not start well, as owing to a spectacular 3-way stuff up between myself, Sydney Buses and Google Maps, things got so cocked up travel wise so we missed the first support act, the MC50, who I’d dearly wanted to see and I raced in to catch Airborne’s final song.

sleeping cat

Fortunately, Alice helped make up for that, with he and his band putting on a cracker of a show. Things kicked off with Feed my Frankenstein, and it was on for young and old. (Also, the makeup of the audience). Alice prowled the stage, as his guitarists hurled themselves around and the drummer had a fine knack for twirling and hurling his sticks around. A hapless young teen was butchered by Jason Voorhees during He’s Back and I’m Eighteen is still one of the most perfect pieces of teen angst ever put to tape, one that hits me as hard at 39 as it did at 18.

The solos, while more than technically proficient, left me a bit cold, as with every twirl or throw of a drumstick I couldn’t help but think ‘Will this be the time he drops one?’ A confetti cannon blasted cash in the air during Billion Dollar Babies, and it wouldn’t be an Alice set with him being murdered somehow, this time by Madame Guillotine. it winds up with a short encore of Department of Youth and School’s Out, with a large section of the audience racing for the gents seconds afterwards, if the queue where I was was any indication. As one fellow in the queue noted “It’s an ageing rock crowd and a prostate issue.”

We made our way outside just as Queen were working through Bohemian Rhapsody next door, and it’s a testament to both the power of that song and Wayne’s World based nostalgia that it immediately summoned an impromptu singalong and air guitar from the crowd. Mercifully, the train ride home was far speedier than getting there, so all ended well. Both Godson and his mother enjoyed the show, which was pleasing. You’ll have to survive without photos, as being up in the nosebleeds meant mine are blurry as hell.

Friday night was spent at the theater with my wife, watching the Complete Works of Shakespeare. It was a Valentine surprise, that I’d worked to keep. I was told a few weeks ago that she had plans, and that I would like them, and despite a couple of offers to let me know, I elected to keep the surprise. I adore that show, for the sheer lunacy and jokes like “Titus Andronicus, the cooking show!” I continue to be glad I managed to avoid being dragged on stage. A glorious night, and well worth catching if you can.

Krustyaudience

Outside that, the LARP angst has continued. Well, less angst and more indecision. The torment of so many options and a deadline creeping up on me. Every-time I think I’ve made a decision, the brain reminds me of other options, in it’s usual distracting fashion. Also, having started to learn rapier has me wanting to carry one, and I hadn’t initially planned on that. Fortunately, I own a LARP one, along with a suitable baldric, so that’s one problem sorted. One the bright side, I’ve submitted to Pheno, so *fingers crossed* Now I just have to endure the wait will late April/early May when I find out if I’m successful.

Be seeing you…

DEATH TO FALSE METAL!

Ross the Boss / Night Legion / Carbon Black
The Metro Sydney, Nov 23rd 2019.

Guitarist Ross ‘The Boss’ Friedman first came to my attention through his work with NYC punk group The Dictators, who’s first album ‘Go Girl Crazy’ is both a classic of the genre and among the first punk albums released. But tonight isn’t a night for that – there’s no time for Two Tub Man or sign of Master Race Rock. Tonight we’re here to celebrate his other well known act, the speaker exploding loincloth wearing kings of metal, the one, the only, Manowar!

This was a night for the diehards. A night where battle vests were donned like knights of old donned mail, where mighty warriors came to celebrate the music they love, hair was let down and much air guitar was played. Sure, sections of the crowd looked closer to Cohen than Conan, but that lends further evidence to my theory that there’s going to be some amazing retirement communities in a few years. Anyhow, I feel I should begin by apologizing to the woman in front of me for the volume I was screaming in your left ear at various points through the show. Sure, you didn’t seem to notice (It was very loud), or were too polite to say anything, but I was raised to be what some folks consider overly polite.

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It was also a night to wear earplugs. I keep meaning to invest in a quality pair. Maybe for Download or Maiden next year. Owing to some fun with trackwork and a post sword nap that was over long, I found myself rushing to get there just as Ross and co was due to hit stage, so there was some relief at their set starting 15 minutes late. My heartfelt apologies to the supports, it ain’t easy, especially when the attendance isn’t great. The Metro seems about half full, and and I’m able to make it to the front with ease. Things fill up a bit more as showtime grows closer, but it’s still only half to 2/3rds full.

