A Look Back At The Joyful, Sweaty Chaos Of Channel [V] HQ

Much ink has been spilled over the recent demise of Channel [V], which at certain points in its existence rivalled triple j for its unique ability to capture the hearts and eardrums of a generation.

The pay TV station gifted us so many irreplaceable things, including Australian Idol and The Bachelor hosts, Regurgitator’s Band In A Bubble, the only known consistent footage of Big Day Out and a performative dance music show that predated TikTok by two decades. But less talked about is the network’s frankly unbelievable live music curation and creative output, which coalesced around our very own iteration of Total Request Live — affectionately known as Channel [V] HQ.

Sydney’s [V] HQ was the result of a perfect storm in proto-noughties culture that will simply never repeat itself; a bespoke studio-stage adjacent a CD megastore on the grounds of an entertainment precinct and film backlot seemingly established for the sole purpose of selling overpriced ice cream.

You wouldn’t know it to look at whatever mega gym they’ve replaced Sanity Music with now, but that small platform flanked by a giant TV sat smack bang in the middle of a Venn diagram of mid-00s Aussie youth; one that included mosh mecca Hordern Pavilion, dance haven The Forum and [V]’s own Boiler Room-meets-Big Brother, Room 208.

Jason ‘Jabba’ Davis was a founding VJ who spent over a decade with Channel [V]. He remembers the move from Foxtel’s Pyrmont to Moore Park’s Fox Studios at the turn of the millennium, which boasted significantly more space and the ability to connect directly with their audience.

“A huge part of the [V] DNA was ‘interaction’,” he says. “Initially through burgeoning technologies like fax, but on the phone, then SMS and of course emails…we had a chat room too!”

Blessed be the bright spark in programming that realised the opportunity of making relatively inexpensive television (“Back then labels paid for [a lot of] it because they sold CDs!” Jabba laughs) out of existing promo schedules, leveraging an audience that literally had nothing else to do given their Nokias frequently ran out of credit and they still couldn’t drive.

“As a 15-year-old music fan, these live music gigs were a way to watch rock shows that would usually [only] play 18+ venues,” says Danny Clayton, who graduated from ‘work experience kid’ to the youngest ever Channel [V] host during this period and often attended shows as a punter before he even worked for the network. “Furthermore, what kind of 15-year-old has cash? The fact that it was free was also a major plus.”

Jabba, whose personal highlights reel includes Frenzal Rhomb, Spiderbait, Magic Dirt, Silverchair, Powderfinger, Superjesus and Human Nature (“Love those guys, total pros!”) sees something of a symbiosis between the growth of Aussie bands and the station. “It felt like many of those acts, big or small, were ‘coming of age’ as we were, personally and professionally,” he says. “They were tasting success as [V]’s live output was growing.”

The setup, a raised stage blasting out live TV towards Sydney’s most expensive car park, was impossible to ignore. I discovered System of A Down by accident when they launched into ‘Toxicity’ one broiling Saturday afternoon while I was leaving General Pants. I’m not sure if I was more enthralled by their elastic prog metal or the hordes of kids dressed head to toe in black that had descended on the no man’s land of Bent St, but safe to say my grandmother wasn’t.

“I think it took them hours to get there on public transport from the suburbs and there were a small bunch of committed regulars,” Jabba says of the diehard front-rowers that were a common sight at [V]HQ. “They were probably my favourite memory of that time; that we would ‘go to work’ and kids would all come and watch and be part of the experience.”

“[V] was brave, reckless, risky, live, genuine, rude, respectful and championed music above everything else. It really was a unique time and place.”

Channel [V] traded in teenage currency and in the waking days of the new millennium, the hottest currency in Australia remained blistering rock and roll. It was the peak of Big Day Out and Homebake, the early days of Splendour, the twilight of Livid Festival. Guitars were everywhere and many of the scene’s stalwarts made their way to Down Under, tempted by the possibilities of beach hopping between coastal shows.

As the official TV broadcaster for BDO, Channel [V] was well-placed on the cricket pitch of adolescence to catch and promote many of those artists, and just had to wheel out a bunch of charismatic hosts to do it.

“It was wild,” says Clayton. “Sure, there were the rock acts like Incubus, Grinspoon, The Dandy Warhols, Powderfinger and a particularly massive show by Jet during the peak of their career but also pop like Jamiroquai, Good Charlotte, Delta… jesus even Avril Lavigne put on a great show.”

“Rock was the go-to I guess because it was great TV?” says Jabba. “Like, it’s hard to make the Chemical Brothers look exciting with their laptops unless they are in a huge stage like the Big Day Out with all the extra visuals and a heaving crowd. But a couple of guitars and a drummer and a good front person and you had four minutes of interesting live music television.”

[V]HQ’s promo roster read like the best of AJ Maddah and Lees and West’s programming blended into one gloriously distortion-heavy milkshake, with free gigs from the likes of AFI, Shihad, Jimmy Eat World, Killing Heidi, Garbage, Regurgitator, The Strokes, Muse, Something For Kate, Jet, Papa Roach, You Am I and The Used. Insane stuff.

That’s before you got to some disproportionately successful one-hit wonders, like Alien Ant Farm and Wheatus. As a 13-year-old, I was pulled onstage to sing the chorus of ‘Teenage Dirtbag’, a fact I am only divulging as I am almost certain it has disappeared from the archives forever.

For Jabba, such moments of connection were something he cherished — and still remembers today. “We really felt like a kind of conduit between these acts that were idolised and the Aussie kids who came to worship them,” he says. “They would show up in force to see them, get autographs and photos — on cameras, this was years before all phones had cameras on them — and even better, the kids would get their faces on TV and be part of what honestly felt like a movement. Again, this was well before you could just put [footage of] yourself on the internet, so it was a huge deal.”

In a history of defining moments at the little stage that could, there’s no contest for Foo Fighters 2005 showstopper. Long term fans of Australia, Clayton recalls Grohl and co returning to the Channel [V] studio over and over again, consistently drawing larger crowds to the country’s most-watched stage.

By the time 2005 rolled around, Clayton was now a [V] employee and watched the band pack Fox Studios with so many frothing kids (by one estimate, over 5000 crammed in the tiny thoroughfare) that their performance instantly became legend. “They had a legitimate mosh pit in the middle of Bent Street,” Clayton says. “Which I am certain would not be allowed now!”

I was 16 at the time, and like many, arrived in my school uniform having bunked off class to get a good spot. The band, only required to play three songs, instead performed for close to an hour as the sun went down. It was raucous, revelatory and unscripted — and all ended up on live TV.

“That was one of our proudest moments,” Jabba recalls. “One of our bosses had this great quote that there were 500 times as many people that claimed to be there than actually were.”

Clayton remembers it similarly. “Our whole team was built from music fans,” he says. “Every runner, producer, soundie, camera person. Everyone in the control room was screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs. The mood was truly electric.”

The popularity and staying power of [V]HQ is a curious anomaly to consider today, when promo now largely means taking footage on your phone and blasting it to millions of people. The idea of setting up a fully produced live show without some mega tech brand footing the bill is almost laughable, but Channel [V] did it almost every week for years.

“[V] was brave, reckless, risky, live, genuine, rude, respectful and championed music above everything else,” says Jabba. “It really was a unique time and place.”

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Jonno Seidler is a former music journalist and brand partnerships consultant. Follow him on Twitter.