Bush, Cherri Bomb, Staind @ The Palace, Melbourne (01/03/2012)
Cherri Bomb’s sultry smiles, big hair and fierce attire certainly make for an exciting visual spectacle, but it’s their ferocious guitars, enormous vocals and gigantic songs that ultimately seize our attention. The average age of Cherri Bomb’s members is just 13, a surprising and impressive fact, as Bush’s Gavin Rossdale later states “I was doing really bad skateboard tricks at that stage of my life”. At times, the vocals are startlingly similar to those of Nina Gordon and Louise Post from Veruca Salt. Similarly, their heavenly harmonies do little to disguise their wild attitude and spunk. Attempting to engage the crowd, they encourage everyone to clap along to the final song. Unfortunately, the track doesn’t have a beat that would inspire the audience to clap along, and without any direction (we’re simply told to clap), it merely becomes a messy applause and dwindles away within seconds.
It’s surprising and somewhat perplexing that a band with a fanbase as loyal and expansive as Staind would play before a band like Bush. They may not necessary be considered a support band, since the nature of these sidewaves seems to be showcasing bands that share similar audiences. Yet, the towering, white letters spelling out “BUSH” behind them certainly gives the impression that they are a support band. Upon commencing Staind’s set, it’s immediately apparent that a decent proportion of the crowd was drawn here primarily to witness the Massachusetts quartet. Aaron Lewis (vocals, rhythm guitar) isn’t necessarily the most spirited performer.
Even when he abandons the guitar and focuses entirely on singing, the microphone seems to act more as a barrier between himself and the crowd, rather than a conduit of emotion. However, his expressive eyes and repeated clutching at his heart are mimicked by many members of the crowd, as they enthusiastically echo every word that he utters, so he’s clearly making an impression. At times, the music and vocals seem derivative of many alternative rock bands of grunge era, but the magic of Staind lies in their earnest songwriting and faultless execution.
Gavin Rossdale has seemingly not aged a single day since Bush released their first album, Sixteen Stone, back in 1994. Tonight, he’s sporting a camou jacket and has slicked his hair back into a tight bun. Introduce by a thunderous rumble, the band quickly erupts into Machinehead. No one would ever suspect the lead singer of a grunge band to be in possession of some killer dancemoves, but Rossdale really knows how to make his way across the stage. Yet, there’s nothing structured or choreographed about what he’s doing. He kicks his feet up and slides across the stage with poise and grace akin to that of a trained ballerina. It’s almost unsettling how elegant he is. Of course, the moment his lips hit the microphone and we’re treated to the sexy, grungy rasp of his voice, he immediately adopts an arresting rock star persona, seeping in unbridled masculinity and reminding us why we loved this band in the first place.
Rossdale rushes to the edge of the stage during Everything Zen, collapsing into zealous convulsions as he dextrously caresses his guitar. He leans the guitar ever closer to the head of a disinterested security guard, who seems barely aware of Rossdale’s presence. Unsurprisingly, this song serves to recruit an eager army of backing vocalists, rendering Rossdale’s raspy vocal efforts almost redundant. Commenting on the massive Soundwave lineup, Rossdale admits “I was scared because everyone looks so mean”, but he smiles cheekily as he reveals “they’re all great and they’re all respectful.” Pausing to cast his eyes across the upper levels and floor of the venue, he sighs romantically as he claims “it’s the icing on the cake to do a show like this”.
By the commencement of Baby Come Home, Rossdale has lost his camouflage jacket and his hair has fallen into sweat-soaked, shoulder-length curls. Breaking a string, he slips off the guitar and throws it abruptly on the floor. Barely a second elapses before he’s brought a replacement, and the song is not disrupted at all. Regularly throughout the night, Rossdale and lead guitarist, Chris Taynor, meet in the centre of stage and essentially play back to back or pressing their guitars against each other’s. It’s the kind of cheesy showmanship that isn’t seen often in rock music today.
Sans guitar and clutching a wireless mic, Rossdale leaps from the stage and submerges into the crowd. Singing Afterlife, a fast paced track with a soaring chorus, his voice doesn’t falter at all as he runs enthusiastically up the stairs, hitting the second level and darting through the crowd. He revels in the cage of arms that soon surrounds him, as the crowd rushes to get close to the dynamic frontman. Hugging everyone along the way, making meaningful eye contact with as many people as possible, it’s astounding how he can make such a profound connection with so members of the audience whilst never messing up his vocal duties. He rushes to the railings, leans over and gazes down at the hundreds of faces smiling at him from below, pointing and winking at those who make an effort to cheer at him.
Not content with only being on the second level, he quickly rushes to the top platform. Once there, he takes a moment to serenade a lucky lady, clasping his arm around her shoulders and gazing into her eyes as he sings. He then makes a point of climbing to the highest possible location within the venue. Once the song is over, Rossdale is visibly elated by the ecstatic crowd reaction. Rushing back to the stage, he asks “does anyone have any questions?” He may not actually be responding to real crowd questions, but he’s telling us what we all want to know. “Will Bush come back to Australia?” he ponders. “Fuck yeah!”
Returning for an encore, the band ignites their grungy rendition of The Beatles’ classic, Come Together, which results in the majority of the crowd launch into the immortal chorus at the wrong point in the song. Apparently, that’s not an issue for most people, as they continue to sing it, despite Bush clearly performing a different part of the track.
“This song goes out to any absent friends we have”, states Rossdale, introducing the iconic Glycerine. Regardless of how sore our throats are from singing earlier, nothing beats the vociferous ferocity of the crowd’s impassioned backing vocals in this track. Even the bar staff and security guards are getting into it.