While the set starts strong, with Blood of the Kings opening, it’s not till Blood of my Enemies that things really get going. Kill with Power has the crowd roaring along, and Bridge of Death has all the pomp and ceremony/absurdity of the original intact. Battle Hymn fucking DESTROYS and as dodgy as Hail and Kill’s lyrics are (If you don’t know them, then you’ve been warned), it still goes down a treat. And before we know it, it’s all over.

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We got was was promised, the Manowar album Hail to England, played in full (Minus the bass solo Black Arrows, who’s intro I was quite looking forward to) as for the band, they played it beautifully – Ross hasn’t lost any skill with age, the bass player was phenomenal, the vocalist has quite the scream and a fine command of cheesy metal stage patter and their drummer was both fantastic and well, damn… I’m not saying I’d switch sides (He’s not Nathan Fillion circa Firefly), but I certainly noticed him, unlike most drummers.

All in all, it was a grand night. Heavy metal was played. Horns were thrown, heads were banged and much fun seemed to be had by all. Can’t wait for the next one.

Download Down Under!

Download Festival Australia – 09/03/19

Long queues for food and toilets, garbage strewn all around and a horrifying smell coming from the portaloos – yep, it’s a music festival. It’s also threatening a downpour, which brings to mind faded memories of reading reviews of the ~~mud pit~~ Alternative Nation festival in, I think, 94? I do have to say this to my fellow attendees first off though: PICK YOUR GARBAGE UP PEOPLE. More bins would have been handy sure, but that’s little excuse. The place was strewn with food scraps, containers and cans, and I’ll put money on the cleaners not getting paid enough no matter what they’re getting. Mind you, in a perfect world cleaners would be paid as much as CEO’s are now, but I’ll step down from my soapbox now.

The author mid Anthrax, photo requested by his wife.
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It’s been a while between drinks rock and roll festival wise – with the collapse of both Soundwave and the Big Day Out in recent years, so Download has been a sight for sore eyes, and eardrums. After something of a trek to get there (Thanks Gladys, choice weekend for trackwork down my train line), both cloak and security compliment my kilt (The first of more than a few) and I make my way inside. I have a bit of a wander round, and arrive at I PREVAIL’S singer doing a shoey at the urging of the crowd. In his words, “tastes like athelete’s foot.” The rain’s sprinkling, and the clouds aren’t that dark, but there’s potential for a mud fest. Goody. My afternoon begins properly with AIRBOURNE, who for a band that claims to be playing their first gig in a year and a half, don’t show it one fucking bit. They bring all their ferocious dedication to rock and roll and then some, hurling themselves around the stage, with singer Joel O’Keefe at one point clambering onto a security guard’s shoulders and going out into the crowd, still playing. If anyone deserves to be AC/DC 2.0, it’s them. BEHEMOTH start the next stage over, and while they aren’t my cup of tea, I have to observe that corpse paint doesn’t go so well in bright sunshine.

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Airbourne kicking it out.

I go off in search of food, which means times queing, as is the festival way. Thanks to me being picky and possibly not being in the right queue, I abandon my search and return to the main stages in time for ANTHRAX. Having one of the Big 4 on at 4:30 in the afternoon raises my hackles a little, but that’s burned away by their set – few bands can match them. Yeah, you could say it’s a greatest hits set, but how many other bands can casually walk onstage playing Cowboys from Hell, and have the likes of Caught in a Mosh, Got the Time and I Am the Law as the first three songs? Be All End All went on a bit (Lads, you’ve only got 45 minutes), but a crowd participation double bill of Antisocial and Indians finished things up nicely, and all of a sudden it was over. My quest for food returns anew, and stops me getting to RISE AGAINST, who sounded pretty good. Sorry lads, but kilted metal head needs food badly. I highly doubt the ‘cheese’ on my schnitzel is genuine, but I’m hungry enough not to care. While eating I discover that THY ART IS MURDER aren’t to my taste, but watching them get a circle pit going around the sound tent was fun. It’s finally getting dark and the bats are out. Excellent. This leaves me ready for HALESTORM, who don’t disappoint. Alas, I have to make a small detour to get my jacket back (trying to beat the end of day queues) and put my phone onto charge, as I’m running low and will need more power for later. Upon returning, Lizzy and co haven’t stopped rocking out, and I kick myself for not hearing them sooner. Also, their drummer has a fantastic knack for mid song drum stick twirling.

