Several months ago, a friend from church very kindly offered to pay for me to attend a Midnight Oil concert in the Domain, and last night was the fulfilment of his kindness. The final concert in the Oil’s ‘Great Circle’ tour lived up to expectations in more ways than one. Having religiously devoted myself to their music and causes through my teenage years, and paying my rates at their temple from the pocket money of my adolescence, this year I have followed with interest the progress of their reunion and relaunch through YouTube. I have enjoyed this year re-engaging with their music, and have of necessity been forced as a result to reconsider their message.
The Domain at the heart of Sydney’s CBD was an unusual choice of venue at one level—although I am no frequent concertgoer. That is, I would have thought that there are much more comfortable venues for middle age and senior citizen consumers of nostalgia. Nevertheless, this did not stop what seemed to be the tens of thousands grey, wrinkled, and bespectacled devotees. My friend and I wondered how many of us were great grandparents, seeing that so many of us were patently grandparents. A substantial number had been able to purchase one of the licensed Midnight Oil T-shirts to adequately cover the middle aged spread, and because the originals were no longer in existence, having ended their useful life as clothing last century. There were however, a sprinkling of younger people, many likewise identifiable by the licensed merchandise they wore—teenage sons with middle aged fathers, families with patriarchs and matriarchs in attendance. I was also pleasantly surprised at the number of females there—I always thought that the Oils were a bit of a ‘male’ band—at least that was my perception from the concerts I attended in the 80s. However, my perception is probably related to the fact that we set up our blanket 'beyond the path', but a friend who ventured closer to the stage said that she felt that males outnumbered females as being nine in every ten where she was sitting/standing, and especially after the rush forward toward the stage.
The Domain was closed off to everything not ‘Oil’ and which hadn’t paid the $99 general admission price. So vendors of ‘The Big Issue’ plied their wares outside the sacred compound, offering a $7 magazine with Peter Garrett on the front cover. Following the crowds around the domain to the eastern entrance in front of the art gallery, I saw the first incongruity of the night—the gleaming Mercedes Benz sports car with special parking permission. The rich indeed have been getting richer, and they weren’t going to miss out on tonight’s ‘not-to-be-missed’ event.
The Domain had been turned into a high security stadium rock arena, police and security in attendance, complete with demountable stadiums, food and drink outlets, some approved organizations being provided exposure (I saw a Greenpeace stall as I walked in). There was some internal fencing to protect some of the ancient figs, substantial merchandising, a massive covered stage several stories high with lightshow and huge video screens on each side, a sound compound (to call it a ‘mixing console’ would be to label an 'aircraft carrier' as a 'lilo') and towering audio stacks, and a large mosh pit (they used to be called ‘dance floors’, but the fortuitous change of name serves the purpose of truth in advertising, particularly at an Oils gig). There was even a run way allowing those who drew near to see even more.
Security was tight, metal detectors ironically named ‘Garrett’ were wielded and used for dignified ‘frisk’ searching of patrons, and no alcohol or cans were allowed. But further progression into the venue would prove that this last prohibition was only to serve the inhouse monopoly within the compound, as alcohol would amply be provided with the music to fuel the euphoria and nostalgia.
I wandered over to the merchandizing stall: prominent and popular were the retro ‘Head Injuries’ T-shirt that I’d owned in my youth, and a T-shirt I had not seen before, featuring a ‘Ned Kelly Was King’ motif, reviving the early eighties song from ‘Place Without a Postcard’. I remember seeing one with a direct reference to ‘old men’ combined with ‘Midnight Oil’ on a T-shirt, which seemed particularly appropriate. There were hats and all kinds of other trinkets and memorabilia. All the offered items were certainly beyond my price range or willingness to spend money, but judging by what was worn to and at the gig, that was not true of many people there.
The first band was A.B.Original. My 18 year old son tells me they did well on the triple J top 100. They are an indigenous rap group. Their music was new to me, although I knew the Paul Kelly song they covered, and the girls in front of me knew the song about January 26. Their tongue and lip dexterity were obvious, and their vocal cadences and alliterative skills were enjoyable, though they didn’t really need to pepper their set with the emphatic participle beginning with ‘f’, nor the different uses of the ‘Mother-f***er’ adjective. Perhaps this is normal for that genre of music, but this seemed to be the way that they indicated they were upset about January 26 being a national holiday. There was perhaps some polite applause or acknowledgement of their performance around where I sat.
