Entering the SCG after a circuitous lining-up process, I noted that the charity gig was well underway. The Waifs had long since played – well received, I was told – and Missy Higgins’ set was coming to a close. Her particular brand of songwriting seemed to go over well, with radio saturation of Scar ensuring a pretty big sing along when it came time for the tune to be played.

Next up was Nick Cave, who was playing in what’d been billed as “intimate mode”. This meant that it was Cave on keys – plus three other musicians including Kim Salmon on guitar and Mick Harvey on drums -  for a scaled-down run through a couple of his favourite songs. Despite the fact that more than a fraction of the crowd seemed engrossed in watching a cricket match that some punters were holding up the other end of the ground, the band pulled out a couple of favourites, including the always well-received The Ship Song, a Red Right Hand benefiting from some discordant ivory-tinkling, and a stripped-down Jack The Ripper. It’s a shame that the set was so early and so short; it would’ve been great to see how Cave went over with a full house here.

Kasey Chambers and her band – including dad Bill, on various stringed instruments – revelled in the crowds. A broad grin was visible during the length of her set, and as her keening voice soared into the skies above the ground, it was hard not to grin along. The singer’s unashamed, innocent-sounding Aussie twang is a joy, and it’s fabulous to hear it couched in such Nashville-quality music. From the heartbreak of Am I Not Pretty Enough? to the slow-burning sass of Pony or the mandolin-infused dust of Barricades & Brickwalls, this was city-friendly C&W that held appeal for those even most disdainful of the cult of the Akubra. It was lovely to see a performer so taken with the idea of playing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited!” Chambers grinned at one point, and it wasn’t difficult to believe her.

Pete Murray, on the other hand, appeared to be pretty nervous as he settled into his set. Opening with So Beautiful, he began solo, before the rest of his band kicked in later in the song. Extension was the order of the day for this set, with the song being drawn out longer and longer, to enable the band to jam on the progressions, and to allow Murray’s drummer to venture out from behind his kit for a spirited djembe solo. The rest of the tunes – perhaps through nervousness? – sounded a little similar, a little too reined in, though Murray’s hit Feeler earned big cheers when performed.

(Between sets, I tried to check out the beer situation, was terrified by the lines and ended up back in my seat cradling a water bottle I’d brought in. Rock ‘n’ roll, eh?)

The Finn Brothers were next up on stage. During the course of their set, the two Kiwis managed to cement their reputation as a) fantastic songwriters; b) wonderful harmony singers and c) bloody nice blokes, to boot. In terms of crowd reaction, having these two – two of the most important Antipodean songwriters ever – turn up and play was a no-brainer. With a simple setup (Neil on electric guitar, Tim on acoustic guitar and drums, played with his feet) the two brothers played a champion set which included such gems as Weather With You, Don’t Dream It’s Over, World Where You Live and It’s Only Natural. Though not as popular with the crowd, Won’t Give In (with its “Everyone I love is here” chorus) seemed to fit the day to a T, as did an emotional cover of Hunters & Collectors’ Throw Your Arms Around Me. Ending with the Split Enz classic I Got You, the smiling pair’s set had been backed by an arena full of sunburnt voices. It’s strange to note that while individual singers in crowds, generally, suck, when they’re combined with tens of thousands of others, they sound electrifyingly sweet – and thus it was here. The Finn Brothers’ set was the first twinkling, to me, that this was a pretty momentous gig.

Following this, concert main man Michael Chugg came onstage and did his ‘nana at some punters who weren’t heeding the no-beer-on-the-grass rule. Understandable, but telling people to fuck off at a family gig? Come on, Chuggie! Six bagpipers from the King’s Own Scottish Borderers came on after the outburst, and played Mist Covered Mountains to allow a moment of contemplation. It’s strange to hear bagpipes at the SCG, but it seemed oddly fitting.

At any rate, the performance of The Wrights – an Australian supergroup paying tribute to Stevie Wright, who is, in Ginger Meggs parlance, a deadset legend – brought the tone of the evening back out of the doldrums of melancholia. They only had one song to play this evening, but it was a three-parter – Australia’s Vanda and Young rock epic, if you will. And by god, they ripped it to pieces. With Kram’s metronymic drumming, Pat Bourke’s bass, and the guitars of Davey Lane and Chris Cheney, the musical bed of Evie (parts one, two and three) was red-hot. The tune rang out for a new generation, with Nic Cester performing lead vocals for part one, Bernard Fanning showing his soulful side for part two, and Phil Jamieson amping it up again for the closing third part. This was the first time the band had played the song in public, and it was triumphant. Here’s hoping that the world of The Easybeats has found a new champion in this capable bunch.

The word-for-word singing along began in earnest with the appearance of the John Butler Trio. Peaches & Cream began with Butler solo, with the rest of the band eventually filling out the tune. Again, this was a set full of extended jams, though they sounded a little more natural than Pete Murray’s had. Yo’ Mama featured some tasty slide playing, while Better Man was elongated into a solo spectacular, the most notable being from the trio’s bassplayer, who chunked a wah-flavoured riff out on his upright bass that had the crowd cheering for more. Nailing their reggae-loving colours to the mast, the trio ended with the elastic-bassed Zebra, which had hands in the air down the length of the field. While they’re not my cup of tea, it’s undeniable that the JBT won the audience over with their laid-back grooves.

