REVIEW: Getting Lost with Paramore at BEC
Words by Bea Warren
Paramore spans generations. The Brisbane Entertainment Centre was sardined with family friends and their kids, old mates from high school that left town to get a business degree, and newly reformed emos who carry emergency eyeliner in their back pocket. A band of freaks on stage and off. I was between it all, headbanging in the A Reserve next to a girl with braces and my date, too busy staring at the moving shapes. As Williams and the band spanned Paramore’s discography, from indie-pop to rock ballads to the Twilight soundtrack, it was easy to forget about the memories I’ve made throughout their career, the teenage freakouts they’ve soundtracked, and the fact I had work the next morning.
I rocked up late with an empty stomach. The BEC was further away than I thought, and lines had converged, a mass of moving bodies. I squished myself at the crossroads, between the entryway and the merch line. Clouds blanketed the moonlight, leaving the spotlights of the Entertainment Centre to compensate, aggressively so. The trees that surrounded us were coloured in the wrong shade, like a toddler who used the teal crayon instead of green. Which reminded me, I could probably get my sister crayons for Christmas. She still likes to draw, right?
Once inside, I beelined for the beer garden, fifteen minutes into the opener. Two tinnies of gold while I stood in the corner and answered emails, drowned out the butterflies in my stomach. They messaged me saying they’d be fifteen minutes late, and for a second, I wasn’t sure which was worse: getting ditched on a date or spending money on drinks for two. Eventually, though, by the time they crossed through the gate, the two tinnies got to me quicker than expected, loosening inhibitions.
We got more drinks, settled ourselves, and talked about the real world. Diagnoses, life after uni, getting old, being old (we’re both in our 20s), and how wrong our parents really were. I swore that ‘The Only Exception’ was the one from Twilight. But growing up isn’t a matter of choice, it’s a matter of wait and see. We ignored the bells to go inside and missed the first three songs, but that’s what we get, I suppose.
We stumbled to our seats during ‘Playing God’, a song that resided in many of Mum’s burnt CD mixtapes. Williams looked comfortable on stage, rehearsed, but not yet upset with the routine of it all, having only just returned to Australia for the first time in over five years. The white lights followed their route, leading my eyes to portrait screens on each side of the stage, Paramore being caught in the middle of them both. Their setlist spanned decades, but each transition from one to the other felt seamless. Williams would disappear off stage while the boys gave us ‘The News’ and she would return before we even realised she was gone, this time elevated amongst the moving shapes above. After laughter between songs and giggles between the crowd, they played ‘Decode’ to which I was shamefully proven wrong. That indeed was the Twilight song, my date hollered as they went straight into the chorus.
After that was ‘Last Hope’. It was the first time the crowd flung their torches out from their pockets, the first time I was able to get a glimpse at all the different kinds of people that had taken a moment out of their Wednesday to just let it happen, a spark to form.
Old songs, new songs, songs with and without the band, spanning not only a career, but a life fully formed, from teenage angst and heartbreak to back aches and figure eights. Whichever song it was, however, Williams still danced gumby-like. Oh, such a sought after luxury to be as free.
As the set continued, the crowd had been amplified, with more popular songs beginning to pop up here and there. ‘Hard Times’ was a stand-out, with a ridiculously long but much-loved intro and distorted robotic vocals performed live. The screens’ delay added to the atmosphere, culminating in the one and only. A song that went on hiatus for a time because, sometimes, people make mistakes. And when your mistakes are displayed on your album that would go on to receive platinum status, it’s only logical to want to put those mistakes to rest. But when people love those mistakes so much, no matter how it makes you feel, you’ve got no other choice than to get into the ‘Misery Business’.
Williams powered through the first verse and chorus, leaving us hanging at the bridge. Paramore followed her lead. The rest of the band played and took advantage of the limelight as Williams introduced them one at a time, all receiving applause. She spoke about the song, what it means to her, acknowledging that she shouldn’t have shied away from it to begin with. With the world as it is today, available in your back pocket, it’s easy to get caught up in it all. Your energy goes to this and that, to loving other people and worrying about careers that you don’t have the energy for yourself, which leads to shame. Which leads you to look back on the past with regret, rather than looking to the future for growth and solidarity. And as Williams gazed at the crowd, wide-eyed and happier than ever, she took a punt, closed her eyes and said, you. what’s your name? come up to the stage.
His name was Steven, and he was about to give us the greatest rendition of ‘Misery Business’ ever heard. Well, maybe not the best, but definitely the most passionate. Confetti burst from cannons underneath the stage, and the screens’ focus had switched from Williams to us, an audience all-grown up, ready to do it again. They walked off stage after ‘Misery’, but didn’t fool any of us, like a game of peekaboo we had become accustomed to. They encored with ‘Ain’t It Fun’, ‘Still Into You’, and topped it off with ‘This Is Why’. No longer a pop-punk act, Paramore ended with three of their most popular, most upbeat, and most effervescent tracks to date, showing that getting better with age doesn’t just apply to fine wines.
