Review: Airbourne, O2 Academy

You’ve gotta feel sorry for The Wild. They’ve come all the way from Canada in their natty matching denim waistcoats, but most of us are stuck outside in a long queue snaking round the Academy as they begin their rockin’ half-hour set. You’d have thought that whoever deals with the logistics of getting a sold-out crowd through heightened security might have figured this stuff out by now.

Fortunately, the venue is comfortably full for Phil Campbell and the Bastard Sons. Fecund Phil and his allegedly illegitimate offspring (no, really – they’re all his sons apart from vocalist Neil Starr) have a not-so-secret weapon: a vast catalogue of Motorhead songs, which Campbell co-wrote and/or played on for more than 30 years. Their first Bristol show at the Bierkeller last November saw the Bastards lean rather too heavily on this musical crutch, which was perhaps understandable given that the sum total of their recorded material is a five track mini-album.

A necessarily truncated support slot in front of a very much up-for-it Saturday night crowd suits them much better at this stage in their career. They open with the best song on that initial release, Big Mouth – a sweary, chant-along anthem that would have sat comfortably alongside much of the latterday Motorhead repertoire – with Starr giving it the full headbang.

Like an aging lion, Campbell stakes out his traditional stage right territory, with cubs Todd (guitar) and Tyla (bass) snarling to his left and Dane (drums) behind them. They alternate original material with Motorhead classics, unveiling a couple of promising tracks from the upcoming debut album, and for the most part avoid obvious Lemmy-era stuff.

Rock Out (“Rock out, with your cock out/Impress your lady friends,” smirked the incorrigible late Mr. Kilmister), Born to Raise Hell and all one-and-a-half minutes of the punky R.A.M.O.N.E.S. each go down a treat. Then it’s crowd-pleasing time with Silver Machine (still sounding rather odd stripped of its space-rock trappings) and, inevitably, Ace of Spades.

Even for those of us whose first musical love is unnecessarily complex prog-metal, there’s something gloriously irresistible about basic, unpretentious hard rock played with passion and absolute commitment. Aussie quartet Airbourne hit the stage running with the first of many fabulous big dumb anthems, Ready to Rock, which sounds – and there’s really no getting away from the comparison – like the best song AC/DC never got around to writing.

Were the title a question rather than a statement, the answer would be very much in the affirmative as the crowd erupts and, as usual at an Airbourne show, more beer is sprayed around than actually consumed, while the sweaty, rambunctious and frequently shirtless hordes barrel around in the vast mosh pit.

Those of us who’ve followed the band since their very first Bristol show at the Louisiana back in 2008 know that there are certain key features of the great Airbourne panto. It will be deafeningly loud. Increasingly raspy frontman Joel O’Keeffe will at some point bellow: “Graggh Grarrgh Graggh rock’n’roll? Graggh Grarrgh Graggh rock’n’roll!”

He will also go walkabout (or “come out and say g’day”, as he puts it), while still playing his guitar, making a point of visiting the disabled viewing area to ensure that all wheelchair users are fully rocked. He will introduce Girls in Black by announcing: “This is a song about girls in black. It’s called Girls in Black.” Oh, and he’ll bash himself about the head repeatedly with a full beer can until it explodes, showering everyone in frothy lager.

It is a pleasure to report that each and every one of these obligations is fulfilled with aplomb. Joel also has a new prop: a portable ‘Lemmy’s Bar’, which he uses to mix lethal Jack’n’Cokes for the rest of the band and a handful of lucky punters.

They’ve been on the road for 18 months (now that’s a tour), so everything is locked in tighter than a [insert off-colour Down Under analogy here], with Joel’s brother Ryan holding down that rock steady 4/4 beat while bassist Justin Street and new boy rhythm guitarist Harri Harrison contribute backing vocals and synchronised headbanging. Fourth album Breakin’ Outta Hell dominates the first half of the set, but there’s no new material fatigue as everything is cut from the same big riff’n’terrace chant cloth.

It’s All for Rock’n’Roll is an aptly non-teary-eyed salute to their old chum Lemmy. And, as if to underline the contention that one can never have too many songs with the words Rock’n’Roll in the title, Stand Up For Rock’n’Roll proves a suitably rousing set closer.

Naturally, they’re not gone for long and return for a three-song encore: Live It Up, Raise the Flag and the title track from debut album Runnin’ Wild, which they have arguably never bettered. (Incidentally, someone at Disney is clearly a fan, as this has been used in trailers for both Tangled and Frozen.) How long they can keep up this energy level after ten years remains to be seen, but right now the Airbourne foot remains jammed firmly on the accelerator.

All photos by Shona Cutt

Read more: Metal & Prog Picks: November 2017