Next up was something that’d been worth waiting for – the reconvening of silverchair. They hadn’t played live for two years, and – as a bare-chested, nipple-pierced (and rakish hat-wearing) Daniel Johns remarked, their instruments “weren’t used to being beaten”. But that didn’t stop the band from putting on a show of such competence and scale that it was difficult to believe that they’d ever been away. Sounding like a beefier Muse, the band’s set – opening with the thunderous Israel’s Son – touched more on their adventurous, melodic side. Emotion Sickness, Without You and Greatest View were heard, while the sweet Ana’s Song (Open Fire) was dedicated to headliners Midnight Oil, and marked a high point in what Johns had deemed “the best show ever… and I got to wear a hat!” Johns’ vocal clarity is great, and his showboating – a teeth-played guitar solo on The Door – is world-class. Ending with The Lever, the band’s muscular set showed that they’re a world away from those couple of kids who hit big with an SBS competition entry.

The attitude of the day was pretty special and easy, though it must be noted that there was something that spoiled the goodwill established – a lack of appropriate behaviour by some of the people involved. WaveAid was, after all, a family event. And unless I was deceived by a troupe of particularly trim midgets, there were a bunch of kids there – they were the ones who knew all the Avril Lavigne tune words. So where is it appropriate for Adam Spencer to speculate on the fuckability of Daniel Johns? (This is aside from the problem I had with Spencer turning the whole event into his own personal birthday party and getting people to sing Happy Birthday to him – wha?)

Another strange aspect to the day was the use of the SCG’s video screen, and the two screens by the side of the stage. Throughout the length of the concert, when bands weren’t playing, footage taken from cameras around the ground was broadcast on these screens while occasionally, captions were overlaid. They were pretty good-natured, but pretty soon slipped into the somewhat offensive; speculating on the sexual predilections of crowd members, saying that a punter looked like a “skank” or “English backpacker”. This devolved into an arena-wide, screen-broadcast game of “show us your tits” – something that left a bad taste, given that many of the girls singled out on screen seemed to be coerced into flashing some flesh.

Rant over, and back to the music. Powderfinger, who I’d seen as the Big Day Out a couple of days previously, cemented the fact that they’re one of the Australian bands that’re comfortable playing to an arena and, what’s more, can hold the crowd. Opening with a bluesy, harmonica-driven number, and with Bernard Fanning introducing the band as “Powderfinger, from Queensland, Australia!” the set soon stepped up the intensity up a notch. My Happiness and Passenger provided some singalong moments, but for show-stopping emotion the cake was well and truly taken by a solo, acoustic version of These Days. You could’ve heard a pin drop.

I Love Your Way saw the band augmented by some background visuals, as well as an enterprising punter who managed to make it onto the stage to take a quick photo of himself there before jumping off, avoiding security. (Fanning later asked if he could be sent a copy.) Like A Dog saw them stretch out and rock a little more, while the set closer of On My Mind proved – assuming there were any doubters in the sea of hands in the air – the band’s rock credentials. Without showiness, without drama and without hassle, Powderfinger had played what had to be the biggest bill of their lives, and they’d had the crowd in the palm of their collective hand. Not bad.

After an announcement that the day had – thus far – raised $2million for victims of the Asian tsunami, it was time for the headliners to emerge. With fireworks glittering in the sky, Midnight Oil came on and struck up Read About It, as if it were just yesterday that they were rocking venues across Australia. Lead singer (and MP for Kingsford-Smith) Peter Garrett was back in his element, jerkily dancing and shaking his hands in time with the music as the trademark yellow handprint of the Oils drifted across screens. The swampy energy and strident political comment that was the band’s stock-in-trade was intact, and if anything, stronger than ever. The Power And The Passion – a song I’d thought might get saved as a closer – was second in, and it allowed drummer Rob Hirst to resurrect his miniature water tank during the lengthy solo part. Fabulous!

It’s strange, but watching the Oils play this evening felt like a tribal experience. The band are a band that a lot of the 48,000-strong audience grew up with; they play songs that are hardwired into some consciousnesses long before listeners had any clue about what the issues involved were. And it’s oddly reassuring to know that the band can still cut it – and moreover, that they were enjoying the experience as much as the audience. “I’m probably the only Labor MP to be singing in a rock band tonight” enthused Garrett “but I’m also the luckiest.”

The set continued with a number of politically-charged classics: King Of The Mountain, Say Your Prayers, Beds Are Burning and The Dead Heart featuring, the latter notable for the crowd’s singing of the intro long before anyone in the band, for Garrett’s leaping off the stage to shake hands with crowd members, as well as for the enthusiastic, cheering display of the Aboriginal flag at its conclusion. Forgotten Years raised the crowd to an emotional peak, before Garrett thanked everyone for being able to take part. “Even though one of us is headed in a different direction, the intentions will be the same,” he said, confirming the largely-held opinion that WaveAid would probably be the group’s last outing.

“What you read in the newspapers isn’t always true,” warned the frontman, before the band kicked into set closer The Best Of Both Worlds. And, as orange signal smoke blew from a stick held in Garrett’s fist, and the crowd cheered what is undoubtedly one of Australia’s most important bands, I felt a little twinge of pride. People had come together for a good cause, and Australian talent had delivered a great show, so I guess the only real reaction can be a hearty “onya!” for everyone involved.