Powderfinger reforms for one night only at Brisbane cinema for Vulture Street 20th
On Thursday night, one of Australia’s most popular rock bands appeared in public for the first time since its final concert in 2010 — but there wasn’t a guitar, amplifier or crash cymbal in sight.
On Thursday night in Brisbane, one of Australia’s most popular rock bands appeared in public for the first time since its final concert in 2010 – but there wasn’t a guitar, amplifier or crash cymbal in sight.
Instead, the five members of Powderfinger had the most unusual experience of watching their younger selves performing some of their best-loved songs in a packed cinema, before sitting beneath the big screen for a revealing, playful catch-up chat.
The occasion was the 20th anniversary release of Vulture Street, its hard-rocking fifth album, which contained hits including (Baby I’ve Got You) On My Mind, Sunsets and Love Your Way. The four-time ARIA Award-winning album was released on vinyl for the first time on Friday.
At the Palace Barracks cinema, not far from the city centre, the 2004 film These Days Live In Concert was played before about 265 fans, who sang along to their favourites and applauded with gusto between songs, knowing their heroes were in the room, sat together in the front right corner.
After the credits rolled, best-selling novelist and The Weekend Australian Magazine feature writer Trent Dalton led an hour-long conversation with singer Bernard Fanning, guitarists Ian Haug and Darren Middleton, bassist John Collins and drummer Jon Coghill.
Dalton’s first question to Fanning: what was going through your head while watching that?
“It was really fun,” replied the singer, 54. “To be honest – it sounded a bit shit over there. Did it sound all right there, in the middle?”
The crowd cheered its assent, and Fanning said, “It just wasn’t loud enough – but we’re f..kin’ deaf. I stood in front of Cogsy’s f..kin’ cymbals for 20 years. And did you see that mountain of [guitar] amps up there? It was kind of obscene, how many amps were on stage.”
That hearing loss is no joke: in 2018, Coghill told The Australian that he performed for much of his 18-year career behind the kit without hearing protection, and began using hearing aids after the band ended.
On Thursday night, the drummer said, “We were playing so many gigs, and we were so in the world of Powderfinger, that we never got a chance to be in the audience and listen to it and go, ‘Oh, wow!’ One of the first things we said when we all watched it a few months ago was: ‘Hey, we were pretty good!’ I’m proud of what we were – and that 10,000 hours of rocking the shit out of it? That actually worked.”
Vulture Street was named after a busy thoroughfare in the city’s south, not far from its band writing and rehearsal room – which was actually on nearby Stanley Street. “We were going in there every day, from 10am till four in the afternoon – to try and avoid the traffic,” quipped Haug, 53.
Of the album title, said Collins, “It was a little bit of a PR exercise, that one. But also, ‘vulture’ could be anything, especially if you’re living in New York: you don’t care about Vulture Street, or the Gabba.”
But as powerfully vital as the band sounded in the 2004 concert film, it wasn’t all beer and skittles back then, in the lead-up to writing and recording the 11-song collection, which was produced by Nick DiDia.
“We were struggling, actually,” Coghill, 51, told the audience. “We’d been touring a lot, we’d been in the band room a lot, and I think I’d had a few psychotic meltdowns. This is no bullshit; we were just struggling as a band. I remember you guys had a little bit of an intervention with me: ‘Cogs, you’re a dickhead. Get your shit together.’ Maybe that’s why the music was so good: it was on the edge.”
Revelations uncovered during the band Q&A, effusively hosted by Dalton, included the fact that Fanning was so thoroughly confident in his table tennis abilities 20 years ago that he labelled himself “the people’s champion”, and took to playing with his weaker left hand.
During backyard cricket games, Fanning and Coghill were known to bowl inswingers aimed at a sensitive part of the male anatomy, prompting Collins to wear a protective box made out of cardboard and offer a dangerous invitation: “Have a go, you pricks!”
As well, the five band members are in a WhatsApp group chat, where they send birthday notes and general life updates, and occasionally pile onto someone for their fashion choices. “It goes quiet for quite a long time – but then it sparks up,” said Middleton, 51, with a smirk.
Bassist Collins – who co-owns and operates two Brisbane music venues, The Fortitude Music Hall and The Triffid – recalled how the group found its voice to speak about Australian political and social issues.
“I remember being in Canada, being interviewed by radio stations who were saying, ‘What’s going on in Australia with Pauline Hanson?’” he said. “We were really f..king embarrassed that this was going on in our home country while we were touring.”
Fanning went on to write directly political songs including The Day You Come (1998) and Like A Dog (2001), which rebuked the One Nation party and prime minister John Howard’s reluctance to support Indigenous reconciliation, respectively.
“Midnight Oil were the reason that we felt able to speak about politics,” said the singer-songwriter. “In the ‘90s, we had all of that stuff with the rise of One Nation, that we hadn’t really seen before. We all felt really strongly about it, and we didn’t sit around and say, ‘We’re going to be a political band’ – it was just natural to us to start talking about it.”
The Fab Five’s last performance together was in November 2010 to conclude its final tour, titled Sunsets, an extensive national run that included selling out five dates at the 9500-capacity Brisbane Riverstage.
During the national lockdowns of the Covid pandemic, the group reformed for a streamed performance called One Night Lonely, where the members recorded their musical parts remotely. On its release in May 2020, that seven-song charity gig raised more than $500,000 for organisations including Beyond Blue and Support Act.
Asked what he missed the most about playing together, Coghill said, “There’s this thing you get when the band is linked, completely. It’s a really deep groove; you get it on [Vulture Street songs] Stumblin’ and On My Mind, if you’re really tight. We always talked about the ‘goosies’ that we’d get: if we wrote a song that we all liked, at that moment we’d all get excited and get goosebumps. But there’s this feeling, especially as a drummer; you can hear it when [Led Zeppelin’s] John Bonham plays. It’s so f..king powerful, it’s amazing. I miss that more than anything.”
When Dalton opened the cinema floor to fan questions, Fanning gave a pre-emptive answer to the most obvious query on whether they’ll ever play music together again: “No. We’re all really busy. We have no plans.”
At this, Collins replied cheekily: “Until 2032. I did a deal with the premier [Annastacia Palaszczuk] at Splendour that we’re doing ‘32 [for the Brisbane Olympic Games]. The band don’t know about it yet.”
Not a single musical note was played between them inside that cinema on Thursday night, but it was still an entertaining and moving spectacle to see them together again.
At the end, the band members presented Dalton with a signed Brisbane City Council sign denoting Vulture Street – straight to the pool room, no doubt – followed by a fan meet-and-greet at the merchandise signing desk, which included copies of the newly released Vulture Street vinyl.
These five men will be bonded for life, having together climbed the mountain of Australian rock, planted their flag – then made the tough but gutsy decision to climb back down again, long before their unique musical chemistry and timing eluded them.
In an era where just about every broken-up musical act eventually reforms – whether for money, love or because they were bored in retirement, or perhaps all three – Powderfinger’s steadfastly principled refusal to follow that trend is laudable. Nothing lasts forever, but the songs remain the same.
Earlier in the conversation, Dalton had observed, “You were the guys that first said, ‘It’s OK to love the city of Brisbane’, and we thank you so much for that.”
“So where’s the Powderfinger Bridge?” asked Coghill in response, referring to the Brisbane River-spanning Go Between Bridge, which was named after another great Queensland band, The Go-Betweens, via public poll in 2009.
But that vote was held before Powderfinger had announced its cessation, so perhaps in time, there’ll be even greater plaudits to come.
With a smirk, Fanning added: “I’m hoping they change the name of the river.”
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