The air inside the Link YMCA hung heavy. It was thick with the kind of humidity that makes your shirt stick to your back while you struggle to swallow the saliva in your mouth fast enough. There was a kind of tension there that night. It wasn't the classic pre-gig jitters or totally wired feeling you get before a large stadium gig. It was like a rubber band pulling apart and waiting to snap.
It's time to cut the bullshit that has plagued the scene and this zine for too long and get back to the high voltage, raw energy of whatever you like to call it. Beatdown hardcore? Hardcore punk? Rock and roll? Elitists like to argue over what label best defines which sound, but nobody should give a shit about that. What matters is the scene remembering what it was supposed to be about after the drugs, drama wars, and attempts to 'polish it up' have all but castrated it.
The gig that was held on the 16th of January seemed to give a glimpse into what the scene could be like. You didn't have those swarms of traumatised teens absolutely neglecting the music and setting up camp to do the devil's activities in a park nearby—posing a liability to music-loving gig goers, passersby, and gig organisers. Instead, you had those very people helping to organise the gig, with some of them being ridiculously enthusiastic about it—demanding people to buy a ticket and helping people out if they got hurt in the moshpits. You even had people who had committed 'total violations' and were engaged in total war with one another seeming to set aside their differences for the common good of high voltage rock and roll.
Of course, you still had cliquey people and people who acted like total assholes, but honestly, I don't give a fuck about those hard cunts anymore. I'm my own authority and my job isn't to engage in scene warfare and politics. My job is to have fun and share those experiences for what they are.
Admittingly, I arrived late to the gig. The only bus route than ran to Victoria Point from where I live was a dingy one that only runs every eternity or so, so I arrived just less than an hour late to the gig. In hardcore punk terms, that's about two sets worth, because hardcore sets are ridiculously short and to the point.
No Allegiance
Strong crowd command over a room of first-timers
I got to see the last few minutes of No Allegiance—a band which I've seen a number of times. When I first saw them, they played mainly covers with some originals that nobody could really sing along to or which came close to matching the energy of the well-known covers. Well, they definitely matured. Their crowd command of the crowd of inexperienced teens—many of which new to hardcore—was really strong. The moshpit action was limited mainly to scene veterans though. The majority stood at the back and were probably too scared, on a date and thus thinking about trying to impress the girl they're with, or chickened out.
I'm not a born and bred hardcore fan, but I have been to quite a good amount of them, and have Jackson Moore of PIMP to thank as some kind of 'hardcore mentor' of mine. I just moved along to the music, kicking out dance moves like those you'd see Led Zeppelin doing on stage in their prime or that of Radio Birdman and The Saints—just going insane and letting your inner rage out. No Allegiance? I have to say that I have a decent amount of allegiance with them in terms of their energy, power and aggressiveness. Because of the nature of how I saw them I cant give a definitive assessment of their sound, but their guitar, bass, vocals and drums were on point and clear in the mix. The vocals were shouty and commanding.
Flogg
A Nambour two-piece; the bassist as lead instrument
The first real band I got to experience of the night was Flogg—a Nambour two piece fastcore band consisting only of a bassist and drummer. Their songs were literally seconds to a few minutes long—mainly with a political overtone. The drum and bass combo actually worked out really well in terms of sound. The bass was fed through a distortion pedal and the bassist sometimes did high note runs, which gave it an illusion of being more than the usually buried instrument in the mix and made it sound like a gritty, front and centre instrument. The drums were simple—snare, kick and hi-hat. Straight to the point. Just like the drums, the vocals were shouty and basically were political/social call to arms or mottos in the form of a song. Very creative and good use of music for a greater message.
Really, the bassist was the star of the set though. He was able to turn the instrument into a lead instrument. The crowd seemed to get the idea—they ebbed and flowed along to the bassist's rhythm. Jackson and a few scene veterans were doing their hardcore dance moves, along with the few 'seasoned punks' within the scene who are 'very' committed to the subculture.
As a person with his roots in the punk scene and who fronted a punk band, I feel that the bands on that day were like if you cranked the 'punk-o-meter' up to 11. Strong, raw, direct. The audience was another story though. Apart from the seasoned punks, the others were doing their own thing, if standing at the back barely moving is fun, you could say those people definitely had fun.
Step Back
A depressive dip, then a fist to the eye on the way out
The last band I saw that day were called Step Back. At this point, I had a sudden hit of brutal depression stemming from ruminating about thoughts and feeling 'alienated' from the scene. Ironically, I was now standing at the back, in this lethargic, hopeless state. I was dissociated and wasn't really able to get a clear hearing of what the band was playing.
At one point, I realised that I could either leave this as my narrative, or go out into the pit and let my rage out just like I saw people doing in videos and at gigs I've been to. I ran, did all the crazy hardcore dance moves, and participated in the push pit. Before I knew it though, the set was over. I cant really give any comments on their performance other than they hit the boxes a hardcore band should hit. Fast, short, to the point.
Well, as I was preparing to take a photo of the band to address my dire lack of photos and scan the crowd for their energy, I got hit in my right eye by some guy who didn't see where his fist was going. Well, that was a way to end a gig, and really hammered home the emotions I was feeling. The physical pain seemed to amplify the emotional pain and rumination. Much like the character Pink in Pink Floyd's song Comfortably Numb, there were a few people trying to help, but they were doing so because it was their job. Literally nobody in the crowd seemed to care or give any words. It was just the staff members.
The energy had died down and it looked like people were going to go home. I thought the gig was over, so I started the trek to the bus stop, feeling let down and utterly abandoned by the scene I thought I was supposed to be a part of. Unbeknownst to me, the gig wasn't over. There was a band called No Masters No Mercy that were going to play, so I ended up missing half of the acts at the gig. It was still good to have gone though, and 'reclaim' my place within the scene as a documenter and a person who experiences what's going on.
Looking back, I now see that it just was what it was—a gig. Some people try to socialise there but that isn't its purpose. It's purpose is to give local bands a place to play and showcase their art. Funnily enough, thanks to a series of events, today, less than a week from when the gig happened, my social life is better than ever.
I think people in the scene should learn some conflict resolution, honestly. I read this book called Nonviolent Communication by Marshall Rosenberg and it taught me how to be less anal retentive and calm down highly emotional people. I've become friends with some of those people. Above all, the scene should reacquaint itself with the spirit of 'being alternative' and not become just a more toxic, 'edgier', copy of the mainstream.
From the archive. Gig review · 16 January 2026, Issue BB13 · phone notes carried verbatim.