The great thing about having good friends is that they’re,
well, rather good to have around. A common interest, for example, is highly conducive
to spending hours talking about a mutual favourite topic. And if your residences
happen to be geographically close then the likely instances of sharing those interests
thoroughly increase.
I have one particular friend who lives just three minutes’
drive away and when I called him the other day the conversation went something
like this.
“Hello?”
“Hey mate, how’re you going?”
“Good. You?”
“Yeah pretty good. Hey listen, do you have a spare sombrero
I could borrow?”
“Sure. But I’m leaving in 10 minutes.”
“No probs, I’ll be there in three.”
Admittedly it was more like four minutes — the one traffic
light on the way delayed me — but I got there in time and he was more than
obliging in allowing me to choose one of his half a dozen hats. The occasion
was
Fiend
Fest Festival: the biggest gothy industrially darkish alternativey festival
ever held in Australia, consisting of a long streak of bands, an extensive dark
fashion show, and the always-awesome twice-annual (I think) event that is The Black Market.
I love the fact that this kind of subculture even manages to
still exist, let alone manifest itself as a big all-day party, but I wasn’t
actually attending the last two components. Specifically,
I was seriously looking forward to Mexican electro-industrialists
Hocico (if you haven’t heard of them,
make an effort to look them up) which also happens to be the reason I acquired
a sombrero. I covered mine in industrial tape because, you know, that would
make it an industrial sombrero.
Yeah, not many people got it.
This sombrero is industrial.
There’s a lot to be said about Hocico and it deserves a lot
more space than I’ve got here. There’s the fact that two poor, Mexican teenagers
who just happened to be seriously into their Skinny Puppy subsequently became
one of the most influential acts in aggrotech or terror EBM or whatever the
kids are calling it today.
There’s the fact that they do a very cool and unique blend
of what I think is particularly dark and energetic electronic music, which
somehow still remains awesome despite its generally un-polished production.
And then there’s the fact that they are reputed to do
amazing live shows. Legend has it (in other words, I can’t confirm this story) that
Hocico’s first European tour saw them support several better known bands who, after
witnessing Hocico’s ball-tearingly awesome and energetic performance, are said
to have unanimously decided that they take the top spot for the remainder of
the tour.
Yeah, there’s probably some extreme embellishment there but
I still like that story. And even if it’s not true, the fact is they are a
major drawcard on the European festival circuit in this kind of music.
That last point — the quality of their live performances — was
seriously hyped up before the gig and
so I, along with almost everyone else there with even a half-arsed interest in
the band, had some very big expectations. Most of them would thankfully be met,
but the whole caper came perilously close to unravelling as a result of some serious
audio gremlins that had started before I even got there.
I’d hate to be accused of spreading lies and rumours so I
hope I’ve got this right. It would seem that one of the earlier bands on the
bill had their PA die after three songs; another band had another serious
problem with a foldback speaker (subsequently, the main area had a noticeable whiff
of electrical-fire smoke); and there may even have been further assorted audio
problems. It seemed the venue worked around the problems as best they could but
it all caused considerable mayhem to the band schedule. Consequently, Hocico
started late.
Not that it mattered much to the crowd. The noticeable sense
of expectation was all there, but then within two songs the dreaded audio bug reared
its ugly head! I imagine that the sound mixer along with the stage manager were
by now chowing down box-loads of maximum-strength aspirin, as the speakers
seemed cut out. For a moment there the punters parked at the front of the stage
directed their displeasure at the audio booth, but interestingly enough — and a
sure sign that the crowd was filled with appreciation — everyone kind of started
clapping in unison to those beats, almost as if to compensate for the drop in audio.
Fortunately it got fixed, and that’s when the fun really started.
And the fun seriously begins (pic: Tarley).
There we were, with a blinding blaze of strobes, disturbing backdrop
visuals, and a little Mexican guy jumping around in some rather large almost
GWARish
or Lordi-like shoulder
pads. And that’s when I realised what made this band so great.
When you see live bands that you don’t avidly follow, it’s so
often a case of getting into those songs you recognise and maybe even liking a few you don’t recognise. “They’re not bad,” is
as absolutely stock-standard behaviour at a gig as is having a vaguely
appreciative and not-very-responsive crowd for much of the time. But not so
with these guys. I own a few Hocico releases and yet I can honestly say I recognised
all of two songs that were played. Yet at every moment there was this powerful you-had-to-be-there
energy, this awesome, dark, killer world complete with sensory-depriving lights
and visuals. At the risk of running off an old cliché, it was much of a case of
you could “feel” it rather than just see and hear it.
Cool backdrop (pic: Tarley).
The only down-side for the night? Other than Hocico playing a
short set and not getting around to doing an encore?
My back.
I groaned vigorously the next morning at my fiancée about how
my lower back ached. I couldn’t figure out how it got so sore until she pointed
out that (along with me getting old, of course) I did my fair bit of jumping
around. It was the only plausible explanation I could think of until, still
buzzing from the gig, I swayed back and forth mildly (I think I was brushing my
teeth and was reminiscing about it all) when oh boy, that’s when it hit me.
Sharp, jabbing pain, right there where I’d been moving around (not jumping) all
night.
You see, the thing about a sombrero, even one wrapped in
industrial tape, is that it’s kind of light. You can’t headbang like you’d
normally do because it will fall off, so instead you have to do a kind of keep-your-back-straight-while-moving-your-head-
forwards-and-backwards-type of motion. Turns out, doing this repeatedly is very
bad for your lower back.
Anyone who is genuinely into dark and heavy music knows that
a concert-induced injury is worn as a badge of honour. I wouldn’t have minded
so much if I got cut from a spike or bruised from someone’s boot or even severe
whiplash from too much headbanging (though not to the extent experienced by
Jason Newsted and Tom
Araya, who both had to stop headbanging due to nasty neck injuries).
No, my latest concert injury came form wearing a hat.
Yeah, I must be getting old.
I'm at the bottom right of the shot, slowly receiving a mild back injury (pic: Tarley).
