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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