The crowd participation continues into the final track, Come Down. In the last chorus, Rossdale leaves it completely to the audience and not a single pair of lips remains motionlesss. When it’s done, the band takes time to distribute guitar picks and drumsticks to the audience, shooting the most sincere smiles at the crowd and genuinely making us feel like they’ve appreciated us just as much as we have them.
Lara Moates
It’s surprising and somewhat perplexing that a band with a fanbase as loyal and expansive as Staind would play before a band like Bush. They may not necessary be considered a support band, since the nature of these sidewaves seems to be showcasing bands that share similar audiences. Yet, the towering, white letters spelling out “BUSH” behind them certainly gives the impression that they are a support band. Upon commencing Staind’s set, it’s immediately apparent that a decent proportion of the crowd was drawn here primarily to witness the Massachusetts quartet. Aaron Lewis (vocals, rhythm guitar) isn’t necessarily the most spirited performer.
Even when he abandons the guitar and focuses entirely on singing, the microphone seems to act more as a barrier between himself and the crowd, rather than a conduit of emotion. However, his expressive eyes and repeated clutching at his heart are mimicked by many members of the crowd, as they enthusiastically echo every word that he utters, so he’s clearly making an impression. At times, the music and vocals seem derivative of many alternative rock bands of grunge era, but the magic of Staind lies in their earnest songwriting and faultless execution.
Gavin Rossdale has seemingly not aged a single day since Bush released their first album, Sixteen Stone, back in 1994. Tonight, he’s sporting a camou jacket and has slicked his hair back into a tight bun. Introduce by a thunderous rumble, the band quickly erupts into Machinehead. No one would ever suspect the lead singer of a grunge band to be in possession of some killer dancemoves, but Rossdale really knows how to make his way across the stage. Yet, there’s nothing structured or choreographed about what he’s doing. He kicks his feet up and slides across the stage with poise and grace akin to that of a trained ballerina. It’s almost unsettling how elegant he is. Of course, the moment his lips hit the microphone and we’re treated to the sexy, grungy rasp of his voice, he immediately adopts an arresting rock star persona, seeping in unbridled masculinity and reminding us why we loved this band in the first place.
Rossdale rushes to the edge of the stage during Everything Zen, collapsing into zealous convulsions as he dextrously caresses his guitar. He leans the guitar ever closer to the head of a disinterested security guard, who seems barely aware of Rossdale’s presence. Unsurprisingly, this song serves to recruit an eager army of backing vocalists, rendering Rossdale’s raspy vocal efforts almost redundant. Commenting on the massive Soundwave lineup, Rossdale admits “I was scared because everyone looks so mean”, but he smiles cheekily as he reveals “they’re all great and they’re all respectful.” Pausing to cast his eyes across the upper levels and floor of the venue, he sighs romantically as he claims “it’s the icing on the cake to do a show like this”.
By the commencement of Baby Come Home, Rossdale has lost his camouflage jacket and his hair has fallen into sweat-soaked, shoulder-length curls. Breaking a string, he slips off the guitar and throws it abruptly on the floor. Barely a second elapses before he’s brought a replacement, and the song is not disrupted at all. Regularly throughout the night, Rossdale and lead guitarist, Chris Taynor, meet in the centre of stage and essentially play back to back or pressing their guitars against each other’s. It’s the kind of cheesy showmanship that isn’t seen often in rock music today.
Sans guitar and clutching a wireless mic, Rossdale leaps from the stage and submerges into the crowd. Singing Afterlife, a fast paced track with a soaring chorus, his voice doesn’t falter at all as he runs enthusiastically up the stairs, hitting the second level and darting through the crowd. He revels in the cage of arms that soon surrounds him, as the crowd rushes to get close to the dynamic frontman. Hugging everyone along the way, making meaningful eye contact with as many people as possible, it’s astounding how he can make such a profound connection with so members of the audience whilst never messing up his vocal duties. He rushes to the railings, leans over and gazes down at the hundreds of faces smiling at him from below, pointing and winking at those who make an effort to cheer at him.
Not content with only being on the second level, he quickly rushes to the top platform. Once there, he takes a moment to serenade a lucky lady, clasping his arm around her shoulders and gazing into her eyes as he sings. He then makes a point of climbing to the highest possible location within the venue. Once the song is over, Rossdale is visibly elated by the ecstatic crowd reaction. Rushing back to the stage, he asks “does anyone have any questions?” He may not actually be responding to real crowd questions, but he’s telling us what we all want to know. “Will Bush come back to Australia?” he ponders. “Fuck yeah!”
Returning for an encore, the band ignites their grungy rendition of The Beatles’ classic, Come Together, which results in the majority of the crowd launch into the immortal chorus at the wrong point in the song. Apparently, that’s not an issue for most people, as they continue to sing it, despite Bush clearly performing a different part of the track.
“This song goes out to any absent friends we have”, states Rossdale, introducing the iconic Glycerine. Regardless of how sore our throats are from singing earlier, nothing beats the vociferous ferocity of the crowd’s impassioned backing vocals in this track. Even the bar staff and security guards are getting into it.
The crowd participation continues into the final track, Come Down. In the last chorus, Rossdale leaves it completely to the audience and not a single pair of lips remains motionlesss. When it’s done, the band takes time to distribute guitar picks and drumsticks to the audience, shooting the most sincere smiles at the crowd and genuinely making us feel like they’ve appreciated us just as much as we have them.
Lara Moates