I heard Midnight Oil before I saw them. Not everyone had cable in those early days of MTV – and Midnight Oil music videos didn’t often appear on that channel, anyway. Not then.
I heard Midnight Oil before I saw them, in early 1983. “The Oils” were played on local college radio and “New Wave” stations, initial overseas hits such as “Read About It” and “Power And The Passion.” I heard them long before I saw them in magazines – the Oils weren’t exactly Smash Hits or NME material – and most importantly, long before I saw video clips of them in concert. Hell, I might’ve bought an album before ever seeing what they looked like.
I liked what I’d heard immediately. I liked the sound of their drums; I tend to latch onto percussion immediately in a recording. The drums were sharp and precise, fast and heavy… and these guys were different, very different. Punk rock, with melody; “new wave” with punk attitude. Midnight Oil defied labels. And in an increasingly crowded dining car of great “alternative rock” bands with great drummers – U2, Big Country, Missing Persons, INXS, et al – Midnight Oil’s drummer Rob Hirst’s plate was always towards the head of the table.
When I finally chanced upon the Oils’ videos on MTV (very occasionally), USA’s “Night Flight” and on Canada’s “Good Rockin’ Tonight,” I was floored. Much more so when I eventually caught a clip of them onstage. Midnight Oil’s albums were fantastic and frenetic, yes… but their concerts were something else entirely. Explosive. Two guitars, bass, drums – all on fire. A giant of a lead singer, careening around the stage like a drunken asylum escapee who’d just been revived with an adrenaline injection.
And the thing is, these Aussies could PLAY. The goliath – Peter Garrett – could SING. Midnight Oil performed as if their lives depended on it; they had the attitude of a platoon who’d showed up to claim the land. Lyrical urgency, musical aggression – but never violent anger. The Oils didn’t instigate riots, they got people to dance. And to think.
The moat between stage and merry mob sometimes disappeared, with Garrett going into the audience if they didn’t come to him. the Oils owned concert halls for a night at a time – and in the back of the room, Hirst looked down at the mayhem; a smiling, benevolent king on a throne. Protected by a fortress made by Ludwig, he propelled and controlled the chaos with with lightning-strikes on the snare… his blazing fills escalating heartbeats for moments at a time. Hirst’s feet, always moving; the kick drum boomed as if it were a barrel containing a beast – a monster threatening to escape. And then Hirst would turn to the mic, joining in on a chorus.
“… read about it! Read about it!”
The reality was that Midnight Oil was a conglomeration of intellectuals, poets, electrified chamber soloists; all were demolition experts. Bridge builders, dam busters. There was no other musical group like them in the world.
Midnight Oil had the chords, the melodies, the lyrics. They were saying something; the Oils had few, if any, love songs in their satchel. They were playing songs about Aboriginal rights, workers’ rights, mining exploitation, environmental pollution, nuclear war – and public apathy.
People paid attention, then, because the songs were great. There were fabulous guitars, and Garrett’s unique voice lured them in – but it was co-songwriter Hirst’s beat that drove the points home.
“Oh, this is quite a song to dance to! Wait a minute, it’s about nuclear missiles… it’s about giving back Aboriginal land.”
Of course, mainstream success in America didn’t happen overnight for the Oils. It took years, and given American listeners’ finicky attitude towards “alternative rock” back then, it’s a miracle that it happened at all.
Almost four decades have passed since the band’s high-water mark of Diesel & Dust. Fewer and fewer people have seemed to care about their championed causes; receding waves of empathy and outrage. As if nuclear weapons, environmental decay and the rich man’s oppression no longer exist.
The Oils lost longtime bassist Bones Hillman to cancer in 2020, and played their last show in 2022. However, the realization that the band no longer existed hit home with yesterday’s news of Rob Hirst’s passing. He had struggled with pancreatic cancer for three years.
A somber, surreal day in a somber, surreal era that desperately needs a Midnight Oil. Now, more than ever. Dark irony cruelly abounds.
Thankfully, I have a salve, a salute, and a means of time travel at my fingertips: the button marked “play.”
Thanks for the ride, Mr. Hirst. You and your friends were really something.
