Utter the words 'Sticky Fingers' and you better be prepared to jump off the fence.
The Aussie band, once darlings of the local music scene in the early 2010s with a slew of album releases (that peaked with 2014's 'Land Of Pleasure' and 2016's 'Westway (The Glitter & The Slums)' who could do no wrong, became social media enemy #1 in late 2016.
Allegations of racial abuse dogged frontman Dylan Frost, not helped by serial drunken episodes leading to widespread condemnation of the band – by music media outlets and the general public.
The group hunkered down, rightfully admitting to an excess rock & roll lifestyle that Frost labelled "alcoholic behaviour in the past has intimidated or made people feel unsafe around me" in a statement.
A hiatus away from the scene followed as Frost and co. disappeared from view with the following statement on Facebook:
Then when StiFi divulged their return last year, a triple j interview ended with more negative backlash, an apparent blacklisting of the band by the national youth broadcaster. The resultant 'f... you' attitude from the band directed at the station and the group's detractors saw StiFi decamp to a new base in London.
I'll readily admit my enduring passion for the band's music. 'Land Of Pleasure' is one of my favourite records of all time. But as the band spiralled into the social media abyss of hate, I questioned my loyalty to them. Could I continue to follow this group if this was the behaviour they espoused?
The 2019 answer would be no. But Sticky Fingers aren't the first band to succumb to the excess of rock & roll fame. That's not to give them a hall pass, of course (an old dog needs to learn new tricks to remain relevant and socially acceptable). But the act of forgiveness often seems to be a lost art.
We all make mistakes; every, single one of us. So surely a mature society can offer those who have offended the opportunity to reintegrate themselves into public life if they've displayed a willingness to own past wrongdoings? Something I believe Sticky Fingers have done.
Image © Erin Taylor
When the band revealed the 'Yours To Keep' Australian arena tour (sans promoter) earlier this year the muted response from media was deafening. One really had to enter a fourth fractal to find any relevant information about the tour.
I was intrigued. Would the band play to loyal but minuscule crowds? Or would a new wave of emerging fans override the elder millennials and their stamped hatred of Sticky Fingers? Seems StiFi have a loyal fanbase.
Back to Brisbane and The Riverstage (15 November). With 'ticket allocation exhausted' signs at the entrance and with Underworld's 'Born Slippy' (playing on the PA) proving to be a soundtrack for every generation (judging by the level of interest by the 'young' folks around me), and a late surge of revellers waiting patiently to enter the fray, the tinkling groove of 'Land Of Pleasure' washed across the massive, sold-out crowd.
Image © Erin Taylor
Without prompting, they broke out in unison: "Come we must unite. . ." – a vocal display of love from the band's fans; this was a group and its loyal audience as one, united together like a gang against the rest of the world.
Click here for more photos from the show.
Walking among the crowd, I was expecting a heavily slanted, older male skew. But rather, this was an audience that was both young (mainly in their 20s, and early 20s at that) and unisex. There were as many groups of women frolicking to the music as there were men banded together in their unbridled joy for the Newtown revellers.
Image © Erin Taylor
This was an epic evening of rock & roll that lifted the band to 'international' status. They displayed an eclectic range; from the chugging rock & roll intensity of 'Just For You' and 'Outcast At Last' to the quieter, introspective ballads like 'Gold Snafu', 'Our Town' and 'Rum Rage'.
Personal highlights mainly came from 'Land Of Pleasure' and 'Westway (The Glitter & The Slums)'. When the encore began with an amazing acoustic version of 'Cyclone', The Riverstage was bathed in the glow of thousands of iPhones/ smartphones beaming back light to the stage, and the goosebump feels were oh, so real. You can't manufacture that type of response.
By the time 'Australia Street' was wheeled out and the ubiquitous plumes of '420 smoke' drifted over the crowd, most punters were either arm-in-arm with their mates or nodding their heads, bodies swaying to the osmosis of love assimilating The Riverstage.
Image © Erin Taylor
Special mention to Freddy Crabs as well. . . he is my spirit beast and was in fine form throughout the evening owning the keyboard in nothing but tiny, '80s-inspired footy shorts. Go Freddy go!