The second band was the John Butler Trio—famous and successful in their own right, and understandably so, given their virtuosity and catchy tunes. The crowd was soon warmed up by bobbing and fist pumping to their hits, surrounded by their surprisingly big sound. John Butler likewise gave an acknowledgement of country and what appeared to be an endorsement of the result of the recent marriage survey—“yes, yes, yes”.
By the time the Oils appeared on stage, the beer had been long flowing, the crowd had swelled, and most people had been on their feet for some time. The rush toward the stage had started, predominantly conducted by males in the crowd, though with some females in tow. To fuel the anticipation, while the roadies were clearing the support acts’ gear, quotes from the Oils’ canon were cycled through on the big screens—memory verses reminding us why we were there, and what causes we were to support—or at least what causes the Oils supported tonight. Part of the display involved a rainbow ‘yes’ screen, and an anti-coal logo, and several on-screen ‘acknowledgements of country’, which ‘virtue’ signaled what was to come.
An unusual aspect of the on-stage arrangement of the band was a raised section for Jim Moginie, who plays keyboards and guitars. It would be explained by his injured hamstring: tonight he would have to supply his ‘bump-in-the-night’ soundscape seated, restricted to swivelling on a chair between keyboard and pedal board, the latter of which he now could work with only one foot.
Out they came, starting off with ‘Redneck Wonderland’ (which probably was written against such as I now am). With ‘Trugannini’ from ‘Earth and Sun and Moon’, it was the only tip of the hat to what I might honestly and without malice label as their declining recording years. Nothing from ‘Breathe’ or ‘Capricornia’ was to be heard, and while ‘Stand in Line’, ‘Lucky Country’, ‘Don’t Wanna Be the One’, and ‘Weddingcake Island’ represented their “older stuff”, tonight was all about the ‘songs’, the years of commercial success. This was not to be a rerun of the Selina’s Head Injuries reprise witnessed earlier this year and painted onto a bigger canvass—this was popular ‘Oils’, ‘Blue Light Disco’ Oils, Oils on commercial FM radio from circa the mid eighties and early nineties. ‘Only the Strong’, ‘Read About It’, ‘Short Memory’, ‘Power and the Passion’, ‘US Forces’—not necessarily in that order—had the crowd jumping and chanting. The setlist picked songs that kicked and resonated, such that Peter Garret let the crowd sing most of ‘US Forces’. ‘Hercules’ solely represented the harder edged and stripped back sound of ‘Species Deceases’. ‘When the Generals Talk’ came complete with anti-Trump tirade and electric drums, and ‘Who Can Stand in the Way’ tipped the hat to the city of Sydney. ‘Kosciusko’ was deconstructed to Jim on mandolin (it was an eight string little guitar which I assume was a mandolin) and Martin on his blue 12-string acoustic, displaying their unique combined rhythm guitar textures, until the full band joined them for the instrumental break. ‘Best of Both Worlds’ was saved for second encore and finale, enriched with Martin playing all his bits and the three-part brass ensemble. ‘Blue Sky Mining’ likewise featured, with the title track, ‘King of the Mountain’, and ‘Forgotten Years’ all snuck in either in the main part of the concert or the first encore. An electrified Warakurna was the stand out track from ‘Diesel and Dust, and the faster ‘Sometimes’ and ‘Dreamworld’ were omitted in favour of the more demure, sedate, and mainstream ‘Dead Heart’, ‘Beds are Burning’, and ‘Put Down that Weapon’.
Musically, the band were on song, with Rob Hirst hitting everything within reach, including his trademark rusty water tank (since Diesel and Dust), all the while singing his trade mark harmonies, and wearing his ‘No to Adani’ T-shirt.
