1977, a sweaty night at the Royal Antler Hotel – a big, brawling sweaty pub on the Northern Beaches of Sydney – long gone now, but in its heyday the site of many a legendary gig. I was underage and had perfected the art of flirting my way into gigs – the door people being more concerned with stuffing the room full of paying punters than checking IDs
As a sheltered, privileged North Shore schoolgirl from a conservative family, my eyes, ears and mind were in the process of being opened by the swirling zeitgeist of the 70s’. Older boyfriends, punk lyrics, antiwar protests and women’s marches on TV. Live music was plentiful, and we lied to our parents to spend our nights weaseling our way into gigs.
On a steamy Saturday night, a friend and I filed into the dark cavern of the band room at the Antler, The band we’d come to hear wasn’t yet near the heights of their fame, we didn’t know much about them, but a guy my friend liked said we should go.
There was a sense of restless anticipation among the mostly young, mostly male crowd. Clutching beers we worked our way to the front, avoiding ‘accidental’ gropes and checking out the surfie spunks on the way. We pressed up to the stage and eagerly awaited this band we’d heard about but not yet seen.
The band took their places, the room filled with excitement, there was a pounding of bass and drums and then – gripping the mic with a fierce intensity- a giant of a man with a bald head launched into a tirade of angry songs, dancing in a strangely disjointed, slightly threatening way with his huge hands punching the air and sweat pouring down his face. We danced, and we shouted, and we LISTENED to the words, we let the anger of this giant and his band of men wash into us and create the need to DO something.
Roll on, and the years have seen the same anger played out repeatedly from many quarters. The Oils have triumphantly played their (supposedly) final shows to huge audiences around the world and have lost none of the fire that drove them through all these decades. But is it the end of an era? In the crowd at the Sydney farewell show, surrounded by people and their offspring who, like me, had grown up with Midnight Oil we felt their power and the passion one last time. We raised our fists and sang aloud, we cried and were angry and vowed to keep up the fight.
The future of Australian music in general looks bright and we find ourselves in a new era of music with a message. Supporting Midnight Oil at the huge farewell show was an electrifying young Yolngu ‘surf rock combo’ from the NT and Qld. Loud, passionate, angry and very talented – King Stingray occupied the big stage as if they were born to it and were a worthy support for such an iconic and excoriating band as Midnight Oil. The swelling wave of exciting new voices, music, and art is powerful and continues with the same anger, and a renewed urgency and energy for the battle for land, culture and recognition. Have we gained ground? Maybe we have in many areas, but we have a long way to go.