Blacken Open Air Festival, Ross River Resort 29 July – 1 August 2022
Three years on from when it could last be held, Blacken Open Air returned in 2022 at a sacred location to which words can hardly do justice. Below majestic red rocks and surrounded by ancient cliffs and scrubby trees, the site sprawls out with the main stage at the southern end of Ross River Resort’s camping area in a universe all of its own. Under the shade sail and crows nest inhabited by a skeleton, The Pirate Bar is there for liquid reinforcement, a handful of food trucks the sustenance and properly sewered amenities blocks with real hot water provide the ablutions. It’s unlike any other music festival we’ve ever been to: friendly, clean, designed with the environment and traditional owners in mind. And fun – immensely fun.
This year, the Black Wreath crew had set the bar high – two international acts and one of the most in-demand live acts in the world heading a bill more than 30 acts long – so there was a lot at stake. So much could go wrong at an event that is literally in the middle of the desert without even a decent mobile signal (which is why this is being posted now and not as it was happening, which was the plan) and alas the only decent beer was completely gone several hours out from the end of the first night. Still, it’s a compact area – the main stage can be seen from pretty much everywhere, there is a small but adequate number of food vendors and the need to buy a reusable cup for drinks leaves less discarded plastic around this beautiful piece of country.
Traditional owners officially open Blacken with a smoking ceremony that the entire crowd is only too happy to attend and participate in. Acknowledgements of country and shout outs to native owners were common throughout the weekend, and not a single moment of disrespect could be observed coming from anywhere or anyone – except for one tent flying the Rebel flag but even that inauspiciously disappeared after a little while. The commonly upheld idea that the metal community is a tolerant and inclusive one is often revealed as more myth than truth – but here that ideal prevailed.
After the opening came the avantgarde theatrical performance of Xanadoom – the self-styled “experimental doom wankers” spread musicians that even included a saw player and dancers in fetish gear across the stage while characters dressed as Handmaids walked circles around the crowd, salting the earth. Provocative and captivating, the rambling opening number turned out to last for the entire half hour slot, an engaging and appropriate way to begin things in such a mystical place.
Then it was time to get into some heavy grooves from local legends NGLAH – “I don’t know how to say our name” the singer said at one point, then invited a former member up for a guest vocal spot and allowed him to go completely apeshit for the rest of the set, although the threat/promise that the guy might get naked never eventuated.
As soon as the sun set the temperature went from mildly warm to HOLY-FUCK-IT’S-COLD, so that wasn’t likely. Luckily, we had Black Rheno to warm us up while they belted us around the head with their high-energy super-amped hardcore sludge. Milla obviously found the stage itself big enough to go berserk on tonight and after a slight false start when the mic dropped out during Collision, he and Nano stomped all over it as they handed out the punishment. Sydney’s C.O.F.F.I.N. stepped up next to deliver some ragged and raucous rock and roll with plenty of shout outs to the native custodians and traditional owners along the way. Maybe the cold was starting to bite because there seemed to be a couple of fuck ups, but that did nothing to make them slow down or even hesitate from a set of loud and furious punk rock. They certainly didn’t seem to care, and no one else did either.
Southeast Desert Metal have played every Blacken so far, and it was for the benefit of bands like this that the festival came into being in the first place. They are obviously beloved in this part of the world and their catchy, no-nonsense metal tunes like Spirit Woman and Healer rocked out across the festival. SEDM are a solid and heavy band with a talented lead guitarist and a storied frontman and they brought it home with their new cover of Beds Are Burning to remind us all where we were and whose land we were visiting.
Away from the main stage, a smaller one had been rotating various performance artists during the change overs. Local dance group the Desert Diamonds had the shortest straw pulled for them as they performed a “metal tribute” cabaret in very little clothing just as the mercury hit close to zero. At least they were local enough to appreciate how cold it gets in this location. Amyl and the Sniffers were only just finding out. Hardened international tourists they may now be, their first ever show in the NT was by all accounts the coldest show they’d ever played. Amy Taylor might be a firecracker but she swapped the hot pants and bikini top for jeans and several layers of clothes tonight, even if it was for just the first song. By the second, as Gus warmed his bass hand by holding a lighter under his fingers, she was down to just a halter, hurling herself into it with her usual gusto. Amy tore up the stage and Dec tore strips from his guitar as they charged through the set, maybe urged on a little by the extreme cold. It has to be said that the near-freezing temperature did seem to sap something out of this band tonight with the level of energy required just to stay warm, but Amyl and the Sniffers are at the zenith of their performing powers after more than fifty shows already this year and they stormed through like bogan worldbeaters trying to get to the bar before it closes, and after watching it, I was suddenly re-energized again.
Their very presence here added a level of gravitas to a festival that is still, at its core, a local jam and their willingness to appear shows how genuine a band they are. Sure, they went straight back to a hotel in Alice afterward instead of camping out with the plebs, but it was fucking cold by then, so who could blame them?