Martin Rotsey and Jim Moginie, perhaps the greatest rock guitar duo Australia has produced, provided the fill, texture, and the necessary searing hard edge where required. Martin’s Rickenbacker 12 string was fully utilised for his fat arppegio runs, but his beaten up cream fender strat bore most of the night’s work. Jim would never be satisfied with the ‘Senior Citizen Oils’ being a coverband of their younger selves. Yes, he can still play all those weird and wacky bits and make all those sounds come out of his guitar that you and I never could. But he likes to also develop his songs musically. No two Oils concerts are ever the same, and no rendition of any song is a complete copy of previous ones.
It’s only since I have listened again to Martin and Jim via the many live concerts uploaded onto Youtube this year, that I now understand why Jim and Martin are so good: they share. They do it all together. Each gets a go. And even when Les Karski got them to cut out all the ‘hippy waffle’, they still shared, and dueled, Jim with his fat sounding Gibson, Martin cutting through on his Strat. Neither is lead guitarist for the Oils, neither is rhythm guitarist. They each do both when required, now one coming forth to shine, and the next moment then receding underneath the mix to support the other. Perhaps it is this that has given the Oils their unique and I might say nearly uncopiable guitar sound.
Unsung in all this is Bones Hillman. The stage set up suggests that Bones is consciously bringing the four original band members to prominence. This is their time in the sun, for the time that remains for them is unlikely to be long, and Bones is, it seems, consciously stepping back. But not always—he too strode down the runway. Bones is not a mere add-on. He is ‘Oil enough’ to master the grueling high speed finger gymnastics of ‘Stand in Line’, and his harmonies have featured since Peter Gifford left the band after ‘Diesel and Dust’. There is now no Oils without Bones Hillman.
Peter Garrett is rightly described as the most powerful front man in Australian Rock music. This is undeniable. He uses what he has to great effect, and his limited vocal range when compared to other lead singers is actually an advantage—everyone in the crowd can and does sing along with him, and sometimes they do it instead of him, and nobody really cares. We enjoy his Aussie accent, we know his voice, and he doesn't really sing out of tune, and whatever imperfections there are in his voice have become part of the authorised way the song is done. He does what he can with what he's got, and its more than good enough. That is typical of the bands ethos—you don’t have to be a team of greats to be a great team. The whole is greater than the sum of the individual parts.
For a man in his mid sixties, it is astounding to see Peter Garrett still spinning and whirling around, performing his unique antics that I studiously copied as a teenager. The years have inevitably reduced the energy, but the passion and desire to perform is still there. Only the power of Garrett’s persona could have allowed him to get away with it, and have people copy him and think it is cool to do so.
He speaks kindly to the crowd to keep them safe. He still stops mid song to perform crowd control in the mosh pit, protecting the inebriated and vulnerable, and evicting transgressors. He interacts and engages with the other band members—I’m pretty sure his flailing arms near the immobilized Jim Mogine would have been consensual and certainly were typical of live performances, but others might have seen it as a potential workplace health and safety issue. Once he slipped, but like the band itself, he got back up again, and utiilized the entire breadth and length of the stage at different times in the night.
Of course, when considering Peter Garrett, just as important as the music is the politics. The politics would never have carried through to the popular level without the music, but the music certainly received its post-punk hard edge from the politics—and that politics is not just Peter Garrett’s but the band’s. Undoubtedly, he speaks for the five men on stage.
The T-shirt Garrett wore commendably spoke against violence against women. Yet I wonder how this truth interacted with the general 'thoughtlessness' of the male attenders who surged forward to greet the Oils when they came on stage. If a woman or women had set up camp too close to the band or dance floor, too bad! They were getting in the way of the full 'male experience'. Moreover, given that alcohol is a key factor in domestic violence, a question needs to be raised about the consistency of the t-shirt up front and the beer sales out back.
We were exhorted to act for ‘coral not coal’, probably a reference to the Adani issue. The continual acknowledgements of country, the singing of ‘Treaty’, and rebuke of the current Federal government’s slowness concerning indigenous concern spoke to that long-term issue for the Oils. But his rebuke reminded me: wasn’t Peter Garrett a minister of the crown and member of Commonwealth cabinet for almost 6 years in the Rudd-Gillard-Rudd government? Shouldn’t some mea culpa be acknowledged for this slowness?
