Aussie Rock Titans Bring the Noise

Written by: Tom Wilson @thetomwilsonexperiment - Sense Music Media | Tuesday 15 March 2022

FRENZAL RHOMB axeman and Spring Loaded MC Lindsay McDougall kicks things off with an acknowledgement of the traditional owners of the lands, the Yugarabul people, and of the devastating floods that have wreaked havoc on Queensland and NSW. He introduces the first act of the day, grunge-y electro-rockers CALIGULA. Replete with painted nails, wrist cuffs, flowing black hair and an ankh around his neck, frontman Ashley Rothschild emerges onstage like it’s the first time he’s seen the sun in a while – 80s Nick Cave meets Maynard James Keenan. It’s humid as hell, so it’s not long before they’re working up a sweat in front of the early crowd, and it looks like they haven’t missed a step since their rise in the early 90s. New song Broken gets heads nodding, and he introduces a new song with a cheeky bit of self-deprecation. “A festival no-no: another new song. Just kidding, you don’t know our old ones.”

The lineup provokes a strong sense of déjà vu, in that this is close to the original lineup that was supposed to take the stage at Sandstone Point last year, before COVID border restrictions reared their ugly head and forced changes in the lineup. This means we’re finally able to see THE FAUVES … though if guitarist Andrew Cox is to be believed, they couldn’t make it, so we’ll have to make do with THE AUSTRALIAN FAUVES EXPERIENCE. Bearing a striking resemblance to the original FAUVES, right down to the sense of humour, they put on a great show, and Hottest 100 classics Self Abuser and Dogs are the Best People are perfect Oz rock nostalgia, sounding as good as they did in 1996.

Up next, Victorian punk veterans THE MEANIES … Wait a minute, something’s gone wrong. Frontman Link Meanie tells us that their drummer, Ringo Meanie, has busted his daks right as they were due to come onstage. Once the pants-related crisis is dealt with, they barrel into their signature blend of short, sharp punk rock that has been battering eardrums since the late 80s, and once they start, they barely stop. Just when you think they’re about to take a break, bassist Wally Meanie abruptly names the next song, and they plunge right back into it. Link swivels and twists about the stage in spray-on jeans, moving like Jagger and screaming like Cobain – fitting for a band who once opened for NIRVANA – as Jay from FRENZAL RHOMB sits side-stage, singing along to every word. Old Car to Shangri-La and Gangrenous are punishing, and Link manages to have his microphone fixed mid-song without missing a single word, before 10% Weird brings the house down. Ace.

Following on from the snot-nosed agitation of THE MEANIES, local legends SCREAMFEEDER, by contrast, make a beautifully serene noise. Their indie rock sounds like the world’s loudest sunny day, and the vibe is perfect. Tim Stewart and Kellie Lloyd’s vocal harmonies intertwine perfectly, particularly on the mesmerising Dart, as the screen behind the stage plays clips of SCREAMFEEDER’s 90s music videos – their younger selves looking down on them as they continue to crush it, almost thirty years later.

As SCREAMFEEDER leave the stage, Lindsay sheds his guitar and races over to grab a mic and go straight back into MC duties. He gives thanks to all the event staff, and praises the crowd for pacing ourselves. The organisers are raffling off a Fender Stratocaster signed by GRINSPOON, with all proceeds going towards the flood relief. A worthy cause if ever there was one. The organisers have done a fantastic job here. There is no D barrier today, and with the mask mandates relaxed, the only obvious signs of COVID precautions are the hand sanitiser stations liberally scattered throughout the grounds. It honestly feels like a return to normal life.

Lindsay straps a guitar back on as FRENZAL RHOMB take to the stage, and the first mosh pit of the day breaks out. After three songs, a bloke with grey hair and a BAD BRAINS shirt stops next to me to catch his breath, and we laugh that running the pit was a lot easier before the age of 35. Jay himself muses that he is about to turn 50. But just because we’ve gotten older doesn’t mean we’ve grown up, and tracks like Russell Crowe’s Band and I Miss My Lung are still anthems. If you’ve never worn a Nazi Punks Fuck Off shirt in a FRENZAL crowd while they play Mummy Doesn’t Know that You’re a Nazi, I highly recommend it. After the pants-related shenanigans of THE MEANIES, Jay tells a story of a time that he needed a belt, and someone helpfully flings one onstage, before he lifts up his trademark long-sleeve to reassure us that it won’t be needed today. You Are Not My Friend is an epic singalong, and Punch in the Face is as subtle as a … well, you get it.