There was still a band to run on the main stage and as hard as it might be to come on after a headliner like that, Alice Springs grind unit Fuxache simply did not give a fuck, blasting onto the stage and absolutely ripping shit apart like no one’s business. It’s probably no surprise this band regularly rubs shoulders with punks in Melbourne and Adelaide, Fuxache was like Amyl and the Sniffers if they were a grindcore band.
It was time to crash now, even as two more bands played the small stage until the wee hours and the rush I got from Amyl had worn off. I thought it was going to be tough to get to sleep with Tombfeeder’s death metal blasting out from across the park, but after being awake for 20 hours, it wasn’t.
Day two dawned with the promise of slightly warmer daytime temperatures here 80 kays east of Alice Springs and as Rex the Reptile Guy gathered a crowd around him to talk about our native scaled denizens, I was given a beer ticket by an old bloke who’d been holding court all the previous afternoon at the massive cable spool serving as one of the tables. Turned out he was there again all day today too, to the point where I don’t know how he was even alive after so much drinking.
While Rex was delivering a sermon about local snakes that would have had the Native American bloke I met at the Rainbow one night shitting his pants in terror, a young group of indigenous musicians were about to hit the main stage. Mulga Bore Hard Rock is a youth band from a remote community with a seven year old drummer. What a joy it was to watch them belt out a bunch of Kiss covers for the late morning crowd and draw heavy appreciation from the early risers. Wherever life takes them now, this is a moment they will never forget.
Masked maggots DisKust took the stage next, dredging up the festival’s first breakdown after initially struggling with a poor mix that totally drowned out one of the guitars. Maybe it was a bit early in the day for massive mosh grooves but DisKust seemed a little under-appreciated; they powered on, regardless, putting on a staunch set for those who did turn out to watch them (maybe the singer shouldn’t have painted his arms black, though. I don’t know.).
Hammers hit the stage next with their hard-as-fuck acidic blues and stomping metal heavy groove to make sure anyone still asleep somewhere was up on their feet and rocking out – hard. After last night’s severe cold, Hammers couldn’t stop reminding us how warm it now was. 100 Years War took Blacken into extreme territory for the first time on day two with a crushing display of crust-flecked death metal that laid waste to everything in its path. DEAD followed them with a set of weird bass/drum jamming that was part punkish metal ferocity and part jazzy instrumental noodling. No need for a guitar when you treat a bass the way this bloke does!
There was a fair bit of doom-flavoured stuff lined up for the next couple of days, but it was Potion who took the most traditional route. The Sydney trio laid down a massive rumble, co-opting an ancient Iron Butterfly riff that even attracted a Tyrannosaurus to join the crowd swaying to their slow-burn, epic-length dinosaur plod.
With assistance from Psycroptic’s Todd Stern, Pitjantjatjara guitar slinger Jeremy Whiskey stepped up to share some glorious playing and good-time metal tunes. If he was an unknown quantity when he took the stage, his casual charisma and superb musicianship meant that he had won more than a few fans by the time he left it.
By now, sunset was approaching and the local Arrernte people gathered everyone for a tribal ceremony while Suldusk got ready to welcome the nightfall. Dusk was the perfect time for this band’s ethereal and delicate ambience and meetings with waves of black metal. Emily Highfield’s voice chimed out across the site as the stars began to appear and at least one punter ruminating on them later admitted the emotions Suldusk wrought had him on the edge of tears. Mission accomplished, then, I would suggest!
It was approximately halfway through the event now and time for Black Wreath head honcho Pirate to bring out his own band. SNAKES hand down some crushing, seriously heavy groove metal and somehow the guy who has been at the centre of the entire festival manages to lead this band as well. “I’m rooted!” he declares but pushes on, helped by a group of locals who carry him aloft on a sofa through the pit. Only the tyranny of distance stops this band being better known.
Over at the smaller stage something called Liquid Nails was performing: a drummer, a strange guy in a see-thru bodystocking shouting and a cellist raping her instrument, creating a cacophony with no structure or cadence of any kind. It was kind of amazing.
I had one word written down in my notes next to Lo!, and that word was “FUCK!” These guys totally crushed it, even with Adrian Griffin carrying a severe leg injury from the night before that required emergency surgery. Sam Dillon’s amusing interview with the ABC earlier in the day did little to prepare the uninitiated for the onslaught this band unleashed.
Freedom of Fear had only crossed my radar briefly before this, but sweet Holy Fuck I’ll be taking more of an interest in them now. With a tiny little singer whose voice was the size of a mountain, this band offered up ridiculous technical death shredding and a breakdown so heavy I thought the earth was going to rip open.
Between acts Lagerstein was doing an acoustic set on the smaller stage, a scaled down version of the shenanigans to be expected the next night. Then Abramelin unloaded the full weight of their gore-soaked death metal enormity with Misfortune and the next forty minutes was grinding riffs, filthy grooves and monstrous vocals. Somehow Rob managed to keep it all together as he slugged from a bottle of vodka while swinging his bass around like a weapon and the guitar team tore strips off the crowd.