A rant, though briefer than I expected, was reserved for eulogizing the success of ‘Yes’ vote and the same-sex marriage campaign. Garrett pointed to the quote above from the UN Declaration of Human Rights and declared that the ‘Yes’ vote was simply an application of the UN Declaration. Does that mean that the Lord Jesus and the apostle Paul would have been in breach of the UN Declaration? An abusive mention was reserved for Tony Abbott, presumably because he was a significant figure in the ‘No’ campaign. Does that mean that the 38% of Australians who voted ‘No’ should take warning because they are creeps also? I’m glad Garrett feels good about the moral high ground of his position, but he should also think about what it says to the substantial majority in the western suburbs of Sydney who voted 'No'. They live in Labor heartland, and will return his side of politics to power if it is to happen again. Is he happy to have his party be supported by such ‘creeps’ or tolerate their continual refusal to recognise human rights?
But against Garrett’s conception of the issue, those of us on the ‘No’ side cannot see that the question is about human rights (all humans able to consent and are otherwise free to marry can do so, and for the last 30 years, no one in this State has hanging over them legal sanction for engaging in homosexual behaviour, so that you can indeed do what you like in your own bedroom), but about the definition. That is, we on the 'No' side do not accept that the definition of marriage is satisfied by ‘two persons’ but by ‘one man and one woman’. Just as we think that gravity is undeniable and a matter of truth, so we think that essential to the definition of marriage is opposite gender, just as we consider exclusiveness and life-long faithfulness also essential.
And if changing the definition is a question of human rights, according to Garrett, I look forward to Garrett advocating for further definition changes in the legislation, allowing polyamorous marriage, catering for the ‘B’ in GLBTIQ, and polygamous marriage for our Muslim community and those men envious of and with the ability to copy Tiger Woods, about temporary Muhta marriage for resident Shiah, which simply provides structure and predictability for the serial monogamy brought in by the (Cth) Family Law Act 1975, about making room for adult genetic siblings (same or opposite sex) marrying one another, for adult fathers and daughters marrying. For infant deformities should be no problem with screening and abortion on demand, right? After all, being included in the 'marriage club' is now a human right, and with our brave new world of human voluntarism, who is anyone else to say what consensual sexual and lifestyle practice is not marriage? The challenge for the 'Yes' campaign now is not merely to provide political patronage for one relatively small sectional group, but to be just and consistent for all citizens and their aspirations, no matter how uncommon, popular, or otherwise, to have their relationships recognised as 'marriage'. And then once everyone is married, then nobody is married.
And I also look forward to hearing Peter Garrett’s protections for religious freedoms in his songs, as this too is a human right. Perhaps if the creative juices have dried up, the Oils could slightly change some lyrics of existing works, as Sir Elton did for Princess Dianna: “Put Down that Weaponized Anti-Discrimination Act”, or “Divided World the GLBTIQ say who control the Issue” or for recalcitrant clergy, photographers, or bakers, “You May Not Be Released”. I guess it is ‘My Country Right or Wrong’, and the one who has the microphone holds the power. “What you gonna do now, now that it’s started,” Mr Garrett?
The ‘coral not coal’ line was particularly ironic. Here we were, in the Domain, surrounded by the tall concrete buildings in the city of Sydney–“concrete you don’t free my soul”, maybe. But it's still a good place to put the gig so that middle aged middle class men can come after work to drink and spend their money. Here we were, with massive steel rigging stories high for the stage, sound system, and light show—all the results of heavy industry which require electricity and burning heaps of coal—singing songs about the ‘rich getting richer and the poor get the picture’. But then we were saying that we shouldn’t sell coal to the developing country of India so that they can drag themselves from the grinding poverty that most of their population endures. Steel structures in front of us, aluminium cans underneath our feet, lying like scattered leaves across the grassed Domain, massive and gratuitous light and sound equipment surrounding us, the latest visual and audio technology above us—all of this dependent on sucking from the grid the electricity provided by baseload coal power production.
Here in Australia, we rightly won’t accept nuclear power, lest it ‘Fukushima’ our country too. But with all the undeniable wealth of Australia, are we really serious about resenting selling some of our coal to India, with its huge underclass of untouchables? Perhaps if we allowed Adani to take some of our coal fully paid for and with infrastructure investment provided, India too might have enough electricity to enjoy stadium rock. They’d then have enough power to run it without loadshedding entire subcontinental cities. Someone so dependent on power and industry for his income and livelihood should be a little more circumspect in limiting the aspirations of others for the same.