MC hat back on, Lindsay introduces Geelong rockers MAGIC DIRT, and they stride out like they own the place, going on to deliver one of the best performances of the day. They are ridiculously tight, and seamlessly improvise as amp issues threaten to disrupt the very first song. Some quick-thinking road crew wheel out a replacement, and after a few long minutes, they are back on track. Chugging bourbon and slinging banter, Adalita is rock incarnate, grinding her guitar strings on the monitors and even a passing photographer. “Get ready to headbang,” she warns, before breaking into Pace It, and guitarist Raúl Sánchez’s sideburns aren’t the only impressive chops on display. Adalita ends up writhing on her back on the stage, consumed by the music. The early delay cuts into their set time, much to the dismay of a fan who Adalita points out has been holding their phone up with “ALL MY CRUSHES” scrolling across the screen. That particular wish might not be granted today, but Dirty Jeans brings the house down.

Tonight, REGURGITATOR are quirky, subversive, profound and profane. The new generation may have turned ass-eating into a meme, but REGURGITATOR were making dance tracks about rimming in the late 90s. The Gurge will give you twenty different genres in one album, so trying to predict one of their live shows is just silly. Only their second show back after the pandemic, they storm out of the gates with Blood And Spunk, Quan Yeomans chanting “go-go-go-go-go” with a shit-eating grin on his face. The enthusiasm is infectious. Kung Foo Sing is volcanic – the pit lifts and crashes with the massive riffs. From headbanging grunge to electro-pop and high-velocity punk, there is something for everyone here tonight. Sweat and spittle flies off Quan during Track 1 as he bellows “I’m just a sucker like you!” Blubber Boy is sung in a higher key than normal, but is still fantastic, and I Will Lick Your Arsehole syncs up with some amazing graphics on the screen which look like 8-bit anuses. “Thank god the pandemic is over,” bassist Ben Ely says with a smile as he looks over the packed pit. A surprise jam of BLACK SABBATH’s Paranoid sends fists into the air, and when the band leave the stage, they look even happier to be here than we are.

One of my formative gig experiences was getting knocked clean the fuck out by a crowdsurfer during GRINSPOON at the 2002 Gone South Festival in Hobart, and I’ve since seen them almost a dozen times. It’s always amused me that, for a band known for muscular Aussie rock and mosh pit chaos, Phil Jamieson is such a flamboyant character onstage. Once again clad in stripy pants, a suit jacket and yellow sunglasses, he prances and poses as the deafening rumble of Dead Cat x3 kicks off the mosh pit, and the crowd surges in the darkness. Lost Control and American Party Bomb whip up a frenzy, and the less hardy quickly evacuate. The front of a Grinners pit is not for the faint of heart. Those who remain are treated to a set that is almost identical to last year’s Spring Loaded (and that’s a good thing). After a hyperactive Just Ace, they ease off the throttle somewhat, and Better Off Alone would’ve had lighters in the air if most of us hadn’t quit smoking by now. Mixing issues rob us of Pat Davern’s guitar during the opening of 1000 Miles, spoiling what is normally a burnout anthem, but Ready 1 brings things back on track. Phil straps on an acoustic for a vulnerable rendition of Minute by Minute, and Chemical Heart is an epic singalong. “Why is there a two-story wooden mansion in the middle of the festival?” Phil asks, pointing to the Gig Rig VIP section behind the mosh pit. “Don’t you want to come down and join the real fans?” Cheeky sod. Champion is punishing, and they close the night with a storming version of More Than You Are, as confetti cannons shoot geysers of red streamers across the mosh pit. It’s glorious.

Covered in about a hundred different people’s sweat, I arrived back home to be ambushed by my golden retriever. THE FAUVES definitely had a point about dogs. Spring Loaded 2022 was outstanding, and I cannot wait for the next one.

SPRING LOADED 2022 on Spotify