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Scott Ian. What a guy…

At this point I return to the main stage as ALICE IN CHAINS are finishing up, and go down a treat based on the audiences reaction. All of a sudden, there’s an air raid siren and BLACK SABBATH’s War Pigs thunders out. But Ozzy had to cancel I hear you say, what the hell? JUDAS PRIEST hit stage, roaring through Firepower and things go more than a little apeshit. They only up the ante, with Delivering the Goods, Sinner and Lightning Strike following and at that point my smile is so wide it starts and ends in different time zones. Yeah, to my ears Rob Halford’s voice was a little buried (Unlike his relentlessly cheery Instagram) and he may well have been using a teleprompter, but overall it didn’t matter a bit. The between song breaks for (I’m guessing) instrument changes and for Rob to change jackets start to drag, but the power of the songs cuts out any issues. Plus, at one point he comes on wearing an ankle length denim battle vest covered in patches, a garment that almost no-one else could carry off with such style.

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JUDAS FREAKING PRIEST. METAL GODS.

No Surrender is dedicated to Priest guitarist Glenn Tipton (who’s battling Parkinsons) and Rob waves a lightsaber around during Rising to Ruins (No, I’ve no idea why either). He also drives a Harley onstage for Hell Bent for Leather, a feat that has me jumping with glee. Things end with a ripping Painkiller, but a faint suspicion that it ain’t all over. How could it possibly be, as we haven’t heard, wait… What’s that? Yes, it’s The Hellion, followed by a storming Electric Eye, and, of course, Breaking the Law. I nearly weep with joy at this point. We may never see their like again, so appreciate them while you can.

Next stage over, things get more, well, evil. As the curtain drops, SLAYER open their final Sydney show with a ripping Repentless. They also have a pyro set up that if you put me at Dave Bostaph’s drum kit it would have made me load my trousers and flee – I’m a good distance back and can still feel my eyebrows being scorched. Alas, after a shredding War Ensemble I have to depart, as GHOST are soon to start. Cardinal Copia and the nameless Ghouls are (to my ears) hampered by a bass heavy sound mix, but the quality of the songs and the Cardinal’s cheeky stage banter (At one point commenting that the next song will ‘wobble our asses and tickle our taint” wins out over any sound issues – Ritual is received raptorously and the explosion of the end of Pinnacle to the Pit makes me jump. Before we know it, there’s a shower of sparks from above the stage, the band take their bows and it’s all over.

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Ghost doing their thing. Equal parts spooky and sexy.

As the motley horde shamble their way to the train station (with only the occasional scream of “SLAAAYYYER!”) to break the conversation, I consider myself fortunate to live in such an age. I saw 5 other kilts, had a guy ask if he could get a pic of me and his wife and am still deciding what was my favorite t-shirt was (I’m torn between Frenzal Rhomb’s Pell Awaits or the bright pink Death Metal number). I bloody love live music. It was a good day, a bloody good day. Sure, there was the odd pocket of testosterone fueled shit behaviour, but it was damned encouraging to see so many women there as well. Metal’s for all and long may it remain so. *throws horns*

He was very confused when I asked for a photo.

RUM! BEER! QUESTS AND MEAD!

Alestorm / Rumahoy / Christopher Bowes and his Plate of Beans
The Metro, Sydney – 08/02/19

Heavy metal is at it’s best when is embraces the ridiculous. From the theatrics of Kiss and Alice Cooper, Sabaton using a tank as a drum riser and Iron Maiden’s Eddie, metal attracts what would in other circumstances be considered utterly absurd. And Alestorm fit that bill perfectly – songs about drinking, pirates, wenches and more drinking, who can resist that? Yes, I’m aware that being teetotal myself and delighting in tales of alcoholic and chemical excess means I have issues, but I figure by this time I have subscriptions.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the Metro, but the smell of spilt beer and sticky carpet bring back memories. Seeing the Datsuns turn the 6 minute Freeze Sucker into a 15 minute epic was one of the greatest nights of my life, and possibly the closest I’ve come to death from sheer exhaustion. Also, seeing the Town Hall McDonalds on a Friday night filled with a mix of very pretty early 20’s people pre clubbing, and a motley hoard of people dressed as pirates was, quite frankly, fucking hilarious and should happen more often.