It was time now for Psycroptic to bring down the curtain on day two. Cold set the scene for their first live show without stand-in members for almost three years and they totally blitzed it. Psycroptic has never, ever played a bad show as far back as I can remember and they weren’t about to tonight. On point and as ferocious as ever, their status as headliners was proved beyond doubt.
I was prepared to hit the hay after that, until I realised that Furor was playing on the side stage. His act is bashing the shit out of his kit and howling along to backing tapes of his old black metal band. It’s weird and odd, but it takes some serious commitment for a guy to fly halfway across the country to do that for half an hour at 1am, so kudos to him for that!
The third day of Blacken awoke to local folk/country band Malarkey easing the population in with a chill-out session at the smaller stage. At the same time, some brave souls were attempting to find nirvana in an ice bath. Me, I was just waiting for the bar to open. The hillbilly band warming up the main stage seemed to wear out and overstay their welcome; Melbourne’s Myriad Drone – half of whom had played in Suldusk – came on at last with a sparkling set of ambient instrumentalism to gear things in a heavier direction. Astrodeath took it further, slamming into doom sludge overdrive with Invasion and barrelling along the riff highway with heavy grooves. An invitation to get on stage – “But don’t break anything!” – got half the crowd up for a run through Children of the Grave and Blacken was officially fired up for the race to the finish line.
Late entrants to the festival, self-described “petrol rock” Brisbane unit Piston Fist tore into it with a sound and attitude that recalled Hammers from the previous day: big riffing, heavy grooving biker metal with a righteously bogan edge. It was a set totally in line with the prevailing mood of the afternoon.
Mountain Wizard Death Cult were up next, a band that takes bottom-feeding sludge and doom and turns it into something almost mystical. JJ Brady perches himself at the very front of the stage more like a looming presence than a frontman while behind him the band hands down a sermon of expansive rifferama and heavy atmosphere.
Adelaide’s Descend to Acheron brought death metal back to the table. Theirs was a consummate set of crushing old school that thundered across the afternoon and included a Death cover vocalist Andy Kite hoped they didn’t fuck up. They didn’t.
With the shadows lengthening, The Neptune Power Federation took things into totally new directions. Twin flying Vs provided the wah-heavy psychedelic acid rock for the theatrics of the Imperial Princess and her glowing headdress, handing out libations from the lip of the stage. The audience began at bemused and ended at raptured.
Further theatrics ensued when darkness fell at Lagerstein lit up the Blacken stage with all their pirate metal mischief. Cue high-spirited high jinx around spirits and beer, rollicking folk-metal laden with violins and a guest appearance from Pirate to partake in an onstage beer bong that various members of the band had been encouraging from randoms all weekend, on stage and off.
Next it was time to get heavy again as locals and festival veterans Miazma introduced the uninitiated to their ferocious extremity. Little known outside the Territory, rest assured that Miazma’s monolithic assault can stand alongside any of them. That goes for Hadal Maw too, who followed with a groovier aspect to their own abyssal death metal. Tight, fearsome and dark, they maintained their reputation for brilliance and added their version of Scourge of Iron late in the set to further pump up the crowd for the closing trio of bands.
By now the festival was running an hour and a half behind, so that was sort of needed. Polynesian act Shepherds Reign certainly added a different aspect to the event. Keytar-wielding frontman Filiva’a James’ intimidating size and massive hair was offset by his easy-going demeanour that belied the nature of songs about subjects like domestic violence as heavy grooves and thrash guitars were accentuated with tribal beats and Samoan chanting. Colour and flavour in spades.
The Haley brothers then returned to the stage for their part in a late night black metal assault. Eschewing all the regular trappings of the genre, Ruins just set about laying waste with a raw malevolence, abrasive vocals and a mesmerising rhythmic drive.
Finally – and thankfully, because the show was now two hours behind and it was freezing – Revocation blasted onto the stage with Madness Opus and proceeded to rip Blacken apart. This was a big event and this band had the big task of bringing it home. Of course they were only going to succeed.
It was very late and it was cold, but Revocation stepped up. “We didn’t come here to fuck spiders!” declared Dave Davidson a couple of songs into the set, and they indeed had not, unleashing a whirlwind of bent-out-of-shape guitar histrionics from Davidson and Noah Young, savage speed, wild arrangements and howling vocals. Not one of them was still for the entire set, Davidson in particular making use of every inch of the stage as he threw his instrument around while pulling all sorts of glorious shapes from it. Each time I’ve seen this band they have been 100% on point and tonight was no exception – they were perhaps even better, pulling off a perfect headliner set to close out a huge weekend.
Perhaps the cleanest and friendliest music festivals I’ve ever been to, Blacken Open Air is a unique and very special event held in an amazing part of the world. Sure it was cold at night but there wasn’t a dud act on the line-up and while the third day did spiral later and later as it went on, the organisation was better than a hundred similar events with a casual atmosphere that engendered a vibe of real friendship and inclusiveness that the metal fraternity promises but can often fail to deliver. While there is scope for Blacken to grow a little, it’s the small scale of this festival that gives it real charm – a festival with a local feel but global appeal that’s held for all the right reasons. This should be on the list of everyone’s festival agenda. Just don’t all come at the same time.
