Brisbane’s pop-punk upstarts Two Times Shy are soaring lofty heights as they let loose their …
Northlane with Erra, Sworn In, & Thornhill
170 Russell, Melbourne
21st October, 2017
170 Russell is the venue of choice for Northlane, cos it’s all futuristic inside. Fitting, because Northlane isn’t interested in the past.
Thornhill // Photo: Bree Wallace
On Saturdays it’s an EDM club, packed to overflowing with go’d up dance junkies and future sounds of every variety. Neon lights, cylinders bright with every hue. Even the bars change colour. So why aren’t the darlings of Aussie hardcore selling out a bigger venue, you may ask? Or is that just burned-in cynicism, the type music lovers thrive on these days?
Munchkin Deluxe // Photo: Bree Wallace
I wasn’t able to catch Thornhill, but Sworn In. My God. If this was a battle of the bands, they’d be disqualified. Fronted by a munchkin in a Korn t-shirt, Ronnie Radke glasses, and oversized beanie, their entire set sounded like electrified dogshit. No melodies, no rhythm, just an endless stream of distortion upon distortion. A noise generator could’ve done better. All I could make out was a shout of “GET FUCKED!” Who on Earth thought this band was a good idea? Someone paid for these jokers to fly out from Chicago. Whoever that was: you wasted your money and you wasted our time.
Northlane are relentless, indefatigable. They do not give one ounce less than 100%.
Lucky I ran into my newest old mate Rob at the bar, still rocking Tiges gear since they won the Grand Final. A trucker by trade, he’s a rocker by night. He didn’t think much of Sworn In either. “My son was into Erra, and I had a listen and thought they were good too,” he says, taking a swig from his bottle.
I spose that put him on the hook for tickets. He laughs. “Mate, of course it did, as if he would pay for a ticket. He’s a lazy bugger, but he’s smart,” pointing to his temple. He leans the neck of his bottle at me. “I like your T-shirt, Metallica are fuckin’ ripper.” I don’t have the heart to tell him it’s actually Megadeth.
Where’s My Grits? // Photo: Bree Wallace
The stain of Sworn In still lingering on us, Alabama’s Erra came out to play, all smiles and all riffs. Vocalist Ian spreads his hands at the big digital display behind them. “Do you like our logo? We made it in Microsoft Paint.” With that, the tone was set. Without much fucking about, they leaped into a short yet satisfying set of jump-jump-jumpers, nutcrunching cleans, brutals, and light to temperate moshing. The boys whipped up a flavourful bowl of riffs and headbangers, with calls for more after they finished. Expect an Erra headline tour, or feel disappointed.
This Isn’t Weird At All // Photo: Bree Wallace
Northlane. Within a nanosecond of Colourwave, bodies surged toward the barrier. The mosh looked like an excitation of atoms, as if they were exposed to heat. Warmth rose just as quick, as escapees from the maelstrom ducked next to the merch stand, chests heaving in and out. With such power on display, how could you not move or get out of the way?
I Thought That Where The Sun DOESN’T Shine // Photo: Bree Wallace
If this was the firestarter, Worldeater set 170 Russell aflame. It was a chase for who could get closer, who could wring the most of this pulsing, blasting wall of sound. Bodies flung over bodies as Marcus Bridge tore out his insides, black-masked guitarist Jon Deiley swirling around in a trance of his own creation. Pretension and ridiculous costumes all melted away in a hellscape of riffs and fury.
Whip crack, whip crack awaaaay // Photo: Bree Wallace
They pelted us with Dream Awake, Heartmachine and Citizen, all stellar examples of what Australian hardcore can offer. Crowds went mental hearing Adrian-era cut Dispossession, Marcus tearing at his already tattered coat as if he wrote the track himself. It’s a light show, it’s a sound show, it’s not quite a rock show. It’s elevated beyond just a bunch of dudes playing guitars and drums. It dangles somewhere above what we expect from this kind of performance. Quantum Flux’ opening line floated on water, and Marcus glowed like a ghost from below. Nuance hit just as hard as brute force. Northlane are relentless, indefatigable. They do not give one ounce less than 100%. As they emerged from the black for one more song, Marcus announced it was “our last chance.” With a roaring Paragon, you bet every god damn punter took it.
Waveshaped embrace of duality, or something // Photo: Bree Wallace
Even if you’re not the world’s most passionate guy (or girl) there is an allure to losing yourself in Northlane. I advise you try it.
