Stone Temple Pilots, Grinspoon@ Horden Pavilion, Sydney(20/03/11)

Tue 22nd Mar, 2011 in Gig Reviews

To stand in line at the Horden Pavilion and speculate on the set list of tonight’s performance is a little mind blowing. We’ve had to wait for six albums over almost 20 years and endure a Best Of collection and two break-ups before the Stone Temple Pilots finally graced the shores of our modest little country. Wild front man Scott Weiland has survived an inordinately extensive list of drug related charges and, possibly more remarkably, survived the collective bruised egos of a former Guns ‘N’ Roses troupe. As a band they’ve faced relentless (and largely unwarranted) critical vilification since day one, despite convincing the increasingly cynical and intuitive listeners of their demographic to buy hundreds of thousands of records and imprinting a sonic signature to an entire period of alternative American pop music.

You know their sound, even if you don’t listen to them. Titanic hair-metal riffs and blues progressions, hooks big enough to alert the concerns of the good people at Greenpeace, late night lounge vocals filtered through a dive bar lens, and a bastardized wardrobe arranged by Prince and the Sex Pistols. It’s important to remember that they’re not simply a tacky pastiche of rock n roll excess nor a lucrative trophy in the “youth” cabinet of a major record label’s foyer. When you scrape away the filth of questionable lifestyle choices and public absurdity sponsored by oceans of (hard earned) money you find a group of classically talented musicians, able to construct and execute simple, gutsy arrangements full of swagger and confidence and sex appeal – everything you want in full blooded rock n roll. Sure, they talk the talk, but they can also walk the shit out of the walk.

Grinspoon had the honours of opening for their contemporaries, and it was nice to see the Grinners on stage again. Phil Jamieson has grown so much as a performer and a front man, and all you need to do is listen to his voice actually finding a decent melody in closing number Champion (yes, there is one) to be convinced. He’s got some pretty impressive hand choreography these days, slicing the air and counting on his fingers as he growls/mewls/sings his lyrics. Pat Davern’s guitar was as good as ever, and although Joe Hanson occasionally seemed a little tired, his bass wasn’t. They’re still tight and crowd was on their side. It was a great warm up.

Crackerman as a Stone Temple Pilots opener was such a great choice for two reasons: it was an open declaration that nothing in their catalogue was off limits, and it was a clear apology/thank you for waiting so long to hear it live. Weiland screaming down his megaphone looking like he did was pure Rock Star. Dean De Leo’s sinewy screeching blues licks were absolutely explosive and Robert DeLeo’s bass was muscular and propellant while Erik Kretz’ drums did the heavy lifting with his simplistic, precise patterns. But Scott Weiland was, and rightly should be, the centre piece, straddling a guitar neck at one point, wearing an oversized hat and scarf with dark glasses and black jeans.

Slow-burn, stadium-grunge track Wicked Garden was a surprise inclusion, but the thrill of the crowd on figuring out the whirring feedback intro of Vasoline was electric. Purple was the album that really crystallized their success and the hooks they developed over those first records are legendary. I can’t imagine hearing them in a smaller venue. The new album tries to tap into some sort of awkward bluegrass vein and doesn’t have many highlights, but luckily everything sounds better live. Hickory Dichotomy felt a little flat but I tell you what: if Howlin Wolf was hit by gamma rays and went all Incredible Hulk and wrote a song it’d be Huckleberry Crumble. He didn’t though, so Stone Temple Pilots wrote it. It’s big and sexy and brings out the best sleazy Weiland you could ask for.

Personal favourite Big Empty got a huge reaction (that slinky opener leading into that big, lush chorus was cathartic), but a big disappointment was Interstate Love Song. It felt sluggish and drowsy, when it’s supposed to feel like you’re driving a Cadillac through the desert with a cop in pursuit. The single triumphant encore they offered was Trippin’ On A Hole… before bowing in unison and leaving us sweaty and deaf and slightly drunk.

The pressure on the Pilots to deliver was palpable from down in the pit, but then again we’ve been frothing at the mouth for two decades so we could have just seen the De Leos make Weiland a devon and tomato sauce sandwich and been grateful (you know he would have made it sexy somehow). What we got though was an epic struggle against the tyranny of age and expectation. On our side was a sterling greatest hits package, a delightfully bombastic, “turn it up to eleven” assault on doubt and morbid curiosity.

On the negative side was perhaps only a single subconscious idea: we all know they’re past their peak, artistically and physically. Depending on your character it can go one of two ways: either your enthusiasm and excitement is tainted by the idea that they just seem so…old, or your faith and patience is rewarded by rock n roll royalty still kicking out the jams with terrifying regularity. Last night’s show pretty much nailed the latter idea to my forehead. Welcome back guys, even if it was your first time.