Big Day Out 2010 Photos - The Scare

"Back at the small stage, we discover The Scare. Frontman Kiss Reid taunts a boisterous mob into delicious submission. The Scare are grindin' hips, oozing a dark and naughty swagger - frontbar theatrics and beer sweat personified. All five members give everything to the BDO cause. Cool-as-fuck attitude with dirty, dirty banter. At set's end Reid launches himself into the crowd. Most audacious act of the day..."

From my review of BDO 2010 in RHUM

Photos below taken of the The Scare on the Hot Produce Stage BDO Perth, January 31, 2010 - around 4pm. I've adjusted the light, colour and cropped some of them.












































photos on this page of The Scare - taken by allan boyd at Big Day Out Perth 2010 - creative commons - ie: free to use for all - but feel free to link back or acknowledge the source

cheers
al - email: al@radicalhack.com

sentence - blac blocs

Just another sentence on a perfect day
Just across the concrete on a perfect day
Blissed inside the centre on a perfect day
Justify existence on a perfect day

Just another sentence on a perfect day
Pocketful of passion on a perfect day
Detonate my suitcase on a perfect day
Rectify the system on a perfect day

Expect Resistance - Resist Expectance

Just another sentence on a perfect day
These are my defences on a perfect day
Underneath the fabric on a perfect day
Just before the shrapnel on a perfect day

Expect Resistance - Resist Expectance

God forgive my anarchy
Set aside my Fantasy
You can be my Reality
God forgive my anarchy

It was just another sentence on a perfect day

BDO 2010 - We came, we saw, we consumed

RHUM REVIEW - Big Day Out 2010 - PERTH
Claremont Showgrounds - 31st January 2010
Rhum Magazine

by Allan Boyd

We came, we saw, we consumed

We arrive early for local openers Emperors on the Hot Produce stage. Fellow sandgropers, Sugar Army, bleed from the bigger stage between songs. Emperors' bold riffs, radio-fresh melodies and vocal-combos are infectious. They shine like drive-time pop-rock in the Sunday sun.

Ignoring Bluejuice's advice from the Blue Stage, to "go fuck yourself," we amble to the Orange stage for the complex precision of Karnivool. On giant screens we watch vocalist Ian Kenny's restrained, brilliant performance. Kenny's vocals soar long and loud from the massive stacks. Sporting oversize, thick-rimmed glasses and a cheeky moustache, he’s an evil scientist conductor - his flailing hands pulling tracks from Sound Awake. Karnivool give us a flawless, dedicated set. Immense.

Then we're deep into the D area of the Blue stage for Mastadon. These big hairy oafs make Metallica seem piss-weak. Mastadon's punch is hard, with extra beefy bottom end. This is monstrous progressive metal. This is pulsating adrenaline, a circular moshpit. This is aural disembowelment. Mastadon, you are fat as fuck.

We wander the showgrounds, eat a shitty cheeseburger and rehydrate. Chillin' in the grandstand we watch Eskimo Joe from a distance. Then Hilltop Hoods are spitting: "we say Hill, you say Tops." The swollen crowd pulses in response.

Back at the small stage, we discover The Scare. Frontman Kiss Reid taunts a boisterous mob into delicious submission. The Scare are grindin' hips, oozing a dark and naughty swagger - frontbar theatrics and beer sweat personified. All five members give everything to the BDO cause. Cool-as-fuck attitude with dirty, dirty banter. At set's end Reid launches himself into the crowd. Most audacious act of the day.

Dizzie Rascal spits Bonkers. We share shade, vodka and smoke with friends until the mood alters slightly. Then we catch Abbey May & the Rockin Pneumonia. She's pure blues, man - the most heartfelt voice of the day with a band to match. She sings Amazing Grace all over Dizzie's munted hyperbole, her guitar prowess and gorgeous vocal tones belt the crowd senseless.

We are unimpressed by Tame Impala and The Horrors. It’s just too hot, flat and stupid in the Essential stage. And the Green stage is awkward, almost inaccessible. Through a wall of dickheads, we can nearly see Temper Trap.

Nearby, people wander on an empty theatre stage, unable to find Audience is the Art. A young man naps on concrete, next to a pool of vomit. We think we hear Rise Against out there somewhere, but the mass is too thick.

On the big stage a sparkly-cute Lilly Allen declares she "badly needs a piss,” but denies she is pregnant. Lily says she wants to live in Australia, and this is her "last show ever!" We all chant: "fuck you, fuck you very very muuuuuch..." Nice outfits I guess.

We’ve just about had enough now. But there’s one crucial set to consume: The Mars Volta. Within moments, we are immersed - inside the womb of perhaps the best rock band on the planet. Is this a jam? Is this jazz? Is this post-hardcore-salsa? Cedric's vocals are a flurry of mesmerising energy, rising and falling in superb mastery of craft. At one point my eyes are actually vibrating in my skull - the bass so guttural and intense that it’s difficult to stand.

Playing for over an hour, The Mars Volta completely dominate our senses. Looking around, we thousands are at one. We're all open-mouthed, swaying, banging together as the pink-yellow sun sets over showground masses. We're sore feet and sunburned. But this is bliss. Utter bliss.

We bail. Fast. Before Powderfinger can ruin the day.

---

stabbing day blues

a rollicking bound at the backstairs
sandals in hand we split
these revenues

the tickets rip thick
at the fences of
the free world
uh the free world
uh huh the free world
the free free free free world

and so are we rocking motherfuckers?
are we rocking yet?

we take tubes at beaches
punch out under the curl
the glistenin sandy swells
a gargantuan sprawl
as the sun melts
we are marbled glass
fucked like ice cream

nowhere near suburban
like oceanic bourbon
ripped so hard yr body
tellin me stories
of uranium modesty

and we sing sonics
at the free world
at the free free world
at the free free free world
at the free free free free
free free free world
the free world
uh the free world
uh huh the free world
the free free free free world

we spit welsh
at passer-bys
here in the west
we're fully dressed
in presbyterian clothes
a kind of uniform
filling exorcise

waiting for bold stuff
at the muddy trenches
a word, a rhyme
a splash of colour

a dictionary of warfare
please recognise these tilted stars
bent, buckled
an absolute munt

the waterfalls crush cans
at the free world
at the free free world
at the free free free world
at the free free free free
free free free world
the free world
uh the free world
uh huh the free world
the free free free free world

huh how free....

on invasion day

a poem - 26th jan 10
--------------------

on invasion day

dialogue
in the black driveway
this time i'm talking
to myself, parked
leaning against
our x-cop car

the polar whiteness
through my fabric
a next generation
that rustic urban skin

icy stag in hand
easterly breezes of me
i'm waiting for manners
to appear like ghosts

yet we/i are watching
old mates' lawns
once lush die
under union jack
stars, suns set

uh huh
and me
wafting
into
acacia