I was an observer of a sad spectacle. The Disdained, a band name that seemed fitting, played to an empty room. Statue-like figures stood, only a 4 or 5 having a movement of a subtle rock back and forth. Some looked as if they liked the music, but were too timid or senile to do anything.

Moshing? Joining in? Such thoughts were a class A social rule injustice in this temple of stagnation. It was unfitting for anything of that sort to happen, especially with the nonexistent crowd being over 18s. People were browsing their phones or talking to their friends instead of listening to the band.

A sigh escaped me as I took in this unappreciation of the local music scene from afar. Not like it would have mattered anyway—the poor sound system muffled what was supposed to be an energetic performance. The Disdained's set had unintelligible vocals, drifting through the air with its low fidelity flare.

Grim faces glared at me as I dared to scan the room. A cameraman shot me a side eyed death stare look that screamed "you don't belong here". Some other people also stared rudely. It was terrible. Very terrible.

Surrounded and talking to his friends behind the "crowd", I spotted a familiar face: Jackson Moore from Pimp, or so I thought. His piercings, haircut, height and clothing all matched him. When I approached him, he denied it. The resemblance was uncanny, and I can't shake the feeling that was played.

The Disdained concluded their set, and I went to the stage to grab a setlist for my setlist wall. There I spotted another guy, around my age. He asked for my pen to get his own Disdained setlist signed like me, and then introduced himself as Angus, saying that he read my zine.

The energy in the room was heavy and off-putting, and it tainted my experience of the band's performance. I left feeling frustrated, my usual excitement and enthusiasm at gigs being filtered off by the negative, disregardful vibes.

I can't rate The Disdained, I just didn't experiencd them fully, the sound system was shit, and the audience didn't care to listen to the band in front of their face. Sometimes, meeting the right or wrong people can make your experience either 10x better, or 10x worse but don't go to gigs for the audience. Go there for the band.

During the interlude, I bought some stuff, including cassettes, zines, band shirts and I got my hands on some pins they were giving out for free.

The next band was Knee, and during their set a bunch of people had gone out to the sports fields, while some new people came in.

I shimmied my way through the crowd, eager to find Angus and his buddy Liam as Knee began. The familiar punk sound of Knee drew me closer to them. The sports fields outside were calling to some, but I knew the real action was here, where the bands gave it their all.

As I made my way, the high-tempo beats vibrated through my body. It was pure punk, reminding me of the likes of Minor Threat and The Ramones. This was my jam, and with an actual crowd forming, the energy began to come into existence. I spotted Angus and Liam head-banging along, and we instantly synced into a mosh pit of our own.

The band gave it their all, the guitarist even bringing his guitar high up to his chest at one point, lost in the music. It was chaotic and beautiful.

As the set came to an end, I managed to snag a setlist, and this one was special. On the back, there was a letter addressed to the lead singer, a firing notice from his day job. Brutal, but hilarious. The drummer, noticing my interest, asked if it was bound for my bedroom wall, and hell yes it was.

Knee delivered a sweet and simple performance, a typical punk band flipping the crowd's vibe on its head in true punk fashion. 7.5/10, no complaints here.

Angus and I started conspiring our moshing plot. We knew the crowd needed a proper mosh pit, and we were just the guys to make it happen. We shared a laugh about the irony of being punk and rock and roll lovers in our schools full of self-absorbed, egotistical students.

A lady organising the event led a crowd chant, "From the river to the sea, Palestine must be free." After their set. It was highly reminiscent of something you could find at Palestine protests.

Knee's set was short compared to other bands I've seen, but no complaints here. 7.5/10. They were a standard punk band, and didn't mess around with bullshit, jusy raw, good music. They really flipped the crowd's energy upside down.

I circled around the stalls, and something caught my attention. It was a battle jacket, on sale for $60.

My closet was bland and unappetising, consisting of some black clothes I bought from thrift stores, a few band shirts, and hand me downs from my dad. I didn't know if it would look right on me, but I tried it on.

With proper riot gear, I felt like a punk badass ready to take on the world. Or at least, the mosh pit.

Drudge took to the stage, their sound was punk but with a gritty, hardcore metallic and scorch-screaming punch to the gut.

Angus and I, we didn't need words. We began to move as one, nudging and then pushing. We then shoved, and the crowd began parting like the Red Sea, not wanting to join in themselves.

We slapped, we punched, we kicked, we ran in circles trying to start a pit, but fuck them, if others didn't want to join in, it was their choice, their loss.

We did our own two person wall of death. We went to opposite sides, and then slammed with full force. It was a great way to unleash the angst that had built up since the last gig where I could mosh.

