Live Review: Foo Fighters, Weezer, DZ Deathrays

Dotted around the hallowed grounds of State of Origin footy are clumps of tonight's concert-goers, of which there are varying types: the diehards, the general music lover, parents who have dragged their kids, and seemingly, in some cases, parents who have dragged their parents. The site where all the state's NRL action normally goes down has lately welcomed some big rock names, and the last was a Beatle. Tonight's headliner holds a slightly less lofty ranking in the echelons of music royalty, but a valuable place nonetheless.

 

It's been a flipping hot day, and stepping out into the desert of white plastic atop Suncorp's field before DZ Deathrays is a slightly iffy proposition, but it's one a few people have ambled inside to accept. Props to Shane Parsons and Simon Ridley, joined by their mate Violent Soho's Luke Henery taking some happy snaps side stage; their solid lives shows this past festival season, alongside their far-too catchy single releases last year ahead of their soon-to-be-released third album, have earned them this stadium spot and they make the most of it with their dance-punk jams.

 

It's still blue-ish skies above but that white expanse of flooring has disappeared somewhat by the time Portland nerd rock four-piece Weezer rush the stage. If there is anything more endearing than seeing Rivers Cuomo still rocking those thick black frames it's not worth knowing about. There are more than enough people here to help give classics Undone - The Sweater Song, El Scorcho, Buddy Holly and Island In The Sun the stadium experience with carefree singalongs.

 

It's not a sold-out show tonight but the air is now distinctly sticky and the stadium heaving with the presence of thousands of bodies that await a clanging note to herald our headliner's arrival. Indeed with a clang, Dave Grohl with his blue guitar bursts from the shadows and bolts down the runway stage. The joker, the straight-shooting but nice guy of rock, is adored by the masses before him. Only a few months ago this stadium offered a chance to see a living Beatle in Paul McCartney; for this largely younger generation, catching Foo Fighters is chance to see one-third of Nirvana. The man looks almost godly with his mop of hair flapping in a tepid breeze, as he plunges the group into newer single Run. The mammoth three-hour set is bookended with old favourites: Learn To Fly, The Pretender and My Hero are guzzled up early on, then Breakout, Monkey Wrench (which features a suspiciously unnerved and more than competent punter seemingly plucked from the crowd to play Grohl's bit) and Best Of You round it out.

 

It's the mid-section that drags. The typical stadium show quirks are all there - the trick song endings, extended jams, call and repeat tussles - and they're well-worn diversions that turn a four-minute song into a ten-minute one. And Grohl, bless him, has all the makings of someone about to refer to themselves in the third person; the crowd is full of 'motherfuckers' and 'assholes', and getting all evangelical and proclaiming 'rock isn't dead' is just part of his show. Such a minor criticism pales in comparison to the awkward five minutes when Wolfmother's Andrew Stockdale inexplicably joins them for a cover of Queen/Bowie's Under Pressure.

 

After a brief and quite funny break, care of some 'candid' backstage footage, Grohl brings out the acoustic guitar in solo guise for a truly gorgeous cover of Blackbird, and is then joined by the band for Times Like These and Everlong for a huge finish. It's a solid close to an amazing night of music, only slightly marred by the fact that, hey, Dave Grohl is old enough to be your dad and he may very well act like him too.