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Monday, 13 August 2012

SMASHING PUMPKINS IN SYDNEY - An Excercise in Mass Indifference



It was weird. Maybe it’s the proliferation of poker-machine emporia, I don’t know, but it appears that Sydney is losing the art of seeing a band play live; we just don’t seem to know how to behave. Let me tell you about it . . .

The Lady and I arrived a little late, the support act getting into their penultimate number by the time we were shown to our seats. It was a pity to miss most of Wolfmother (I later learned that we’d also missed a Stockdale rant against those Triple J bastards who helped build his career) but it couldn’t be helped, and at least we wouldn’t have long to wait for Smashing Pumpkins. Smashing Pumpkins: this was a life-long dream for both of us; which is why we were so surprised. It was the crowd.

We began to notice outside: this just wasn’t like any crowd we’d ever seen at a rock concert, they were so subdued. It was eerie, like something from a Hitchcock film, or that scene at the end of I, Claudius, thousands of them milling around the exits, shuffling quietly in and out, the ghosts of audiences past.

And so many of them were old. The Lady was first to remark that quite a few were even older than me. I began to suspect that those sitting near us had come to see Neil Diamond and mixed up the dates.

A third of the seats stood empty as the band took the stage; not that there weren’t punters enough to fill them; they just couldn’t apparently be bothered with being inside for the first few numbers.

 The acoustics in the Sydney Entertainment Centre are notoriously bad, but Billy Corgan is a perfectionist and a tech-head, and after he’d instructed the roadies to shift some speakers around it was as though we were sitting in front of the stereo at home. Literally. If you closed your eyes you could forget there was anybody sitting near you. And that was another thing: the sitting. Even though our seats were in the tiered section, I hadn’t expected to spend much time sitting.

Now, for any band that’ve enjoyed some success and managed to stay around a while, there’s a balance to be struck between old and new material when playing live: the punters expect their favourites, and the band wants to feel as though they’re still, you know, a band. Sure enough, three or four numbers in Mr Corgan announced that he was going to take us through their new album, Oceania. Had he not announced it, I would never have noticed – the music was that good.

The rest of the crowd, evidently, didn’t share our appreciation. With the exception of a couple at the end of our row, with whom we exchanged several puzzled glances, these people could barely manage a polite smattering of applause. It was embarrassing.

Eventually, after a sonic joyride lasting an hour or so, we were regaled with the opening bars of Disarm. At last, some movement; but only on the dance-floor, not upstairs near us. There followed a cavalcade of the Pumpkins’ hits, which the kids in the mosh pit responded to by getting themselves removed in large numbers by security for crowd-surfing and attempted stage-diving. Upstairs, they clapped as though they were at the Royal Garden Party. I’ve heard louder applause at a golf tournament. I can only hope it sounded louder from the stage.

After a searing rendition of Bullets with Butterfly Wings I finally lost it, shouting at the top of my lungs: “Jesus, will you sad bastards make some fucking noise!!” The fact that heads turned fifty yards away should give an indication of what I’m talking about.

They played their hearts out for the better part of three hours. I seriously doubted we’d generated enough enthusiasm to warrant an encore, but when they came back out and Billy Corgan humbly thanked us for letting them play the new album through, my heart came close to breaking. A musician of his stature shouldn’t have to grovel before ingrates.

 We dwell at the “arse end of the world”, but big name acts have always braved the long journey because our rock audiences have rivalled any in the world for raw energy and enthusiasm. I came away from this experience ashamed for us, and worried for the future. Maybe it’s the death of the live-pub scene, maybe we’re spoilt by festival overload, but if what I saw at the Entertainment Centre is any indication of how we reward international acts these days I can’t see why they’d keep making the trip.

If we keep this up, get used to seeing your live music on YouTube.

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