Midnight Oil Review: Fremantle Arts Centre, October 30, 2017.
Midnight Oil just played two concerts in Perth. And yes, I went to both of them. The first was awesome. The second was the greatest concert I’ve ever seen in my life.
It’s no secret to my friends and family that I’m an extremely devoted Midnight Oil fan. Albums? Got the lot. Singles? Got heaps. Posters? Yep. Though I had no means to play it, I bought Diesel and Dust on vinyl, just to get hold of the poster. I was gutted when they split, and elated when they reformed. And after 14 years of hope and an extra year of wait, I finally had the chance to see them again. I dusted off my tired, much-loved Head Injuries t-shirt – which is just holding together after 24 years – and set out to see them on Saturday night.
Sitting with my sister, watching the band explode into life in front me was a pure joy. I’ve never seen them in such a big space, but I enjoyed the chance to do so. They deserve such a massive venue, filled to capacity. Their sounds, their songs and their performance was easily a match for it. With every song, we sang, clapped and cheered. It was a brilliant performance from a great band in full flight.
The following night, I headed to the Fremantle Arts Centre. Having a bit of cold was a pain, but I wasn’t going to pass up another chance to see them; especially not at such a wonderful venue. Whereas Perth Arena was massive, this was tiny. The venue, if you don’t know it, is basically a big courtyard, grassed and sloping, with a wonderfully relaxed vibe. I’ve seen some great bands perform there over the years. But this was the Oils. The sense of anticipation from the crowd was palpable. It was a pretty chilly night, and yet the steam was already starting to rise.
And at 7:30 sharp, they strode on the stage and roared into life. ‘Progress’, thundering out of the blocks, throttle fully opened. Jesus, this was some start. The guitars simply crunched and burned; whips of barbed-wire, slashing about. This has always been an urgent, angry song with a bite, but this was a pissed off shark, and there was blood in the water.
Then, of all things, ‘Bus to Bondi’! Guitars, bass and drums. As a mate would say, they were tighter than a fish’s arse at 40,000 fathoms. This was gleeful, unshackled Oil. Last night, they played to every seat in the house. Tonight, it felt like they were simply playing for themselves, and we were just the lucky, lucky bastards hanging on for dear life as they galloped along their musical highway with the energy of sugar-fuelled children.
‘Feeding Frenzy’ snarled and whirled, and then out of a haze of blue, the opening pulse of ‘Outside World’. This was, technically, the start of the main event. We all knew we were going to get 10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1 played through in its entirety. But the sheer depth of those synth pulses, and – when they finally arrived – the powerful clip and thump of Rob’s drums made the whole song feel tremendously important; a solemn, barely-constrained overture for the main event to follow.
And then the guitars slowly peeled back like a cage cut open, and ‘Only the Strong’ simply exploded into life. I’ve heard this played live a few times, but nothing like this. I haven’t seen Pete collide with Martin since the late 90s, but there he was, cavorting like a man demonically possessed with everything but a clear sense of direction. Jim and Martin were locked in. Rob and Bones were locked down. And Pete just went berserk. Oils veterans – and the crowd was full of them – were looking at each other with wide-eyed astonishment. We were expecting a great gig; but we were not expecting this.
The songs flowed gloriously, and then we got to ‘Scream in Blue’. Always a challenging, defiant song of two halves, the first half was delivered with all the controlled ferocity the band could muster, before the quieter second half began. Pete sang those wonderful words, and the crowd sang with him, until the song reached its vocal climax. We all just stood there, awestruck, and we watched Pete simply hurl himself into the defiant, angry howl of raw emotion that’s always made that song so special. To see him perform it live almost brought a tear to the eye. A moment I’ll always treasure.
The familiar songs were great, as you’d expect them to be, so it was the lesser played songs that really engaged. ‘Maralinga’ seemed to have a palpable, human urgency to it; the desire to be ‘here at the end’ has never more relevant in our troubled world. ‘Tin Legs and Tin Mines’ was the sublimely beautiful melody it’s always been, but the real revelation was ‘Somebody’s Trying To Tell Me Something’. It was just relentless; the band hammered the audience with astonishing force, playing with a power and passion that seemed utterly unsustainable. A fearful warning; a sense of rising panic; an urgent dispatch from the epicentre of a world in chaotic motion I’ve always liked the song, but finally, after hearing it like this, I think I finally understand it.
Where do you go after 10-1? Well, you play ‘Koala Sprint’, ‘Lucky Country’ and ‘SURFING WITH A SPOON’, one after the other. I was just about on the floor by the end of ‘Lucky Country’, which was the best version I’ve ever heard live, and virtually on a par with the legendary Capitol Theatre performance from ’82. ‘Spoon’ just tipped me over the edge. I was done. I was gone. Nothing could top this. How on earth a band can play a song like that – which they’ve not played live in 19 years (as best I can tell) - with that level of precision and power is just beyond me. It’s not human. I’ve heard of muscle memory and all, but this just defies comprehension.
And the band were loving it. Smiles at each other. Bones moving from one side of the stage to the other. Martin slashing at his guitar like a shearer on meth. Jim, like some sage-like incarnation of Nikolai Tesla, conjuring wild synth lines and atonal jazz from his piano one minute, and then summoning lick after lick of aural frenzy from his guitar the next. Rob pounded away like the part-man-part-steam-engine he’s always been, but with a variety of sounds (to fully recreate the studio extremes of 10-1) that produced a palette far richer than any (in a single performance) I’ve heard from him before.
And then there was Pete. There were times during this performance where I genuinely felt like I’d travelled back in time. The man I was watching, the bloke hurling himself about like a thorn-tree in a whirlwind; that bloke could not possibly be 64. He couldn’t even be 34. This was a raging spirit let loose. You could see it in his eyes. Pete was gone; utterly lost in the music and moment. It was a thing of beauty, and a true joy forever.
The final, unexpected treat was Wedding Cake, which featured some great mime from Pete as the image of him lying supine on the stage, whilst his amused comrades played on around him. It was the perfect way to finish, before the rousing, sobering singalong of Forgotten Years sent all home.
I’ve seen many a great gig in my time, and many a great Oils gig. I’ve always said to people that the Oils in full flight are the best live band in the world. Possibly the best live band the world has ever seen. Well, after last night, I know I’m right. I know it. That was a performance for the ages. I hope to see them many more times, but if that’s it, then so be it. I don’t think I’ll ever see a performance like that again.
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