The Adani situation, furthermore, is complicated by the fact that many Aboriginal people actually do want the project to proceed. Warren Mundine has written about the benefits of the project for Aboriginal people, and is scathing of the Green activists' paternalistic interference and opposition to development that inhibits Aboriginal and indeed Australian development (https://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/opinion/warren-mundine-greens-are-out-to-damage-australia/news-story/68700f47f29a78a551792e6f0f9d8706). Aboriginal academic and activist Dr Marcia Langton likewise has been critical of Green groups' interference (http://www.afr.com/business/marcia-langton-green-extremists-hijacking-indigenous-cause-20170607-gwmgfl). One thing is certainly the case, and that is that the issue is more complex than the false dichotomising slogan 'coral not coal' would lead anyone to believe, and that the 'Oil' approved line may not serve many Aboriginal people (https://www.dailymercury.com.au/news/we-want-adani-to-start-up-asap/3189715/; https://www.thechronicle.com.au/news/adani-carmichael-mine-welcomed-by-aboriginal-elder/3189720/). Who will win when environmentalism and indigenous interests are in conflict? At the moment, it is environmentalists. A complex issue needs more nuance than the high and mighty proclamations from the stage as to who is right and wrong.
And with all this puritanism and high-moral-grounding from the stage, what is with the ‘drinking’ culture that such a gig promoted? As I stood there, around me were inebriated middle aged men—presumably reliving the glory days: "Remember when we saw them at the Horden Pavillion". One of them even covertly offered me some substance—I don’t know what—which was fuelling his good time, and would presumably disinhibit mine. The need for substances, legal and illicit, sat alongside the political highmindedness being offered up front as quite strange bedfellows. And given that alcohol is a factor in domestic violence, it is not surprising that alcohol didn't seem to help the men be gentlemanly to the female concert goers on the night.
Moreover the continual ‘black arm band’ view of Australian history that Garrett and Midnight Oil’s selective choice of indigenous issues suggests does not really reflect the full picture, even from within the Midnight Oil canon. The final song, ‘Best of Both Words’, indicates this. Garrett finished with a thankful near benediction for the benefits of being Australian. Why is this so? Australia is a wealthy country whose identity, as Noel Pearson has rightly pointed out, reflects three social factors: first, the original Australians and the land they so hold dear—our golden soil and wealth for toil; second, European and particularly British ‘discovery’ and migration and settlement, without which we would not have enjoyed industrialization, education, health care and globalisation—and without that, no electric guitars and amplification; and third, post War multicultural Australia, who provided, it must be said, labour for our nation building projects. Certainly, the ‘white blindfold’ view of history is no closer to the truth than the ‘black arm band’, but should we not acknowledge all three contributions, if we’re going to acknowledge one? For all three have contributed to our wealth and our society in different ways. And it is only all three together explains Australian society.
Aboriginal flags were apparent, and a few rainbow ones, but not one Australian one—the new racist flag, apparently, which if it is borne on any day except Australia day, is the symbol of the far right. Is that because Garrett’s view of history sees the union jack in flames, and lets it burn?
The question then, for Garrett, is whether his vision of Australia can provide the wealth and social stability, the openness and tolerance built up over the last 200 years, that has given him his platform from which he preaches. Can Garrett’s vision build Australia for the next two hundred years, and provide the impetus for the necessary nation building and infrastructure, rather than just provide a necessary but essentially non-constructive corrective for the excesses of the big end of town? For Garrett and his ilk are essentially a brake and not an accelerator for economic and industrial progress, which has provided our wealth for our social infrastructure—it was not left wing identity politics that built the city that overshadows the Domain. It is always easier to take over what already exists than build it yourself. Moreover, will Garrett's support for the minorities that have now become the darlings of the majority extend to the new substantial minority, the 38% of fellow citizens who for predominantly religious reasons adhere to the traditional definition of marriage.
Matt Olliffe, 18 November 2017, revised 26 November 2017.