Despite all the dramas in the lead up, the thought of going to an ATP festival filled me with real excitement and curiosity. Although the weather was slightly overcast, and despite the knowledge that I’d be spending the day yo yoing back and forth between the Palais and Prince of Wales, the lineup was an intriguing enough mix of locals and internationals to put up with more than a few discomforts.
White Walls were the first band off the rank at the Prince. I had seen these locals a few weeks ago supporting the mighty Swervedriver, and they were good then as they were on this particular day despite the sparse crowd. Two guitarists and a drummer who all share the vocals, they delivered a sonic blast similar to early Husker Du or Dinosaur jr. Loud and frantic with more than a little grit.
Back at the Palais we caught the first few rounds of the UV Race’ brand of jangly garage rock music with a post punk, that at times felt in the vein of early Talking Heads. Appropriately enough the lead singer was wearing a skeleton one suit, though admittedly from its crumpled look he may have been wearing it since last Halloween.
After that it was a trudge back to the Prince to catch The Spinning Rooms who came on stage with a venomous sting. They delivered a highly entertaining set, as they flung themselves though atonal guitar stabs, angst-ridden vocals and saxophone drones reminiscent of early Hunters and Collectors.
From the initial song it was obvious that Hoss were going to deliver an almighty set. Joel Silbersher is considered rock royalty in this country, and has been a part of this scene since he was 15, with his band God. But Hoss are another super band that have been skulking around local dives for at least 18 years with the same members. Today they delivered a cracking set, with flourishes of old school garage rock and a decent nod to Kyuss. They rocked their way through a tight set of old school rock and roll boogie with the sort of enthusiasm that rubbed off on all who witnessed, especially this writer. The drummer in particular was in fine form, delivering tight rocking grooves and playing tricks, spinning his sticks every chance he got. One of the sets of the day.
Local band Total Control were a frequently surprising electro rock or perhaps garage punk outfit with dark synths. Their ability to morph between genres was truly compelling, featuring members of the UV Race and Eddy Current Suppression Ring.
The last minute ring ins Prince Rama, in town for the Melbourne Festival ultimately were also possibly one of the biggest disappointments of the day. Their albums are reverb drenched semi tribal quasi-religious wig outs. But live it all felt contrived, with calculated art school flourishes, journeying into the crowd in a wedding veil on the shoulders of a bystander and later returning for choreographed dance moves. Everything felt pre programmed, the relentless beat of basic drum machine patterns, tokenistic live percussion flourishes and indecipherable vocals. It felt uncomfortably close to karaoke. The one thing they did do though was emphaise the uniformity of a guitar centric festival. At the very least by breaking down the audience/ performer divide they offered something that felt a little different and was a welcome break from dudes rocking out.
The seated Palais seemed a weird venue choice for the Fuck Buttons until they began to play. Benjamin Power and Andrew Hung faced one another, impassive, like they were ready to duel across a table of electronic gadgets. They started their set with the appropriately titled Brain Freeze off their recent Slow Focus, building into a searing electronic drone. The sound was immense bouncing off its cathedral type roof, filling the enormous space. Their strobe like effects and huge mirror ball, created the ideal backdrop, offering up their own version of punishing electro psychedelic Zen. Their set was equal parts uncompromising and transformative. A total highlight.
Lastly, we prepared ourselves for one last walk to the Prince to round out the festival with the almighty Sleep. It was packed to the brim. You couldn’t fit another person in there, even with a shoehorn. But that close intensity created an electric heat that hovered through the crowd. When Matt Pike, Al Cisneros, and Jason Roeder took to the stage they offered the audio equivalent of a 2×4 to the head.
Their watershed album is appropriately titled “Dope Smoker”. It lasts approximately one hour and takes up an entire record. Sleep have traditionally been regarded as pioneers of this style of heavy music. Though they’re keen to dispense with the restrictive “Stoner” and “Doom” tags to produce something you have never heard before, something large like an earthquake. Tonight guitarist Matt Pike personifies said earthquake. With his shirt off, and showing his vast amount of tattoos, he prowls around stage like a young Gene Simmons, with his Les Paul custom delivering some of the longest loudest heaviest earth shattering riffs this writer has experienced in some time. Even the Melvins would lay their hats down to this band. You could hardly call Sleep progressive, but their epic songs tended to evolve endlessly through murky molten sludge into murky molten sludge of a different consistency. Every development felt new, but the cumulative effect of the sheer pummeling riffing reached towards some kind of ecstatic metal nirvana.
And as we all emerged punch drunk, overloaded and battered from a day of sonic excess, and stumbled away bleary eyes and ringing ears from Prince for the last time we wondered if perhaps this would be the last time we’d see ATP in this town. Melbourne’ always been a rock town, and with the guitar as a centre point to this festival, credit has to go to the curators for choosing some of the more interesting exponents of the genre. There is a place here, lets hope there’ more to come.
Dean Seabrook