Thanks to the rain delaying my train and a need for food I miss most of CHRISTOPHER BOWES AND HIS PLATE OF BEANS (AKA Alestorm singer Bowes new side project), arriving for the final two songs, which, well, weren’t quite to my taste. In all fairness, it was their first show, but songs about beans just don’t seem to be my thing. The length of the merch queue puts me off, and I choose to wait for RUMAHOY, who continue tonights pirate themed shenanigans, though oddly they choose to hit stage all wearing balaclavas, which means many a mid song adjustment. It’s not bad, and I’ll give them another shot, but a few songs in I decide to brave the merch line, and come away with a snazzy t-shirt.

The plate of beans really wasn’t pulling it’s weight.

The between set Queen mix-tape prompts a surprise singalong, and it’s the first show I’ve been to where I’ve heard the theme to Blazing Saddles. Finally, ALESTORM hit stage*, and things really start jumping. Ripping into Keelhauled, they waste zero time in getting things going, and put on a set so fun I’m shocked the NSW government didn’t shut it down half way through. The packed out crowd need no signal to start singing along, and a section of the pit even commences rowing during Nancy the Tavern Wench. Choruses are lustily bellowed along to, and Bowes comments that this is the biggest crowd they’ve played to in Australia, which brings cheers from the crowd, matched only by the boo’s when one of the support is introduced as being from Brisbane. The Queenslander in question then proceeds to down a bottle of Jagermeister at speed, and seemed little worse for wear. I’m not quite sure what the giant inflatable duck was doing on stage (I know not to pick them up in dungeons, but what about at concerts?), but a slightly smaller version was hurled into the crowd, and swiftly destroyed upon command.

Why a duck?

Things come to an end far too soon, with a riotous run through Shipwrecked, followed by the encore, that ending as Bowes introduced the song that would tell us how he felt about us, which meant the crowd roaring the gleefully offensive Fucked by an Anchor back at him.

It was thoroughly stupid, and equal amounts of fun. I can’t wait till they return.

* Side note: Bowes was kilted, which meant I was no longer the only kilted person in the place.

ROOOOOOOOTS BLOODY ROOOOOOTS

Max and Iggor Cavalera / Skindred, Sydney Big Top Sep 22 2017.

Sepultura’s album Roots holds a special place in my heart, as what helped expand the visions of what metal could be, sending me down a different path. True, it didn’t eclipse my burgeoning love for all things Iron Maiden, but that passion was both A: in it’s infancy and B: still something of a guilty pleasure for me, a feeling that took me a good few years to openly embrace. Given the nature and ferocity of their split, or rather frontman Max Cavalera’s split from the rest of the band, I’d long figured I’d have had no chance of seeing the songs performed live. True, Max had reunited with Sepultara drummer (and brother) Iggor in 2006 and formed Cavalera Conspiracy, among Max’s numerous other projects, but when it was annouced the two brothers would be touring the Roots album in full, well, I was there. The fact ragga metallers Skindred would be supporting them was less the icing on the cake for me, and more the cake itself. Sure, it did seem a little akward to be keener on the support than the headline, but I figure support bands deserve love all, right?

I trundle my way down to the venue, check in my bag and already curse both the venue’s no steel cap shoe policy and my being raised Lawful Good. *sighs* I make my way to the front early, wanting to be right up there for Skindred, and after an epic wait, the strains of the Imperial March ring out and the band hit stage. Singer Benji Webbe, sunglass clad and impossibly cool, climbs up on the monitors, Under Attack kicks off and my head begins to thrash. They put on an impeccably cheerful set, freely admitting that they’re here to get people warmed up for Max and co, but in no way slacking off because of it. Kill the Power has the audience roaring, Machine (From the then forthcoming new album) howls like a banshee and we end Warning with the now traditional Newport Helicopter. The cheeky gits even leave the stage to a burst of Nobody Does it Better…

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Benji Webbe – LORD OF ALL HE SURVEYS.