The gig was now wild, with a dude in a Spidey suit and a Johnnie Campbell from Piss Off lookalike adding to the chaos. But they were more all about pushing us around instead of actually getting down to the mosh pit action themselves.

The lead singer was a madman, leaping from the stage and leading a mic-wielding procession that had us screaming our lungs out. Think heavy metal meets punk rock madness. There was also a local rapper who called himself LL Cool J, killing it with those backing vocals.

Me and Angus, we embodied the mosh pit. We showed those 'experienced' folks how it's done, thrashing around while they barely lifted a finger.

But then, the fun police—the gig organiser lady who did the speech earlier told us to cut it out and move to the sides. What the actual fuck? Wasn't this is a punk show? If so, moshing is part of the goddamn deal. There were no hazards, no signs saying 'no moshing allowed'. We kept the energy alive while those around us wanted a funeral parade.

Grudge brought the house down, and the floor showed it, drenched in sweat, booze, or puke - maybe all three. We grabbed some towels and showed our appreciation by helping to mop up the mess. Punk's not dead, but it damn near died that night."

Me and Angus grabbed setlists from the stage, and sought out the lead singer, who was off somewhere around the bar.

There we had the real LL Cool J sign it even though he wasn't a member of the band, and also had a good chat with the lead singer.

8/10 for Drudge. Great experience.

So, we grabbed some Gatorades and headed to the sports fields to chill. We met this rad woman who dug our jackets, and her kid was this little aspiring rocker who made his own little books. We got to talking about our experiences as younger folks in the scene, and how people still get judged and treated differently based on their style and attitude. It's wild how that stuff still happens.

When we headed back inside, I took a good look at Liam, huddled up quietly at the seating area. He was quiet, with this authentic 2000s emo haircut. The real deal, you know? Emo to the core.

Then, things took a turn. My traditional style Asian grandma, who lives with me, freaked out about me being alone. She's hella racist, by the way. Told my mum to text me that I couldn't walk to the bus stop alone because Moorooka was apparently full of "black people", and that I either need to be picked up at the venue door, or walked to the bus stop by my mates. I mean, she's seriously deluded. I've been to way sketchier places by myself, like Fortitude Valley, and she didn't give a shit. But whatever, I didn't wanna deal with her drama, so I chose the second option. Angus and Liam offered to walk me to the bus stop.

Unbeknownst to me and Angus, the long interlude was most likely due to Scraped and Millitary Industrial Complex being swapped around for some reason.

Military Industrial Complex took to the stage, an unusual trio with an even more unusual setup: double bass, electric violin, and drums. Their set was short, sharp, and loud; a blur of noise rock with an improvised, raw feel. The double bass player struggled to keep hold of his stick, adding to the chaotic energy as he resorted to using a drumstick instead.

Their set was extremely short. Their sound was noise rock, and the entire thing blended together as one song, and there were multiple instances where the double bass player lost the stick he used to play the strings, and so he would have to improvise with a drumstick.

It was like nothing I've seen before. Everything was brand new, and I experienced a genre I had never seriously listened to before.

We sat down on the floor, and just absorbed the vibe of the music.

Then of course, setlist time. They didn't write setlists of their own, but I bought paper specifically for this purpose, and they made the setlists a special piece of art, with the two we got being different. I received a few abstract scribbles, signatures, "Gaza", a song name and the band name, while Angus received an angry face, a list of songs and some signatures.

7/10 for Millitary Industrial Complex. First noise rock band I've ever seen, and definitely the most different band I've seen.

Angus and Liam escorted me to the bus stop. No sketchy business from the area or weird people around, just good old chit chat.

The walk to the bus stop with Angus and Liam was uneventful, and at the stop, I was recognised by a group of girls who knew my zine. They asked my rating, and I told them 7.5/10, though in hindsight, I'd knock it down to a 7.3. The beginning was rough due to the crowd, but it improved as the set went on.

I circled around the stalls, and something caught my attention. It was a battle jacket, on sale for $60. My closet was bland, consisting of black clothes I bought from thrift stores, a few band shirts, and hand me downs from my dad.

I eyed it. It didn't look like it would fit me of all people, as it initially looked rather small, and short. I asked the vendor to go try it on in the bathroom

It was a nice fit. Larger than thought, in fact maybe a tiny bit oversized. I asked a few people what they thought of it, and they all said it was fine.

I bought it. Now it was time to put it into practice in the pit.

Drudge took to the stage, their sound was punk but with a gritty, hardcore punch to the gut. Angus and I, we didn't need words. We began to move as one, nudging and then pushing. We pushed and shoved, the crowd began retreating, not wanting to join in.