Turns out thereâs still an audience for no-frills, old-fashioned rock ânâ roll, then. That audience is mostly comprised of dads, but, yâknowâŠitâs something. And itâs not like theyâre here for some fossils on their umpteenth perfunctory nostalgia run, either. From whatever culture of AC/DC cells they were lab-grown from, Airbourne have been able to maintain some vigour and (relative) youth. The whole point is the basest rockstar indulgence, divorced from the modern era but still allowed to live it. You canât argue with that, now, can you?
Well, there is a limit, and it would do our undercard well to learn what it is. Avalanche are the bargain version of tonightâs headliners, to where them also being from Australia almost makes it too on-the-nose that theyâre here. (Apparently frontman Steven Campbellâs father also toured with AC/DC, if you want to bring it all full circle yet again.) This is the more self-serving end of throwbackdom, a competent vehicle for the band to have fun with rather than anything that leaves an impression or enriches the scene. Guitarist Veronica Campbell is a standout; she might be the only one this band has, though. Otherwise, itâs the expected platter of classic-rock sundries, with Armed To The Teeth and Down For The Count in particular feeling rather Airbourne-esque. Maybe itâs old hat to call this stuff unoriginal now, but when youâre getting a better version of this exact thing in less than two hoursâ time? Yeah, thatâs worth a mention.
Up nextâŠsecond verse, same as the first, it seems. Not immediately, as King Of The World positions Asomvel as a more Motörhead-esque prospect, though their greatest distinction is how theyâre probably the only band on this bill whose beer of choice isnât Fosterâs. Itâs still throwback hard rock lodged deeply in its influences, now with a coating of British grime and frontman Ralph Robinsonâs rasps and gargles. For what they offer, a 45-minute set is definitely excessive. By the time Take You To Hell reintroduces some faster tempos and thumpier bass, youâre already exhausted from Asomvelâs preceding half-hour of no variety. Itâs the same issue that Avalanche have, in that respectâthis is as shallowly entertaining as rock music gets, but greatly suffers when thatâs all there is.
At least Airbourne are in the comparatively advantageous position of having not only profile, but the larger-than-life stance to back it up. With Avalanche and Asomvel, you can picture them going right back to their office jobs once tour is over; Airbourne are living this through and through. And while thatâs not an absolute fix for music that essentially rehashes itself every time, the infectiousness radiates further. The heaters in the setlist make themselves more known; Joel OâKeeffe is already drenched in sweat by the time the first song Gutsy is over. His shrieks and yowls are further indicative of Airbourneâs willingness to kick things up several gears. If you canât feel the step up between this and what came before, youâre obviously not paying attention.
Itâs not precisely revelatory but the excitement is there. OâKeeffe riding through the crowd on a security guardâs shoulders during Raise The Flag is the sort of moment that bands like this should aspire to, where the spirit of old-time rock ânâ roll hedonism is at least gestured towards. And while thatâs the crowning example among Airbourneâs showcase tonightâbig jumps and synchronised riffing arenât quite at the same levelâthe feel remains. Hungry is introduced with a borderline animalistic dedication to the music they make; later, new song Alive After Death shows a continued love of turbocharged rockage hasnât budged a micrometer. All the while, the big, bright, burly palette of Airbourne gets ample room to stretch its legs. The strip-mining of AC/DCâs style and sense of bravado hasnât run out of steam yet, clearly.
It comes together to represent the simple pleasure of a strong band platforming their equally-strong instincts. The methodology is practically perfected a number of times, in the shoutalong hooks of Cheap Wine & Cheaper Women and Too Much, Too Young Too Fast, or the hellbent tenacity of Back In The Game and Runninâ Wild. The fact itâs borderline brainless doesnât have to be a flaw, not when Airbourne are fully equipped to wring every drop of sweat and potential from it. 25 years in, this is a band whose appeal remains as clear as the day they began, and with plenty of it left to work with. Good, fun stuff.
Words by Luke Nuttall
Photos by Will Robinson (Instagram)
