“Twelve minutes of pure injury,” is my friend’s description of a performance by her boyfriend’s hardcore band Downpour. They’re launching their demo at The Cave Bar and we’re here in support. One of the few venues supporting original live music in Rockhampton, it’s a small room at the back of a dive bar in the town’s CBD with cheap booze and no poker machines.
In proper D.I.Y. style, the demo was recorded mostly live by a friend, then burnt onto stenciled CD-Rs and housed in paper slip cases, meticulously put together by the band’s guitarist. Half the band work as orderlies at the Base Hospital, folding linen and cleaning up bodily fluids. The bass player works at Target and the drummer works for the railways.
“You know,” my friend continues, “sometimes I think that fuckheads turn up to these shows just to punch the fuck out of people.”
She’s probably right. Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the culture or poverty of the town, but Rockhampton is an incredibly violent place. The latent anger bubbles to the surface in boozy punch ups, football games and road rage and yet music seems to be the least socially acceptable outlet for testosterone-fuelled rage.
Downpour start their set and the crowd is a seething mass of swinging punches and pile-ons. Mic leads are broken, glasses are lost and smaller dudes are steamrolled. The less adventurous punters climb onto the bar rail for safety and a clearer view as the seven-foot-tall singer fights his way into the audience, shoving his equally gigantic and mega-drunk mate Big Will away as he gets up in his face.
“Somebody take Big Will down! The man is out of control!”
Downpour blast into the next song and the crowd clambers up and onto Big Will, forcing him to the ground. This is the sort of violence and aggression where nobody gets hurt, the sort of violence that is fun and constructive. It’s the same stuff that drives career women to the gym, jocks to the footy field and puppies to shred the valuables of their owners.
As soon as the band finishes playing, one of the gig organisers grabs the mic.
“OI! Some cunts have snuck in here without paying! It’s only five bucks you stingy fucks, fucking pay up and support the scene or otherwise gigs like this won’t keep happening.”
He turns off the mic and puts an iPod on through the PA, leaving band and punters alike scratching their heads. Money? Nah. Nobody’s in this for the money.
For more Downpour, here’s their MySpace and a video of their song “BWS”.
Live photos by Luke Wonnocott, all others by me.