After putting my shirt back on, I vacate the mosh pit in search of food and drink. And safety – I have what could be charitably called a piss poor tolerance for pain, and I can see the size of the people behind me. Making my way to safety (AKA the upstairs seating), I settle in for the main event. Anticipation builds, the mosh pit grows even more frenzied and the they hit stage. what can I say about Max, other than he looks just like someone who’d give you a quest in a post apolyptic RPG. He grabs the mic, bellows “ARE YOU READY? ROOTS, BLOODY ROOOOOTS” and we’re off. Goddamn, I’d almost forgotten how hard that song hits, and I can barely draw breath. Attitude has the crowd roaring, and Cut Throat is extraordinary, to say nothing of the look of awe on my face at hearing Ratamahatta played live. Things slow down a little mid set , but picks up with a storming Endangered Species and album closer Dictatorshit. I’m lathered in sweat and ragged and 16 year old me can’t believe what he’s just seen. The encore of a medley of early Sepultura goes down a treat, as does covers of Venom’s Black Metal and Motorhead’s Ace of Spades, ending with a reprise of Roots, Bloody Roots.

See, I have proof!

Alas, none of my photos of the headliners turned out OK, and I don’t remember who the rest of the band were, though their moves came straight from the ‘Big Book of Metal Stage Moves’, complete with wide stance and head bob. But I can’t bring myself to mock much, given the faces I’ve pulled while playing Guitar Hero over the years.

As we shamble out into the night, battered, only slightly bleeding (Small cur on the finger, nothing to worry about) and very happy, I once again think just how much I love live music. There’s nothing like it.

MAIDENS! clapclapclap

A long overdue review of the Iron Maidens/Gypsy gig, Sydney Manning Bar 31/05/18.

It’s a cold and breezy night in Sydney, not a night to be kilted, as I am. *ahem* After an interesting amount of bus and foot travel, I arrive as Gypsy are ripping through Kiss’s I Stole Your Love, and continue in that vein, playing a set chock full of NWOBHM inspired rock, culminating in a blast through Judas Priest’s Steeler to close. They certainly put their all into things, and while the mid set bubble gun and balloons don’t set the audience alight as perhaps hoped, they deserve an audience that’s keen to see them, and not just the headliners. With a loud cry of “We’re Gypsy and we’ll see you at the merch desk!” they depart, and the wait for the headliners begins.

20180531_212228 Sooty and Maiden go way back.

Thus begins the change over, during which I notice the Maiden’s drum kit features Sooty (As is customary) and an already rather inebriated man next to me tries to claim that since it’s his birthday I should buy him a drink. No mate, not happening. Nor do I care for the busty lady in photoshopped ‘I love thrash metal’ shirt wallpaper on your phone you keep trying to show me, nor indeed the large amount of wolf whistling from the crowd during the Maiden’s set. Really people? Moving on…

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SCREAM FOR HER SYDNEY!

After what seems like an eternity (Actually about 40 mins), the strains of UFO’s Doctor Doctor (As covered by Blaze Bayley era Maiden) rings out and the Maidens take the stage. Churchill’s speech begins, and we’re off with a bang as Aces High takes off! Yeah, I went there. We get a set chock full of classic era (The youngest song is from 1992) hits with a couple more obscure numbers thrown in (I don’t think anyone expected The Duelists) and whilst I was hoping for Wrathchild, seeing Alexander the Great done live was quite the treat – Steve Harris rhyming ‘334BC’ with ‘Aegean Sea’ still makes me smile. I almost turned in my fan card at discovering what I’d thought was Children of the Damned turned out to be Murders in the Rue Morgue, but in my defense both songs intros do sound a little bit alike. A giant cyborg Eddie takes the stage during Wasted Years and we end with a huge sing-along to Fear of the Dark, with, what else but Iron Maiden as the encore.

Do you call them a covers band? Well, yeah, they aren’t playing original material. But what shines through is their genuine love for the music and an incredible amount of skill at it – Maiden themselves haven’t played Alexander live. It was a hell of a night, and I hope they return soon.

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Photo from the Iron Maidens Twitter. I’m somewhere down the bottom left.

SET LIST:
Churchill’s Speech / Aces High
2 Minutes to Midnight
22 Acacia Avenue
The Trooper
The Duelists
Number of the Beast
Alexander the Great
Murders in the Rue Morgue
Wasted Years
Children of the Damned
Fear of the Dark
ENCORE:
Iron Maiden

shoutybeardything

Category gig review