Top Ten Live Music Experiences In Your Life

Come gather 'round, children, and let me tell you a tale of sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll, and general bacchanalia. Our story begins in March.... actually, back up for a bit. Thar be a prologue to this here story. Allow me to set the scene for ya.


Swingin' Sixties, foggy London town. In an uncharacteristic move, my dad has snuck out of his boarding school after bedtime and taken the train into the city. He pays his laughably cheap admission at a nightclub and makes his way into the crowd. The band take the stage, and all the mods and hippies start rocking out, my father among them. After about 10 or 15 minutes, Dad has a moment of panic when he spots his carpentry teacher nearby in the audience. Understanding that he could get in very deep trouble, he leaves the venue immediately. My dad has regretted that decision frequently over the past 50 years... because the band on stage just so happened to be a little outfit called The Rolling Stones.
Fast forward to about this time last year, and I've just purchased my own ticket to see the boys at Hanging Rock (outside Melbourne). The show was to be the weekend after my 27th, my big blowout celebration - alas, it was not meant to be. The tour is cancelled, but my trip is non-refundable, so I try to make the most of it anyway.

In early November, I fly down again for the rescheduled date, which is also cancelled at the last minute. It's starting to feel as if I'm doomed never to see them, just like my dad before me. Thankfully, I'd had the foresight to pick up a ticket for the following weekend when that date was added - a ticket I very nearly sold off when money was tight, because I'd already be seeing them at Hanging Rock. After being twice bitten, I'm on tenterhooks for the Hunter Valley date the following weekend. It's only after the Sydney show goes off smoothly that I allow myself to slowly get excited again.


My only regret of the day - and it's a big one - is that my cousin couldn't be there with me. I even considered throwing caution to the wind and buying a last-minute scalped ticket for her... and if I'd known my savings account balance, I would have. And I so should have. I’ve been kicking myself over it ever since, and I’ll always regret that part of it. It’s understood that this will almost certainly be the Stones' last tour of Australia; if ever there were a time to embrace the YOLO philosophy, it was then. C'est la vie. But I feel her with me when the bus stops for lunch, and the cafe has a sign about living for the present moment, which is something she's always trying to tell me. I let that be my mantra for the day. 






We continue onwards, winding our way through the picturesque Hunter Valley, until arriving at the venue. The coach pulls into the vinyard, and it is stunning. Grapevines to my left, mountains in the distance, all gently sloping down into a natural amphitheatre ahead. I make my way to the front of the lawn, just left of the lighting rig, and find myself a spot between all the picnic blankets and wine buckets.










I don’t know how much I should be revealing here, but oh well, here goes. The drugs are burning a hole in my pocket, but I decide to let the suspense build for just a little bit longer. After 5 minutes, I can no longer resist, and I lick the plastic clean. This creates a very weird and trippy vibe to the night, where everything feels as if it’s happening 5 minutes out of sync. That might sound like I missed the perfect time to take it, but it actually added an extra layer of psychedelia onto the night’s energy, so no regrets. It was like one of those composite photos where the top layer is just slightly out-of-place, creating a blurry and spacey vibe.


British India play first (meh), followed by The Preatures. Something clicks for me during The Preatures in a major way. Here's a band that I love, friends of friends of mine, who formed while attending the same music college I'm attending. In the past 18 months, I'd watched them transform from the little local band that could, into an international pop success - #1 album at home, now opening for the biggest band on the planet - after starting out as a Stones cover band, no less. Could there be a clearer sign? It was almost a cliche unto itself, as was so much about that day... and I mean that in the absolute best way possible. With any other band in the world trying this stuff, you'd just roll your eyes and say "who do you think you are, the Rolling Stones?" It felt that way even more than at Macca or Roger Waters, because it was still the full band. You almost didn't know who to look at on stage. It didn't feel corny that so many people were decked out in Stones swag, because who are we kidding? We've all been looking forward to this for months.



The skies have turned from partly cloudy to grey, and the wind gusts playfully over the hilltops. A storm is literally threatening. There is a definite electricity to the air. The whole setting feels very Tolkien-esque. If I have to compare it to any show I’ve seen before, I would liken it to Plant & Krauss at Bonnaroo ’08 - which coincidentally happened to be my first experience with the type of corn I was enjoying that night. It was a definite throwback. It just felt so big, in a way that I haven’t always quite felt even with other big names like Roger Waters or Macca.



Suddenly, the Stones’ chopper looms over the horizon. It almost feels as if that’s what’s creating the weather; the only other time I can recall really feeling that way was at My Morning Jacket’s 2008 thunderstorm late-night set. It was that level of grandiose. I make my way over to the fence to watch their arrival, just as The Preatures are rushed into ‘Is This How You Feel?’ to close out their set.



The Stones make their way down the dirt road, where they are soon joined by an entourage. Passing behind a truck, they all hide under jackets and blankets and continue onward. As they arrive side-stage, they throw the blankets off… and we’ve been bamboozled! The Stones have snuck backstage as their entourage did the ol’ bait ’n’ switch. It was almost a caricature of itself, because it’s not like we weren’t going to see them in a few minutes anyway. Or 45-60 minutes, because they still had to wait for it to get darker. Like I said, the whole experience was just that over the top - and with any other band, it probably would have just felt annoying and put on.



