T
he first time Airbourne came to
Russia, they went to a remote spot in
the Krasnodar region, just across the
Black Sea from Crimea. It was 2014,
the fraught first year of Russian
military intervention in Ukraine. The Crimean
Peninsula had been seized a few months
previously. The BBC have since called it the worst
East-West crisis since the Cold War.
It was here that the annual Kubana rock festival
was due to take place, and the area looked like
a war zone. But, frightened (not unreasonably) by
media coverage of the conflict, lots of bands billed
to appear at Kubana cancelled, especially those
from overseas.
Today, in a much mellower Moscow, Airbourne
remember being driven from a tiny local airport
along dirt roads, crammed into two vans with all
their gear, and arriving at
scenes that resembled a war-
torn Beirut. Not far from the
stage, refugees arrived in
boats at the beach.
“I still remember the hotel
when we got there,” singer/
guitarist Joel O’Keeffe recalls.
“It looked like it had been bombed; the windows
were blown out, curtains were blowing out the
window, there was a dead dog lying at the door of
the hotel – it was like it had been eaten by
something. It was pretty brutal.”
Yet when it came to the actual concert, the
reception they received was warm. It didn’t matter
that it was sparsely attended, or that Airbourne
weren’t exactly about to solve the world’s
problems. That wasn’t the point.
“Rock’n’roll is a universal language,” Joel affirms.
“Wherever you go in the world they all speak it.
They all know AC/DC, Iron Maiden, Motörhead.
You go to any country in the world that doesn’t
even speak English and go: ‘Does anyone here loveMotörhead?’ and you’ll get people going: ‘Yeah!’ It’s
more powerful than any political agenda.”I
f Airbourne have any kind of philosophy, it’s
this unwavering belief in the power of
rock’n’roll. Although it would be just as easy to
assume they don’t think of such things – what with
the boozing, raucous A-chord boogies and size-
does-matter approach to Marshall stacks. But
spend a while in their company and you realise
that their wild, tearaway quality comes with
a fiercely singular focus. What’s more, it’s paid off.
Since that first show here they’ve been welcomed
back to Russia with increasing enthusiasm. Where
other bands might go somewhere like this with an
agenda (or boycott it altogether), Airbourne come
with a resolute lack of politics.
The Russian capital, meanwhile, makes far moreheadlines for politics than for rock gigs – although
its recent spate of government-organised festivals
(supposedly to keep the youth away from protests)
suggests they’re trying to change that. Visually it’s
a striking mix of communist brutalism,
continental prettiness and garish onion domes like
iced cakes. We’re reminded of the city’s conflicted
undercurrent by things like barbed wire, tractors
driving past our hotel, and the military figures
lurking in the entrances of certain buildings.
Classic Rock’s photographer and I meet the band
a couple of hours after they arrive in Moscow from
St Petersburg. They’ve barely slept, and it shows, but
are in friendly spirits as they bundle into the van in
a heap of bed hair, black hoodies and black leather.Joel blinks and grins sleepily through reading
glasses. He swaps them for prescription aviators as
we head towards Red Square for our shoot (“Don’t
wanna look like the Kremlin librarian in there,” he
drawls in broad Crocodile Dundee tones).
The sight of Moscow’s iconic centrepiece snaps
the band into ‘awake’ mode. The candy-coloured
domes of St Basil’s cathedral look macabre next to
the castle-like fortress of the Kremlin, and the
concrete clunk of Lenin’s mausoleum lends extra
gravitas to its imposing walls. Armed Russian
militia pace quietly at the square’s top entrance
point. We stroll past as discreetly as possible, trying
to obscure the photography gear that we don’t have
permission to use. Mercifully they seem amused by
the four Australian blokes throwing rock-star
shapes with impeccable precision – as do the
tourists who stop to take photos.
“I don’t think we go on their radar too much,”
guitarist Matthew ‘Harri’ Harrison says, grinning,
as two policemen walk past. “If we come into
their country, people think: ‘Ah, these guys aren’t
gonna cause a riot or anything, they’re just here
to rock’n’roll.’”
Airbourne aren’t rattled easily. They’ve been
gigging since they were kids. They cut their teeth
playing to minimal crowds in arse-end-of-nowhere
pubs across Australia, where punters watching the
greyhound racing on TV would nag them to keep
it down. Since then they’ve lost their minds to
tequila in Mexico, been caught between gang
gunfire in Detroit and almost burned their house
down in Melbourne. They’ve cheerfully drank,
fucked and rocked their way through life in a manner
of which Lemmy would be proud. And, now in
their thirties, they show no signs of stopping.
So what does scare them?
“I hate heights. I still don’t like aeroplanes,” Joel
shudders. “People call me Rain Man.”
Just to be clear, this is Joel O’Keeffe we’re talking
about here: a man who’s flown all over the world
several times and scaled vertigo-inducing stages at
Download, Sonisphere, Wacken and more. For
a while he was rock’n’roll’s rogue free soloist;
people watched Airbourne sets waiting to see how
far he’d get up the scaffolding
before being pulled down by
panicked officials. Not being
able to see a great deal helped,
it turns out.
“If you can’t see how far up
you are it’s okay,” he reasons.
“If I had glasses I’d have
freaked. And I don’t wear contacts either.”
So you go out blind every night?
“Pretty much!” he says with a laugh. “It’s
definitely helped with nerves.”U
pon arrival at Station Hall, tonight’s
1,500-capacity venue, the band get
straight into an ear-bleeding sound-check.
It’s a cavernous space, all fancified industrial
trappings with ‘VIP’ and ‘Super VIP’ levels upstairs.
Later they’ll serve seated punters wine and Aperol
spritzes in posh glassware. It’s all a bit mafia-chic.
Down on the stage, specs back on, Joel darts
between guitars, amps and team members with
brisk concentration. Drummer/younger brotherHot off the back of their best album yet, Airbourne take the
“universal language” of rock’n’roll to the former USSR.Words: Polly Glass Photos: John McMurtrie“WE ALWAYS WANTED TO BE THE BIGGEST,
BRIGHTEST, LOUDEST THING.”
Joel O’Keeffe38 CLASSICROCKMAGAZINE.COM