I've forgone the grapevine in favour of the corn cob, and it's more overwhelming than anticipated. Everything about the experience was larger than life, and this was no exception. Even the form of the party favours (in a sugar cube) was big. Some other fans notice and take a moment to mess with me… all in good fun, though. I have a moment in the grass to meditate, and I start to get a bit emotional. This moment had been a year in the making, and it had almost not happened several times, just as it hadn't for my dad. But it was here now, and everything felt as it should, even though there were people I was missing terribly (I will always regret not splurging and shouting my cousin). Some of my other cousins and cousins-in-law were also going to the Hanging Rock show, until it was cancelled. It almost felt like a duty at that point… at least one person in the family has to see them!

The intro begins, and it perfectly matches the suspenseful, mammoth mood of the night. Immediately they launch into Jumpin’ Jack Flash, and I couldn’t have picked a more perfect song to kick off the night. Just as I’m feeling so emotional, they’re up there singing a song with my name on it, telling me that “it’s all right now… in fact, it’s a gas”. It was exactly what I needed to hear to let go and enjoy the evening to the fullest.



_{"It’s great to be here, it’s great to play somewhere you’ve never been before. Anyone here from Newcastle? How about Sydney? How about Tazzy? Oh I dunno, I’ve seen the list! …how you doin’ out there, you alright? We've never played in a winery before. I heard some of the best wines in Australia are made here. Is this where you get your goon?” - Mick}

He called it goon. Night made.



The whole evening, I had an overwhelming sense that for every time I’d wished I’d been alive for Woodstock, or Monterrey Pop, or London or San Fran in the mid-late ‘60s, or the mid-late ‘70s NYC punk / post-punk / hip-hop scene, that I was experiencing something just as special in its own right. Even my phone has gone out in true rockstar style, with the home button finally falling off early in the night. I’m actually kind of grateful for this, because it encourages me not to spend the whole night watching the show through a screen.

The setlist seems to perfectly match my moods through the night. Just as I’m thinking of my brother, they launch into Paint It Black, the one Stones song he loves. Just as I’m thinking of my cousin, it’s Miss You & You Can’t Always Get What You Want. Just as I’m feeling so overwhelmed at the end of Gimme Shelter (especially as I’ve been trying to cover the song lately… yet another beautiful coincidence), the party pants come back on for Start Me Up. And so on.

It was an interesting contrast when comparing it to Paul McCartney last year. Even though I'm a bigger Beatles fan, I think I have to give the edge to the Stones show. Whereas Paul opts for a marathon setlist and plays the charmer, the Stones pick a tighter selection and make no pretenses about their bad boy side.


This was the third time I was supposed to be seeing them, and the first time it had actually happened. After the disappointment of no Hanging Rock show the previous weekend, I tried to stop myself from getting too excited again. But the third time’s a charm, and three is the magic number - and three days before Hope Estate, the Sydney gig goes off smoothly. Then three days later, for only the third time in history, we get to see Keith take the lead on three consecutive songs. That was such a treat; in some ways, I feel his blues gruff has aged a lot better than Mick’s more punk-ish vibe. Not that Mick was bad at all; he sounded almost completely recovered - sometimes a little short of breath, but that also sort of fit his style. I guess you learn some tricks after half a century of touring.



After Keith’s mini-set, they brought out Mick Taylor for Midnight Rambler. I have no idea why they’re bringing Mick Taylor on the whole tour, but only bringing him out for that & Satisfaction. He was by far the best guitarist of the night (at least on a technical level - more soul from Keef), and it’s not like he doesn’t know the other songs. But I suppose I can’t complain too much after a show like that. After Mick leaves the stage, they launch into an insane 5-song run of Miss You > Gimme Shelter > Start Me Up > Sympathy for the Devil > Brown Sugar to close out the set.



Gimme Shelter was an emotional rollercoaster - in part because it’s such a powerful song, but also as I’ve been working on my own cover of it as of late, and they absolutely slaughtered it. Talk about a moment of inspiration. I needed an upbeat number like Start Me Up after that. Then things climaxed with Sympathy for the Devil, with a smooth transition into Brown Sugar. You’d almost think Brown Sugar would feel tacked on at that point, but it most definitely didn’t.

A quick breather, and they’re back on stage with the Sydney Philharmonia for You Can’t Always Get What You Want, followed by (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction with Mick Taylor. Then comes the big pyro finale - which is actually kind of a small pyro finale, because there’s no stadium or anything to launch them from. Kind of a funny juxtaposition after a show of that size. They come back out to take their bows, and the audience goes absolutely mental with applause. My jaw drops to the ground, and moments later, their chopper flies off into the distance. There could be no clearer sign that Elvis has left the building, and no more rockstar way to go about it.






And that, ladles and jellyspoons, is the story of how I saw the greatest concert of my life this weekend.

I figured a night like that is worth commemorating properly, so I just dropped entirely too much money at the frame store yesterday. But I think this will look just smashing on my living room wall once it's done... don't you?





_{(by the way, how did I not know Karl Denson was the saxophonist for the Stones? I guess when it’s the biggest band in the world, it just eclipses the other names surrounding them.)}