Spring night hangs heavy overhead while a slow-moving pack of punks is clustering outside Brisbane's The Tivoli.
A few spiky hairdos and a mohawk are spotted, leather jackets creak in the cool air, frayed denim battle jackets worn proud, and sneakers and boots scrape the footpath (20 September).
Finally, Dead Kennedys are tearing through their Give Me Dystopia or Give Me Death tour. Forty-plus years on and the band is still packing a room that smells of beer, hairspray and barely contained trouble.
HIPPO slides in first, bringing a curveball to the night with their Australian doom-punk. I saw them once before in 2023, so had seen the one-of-a-kind bass that is as impressive visually as it is sonically.
I also assume the band name is the nickname for the unique instrument, but this is yet to be confirmed. HIPPO run with no backdrop tonight, just band-tees draped over the fold-backs and amps telling the uninitiated who they are.
They kick in and you can't keep your eyes off Loki Discordia (bass, vocals) who bends notes through a chain of pedal-power on the floor and on his rig, along with other electronic contraptions mounted alongside them together or separately – it warps every thunderous note into something otherworldly.
HIPPO - image © Clea-marie Thorne
The guitar layers warm chords with glitchy stabs, flicking between runs and pulses – it's interesting and keeps you guessing. Discordia continues to lock down fat grooves relentlessly and with such ease it makes you believe the hulking bass contrivance weighs no more than a standard one.
Giving the room a left-field injection, HIPPO show the room that queer doom-punk is anything loungey with one piece drifting into thrumping, otherworldly chaos without warning. Another spirals into a free-form over a beat that feels like a heartbeat run through a sampler.
The crowd, mostly here for punk chaos, is rocking to and fro and grinning, drawn in by the hypnotic push-pull of doom-punk freedom and hidden musical discipline.
At the end of their set, hands reach high to grab one of the HIPPO band tees being thrown out to the crowd. I bumped into the lucky punters who nabbed one who was proudly wearing it over the top of their other band tees.
The changeover is all chatter and shifting feet. I hear a bloke in a patched denim vest arguing with his mate about whether 'Holiday In Cambodia' or 'Police Truck' hits harder as I navigate by their animated arms and spilling beers.
Cheers erupt from the crowd who spot East Bay Ray (guitar) and Klaus Flouride (bass) sporting his button-up hunter shirt, obscured mostly by shadows as they check their setup to ensure their guitars, pedals and amps are ready to go.
Dead Kennedys - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Dead Kennedys stroll on with no ceremony, just a surge of feedback and a wash of red lights. Skip Greer stalks the front of the stage like a restless cat while East Bay Ray flicks out surf-soaked guitar stabs that slice the humid air.
'Forward To Death' fires first, a brutal warm-up that has bodies already pogoing. 'Winnebago Warrior' follows, its twangy riff cutting through like a cracked radio signal. 'Police Truck' sends the pit into a sweaty spin, drummer Steve Wilson tripping the kick pedals with military precision while Flouride's bass growl feels like it's bending the floorboards.
'Buzzbomb' bursts out fast and nasty, then 'Let's Lynch The Landlord' drops a sing-along chorus that has even the back-bar crew yelling. 'Jock-O-Rama' stomps with a crooked groove before the biting satire of 'Kill The Poor' lands like a snotty sneer.
'MP3 Get Off The Web' lands newly rebadged, Greer droning a straight-faced riff on price elasticity while the crowd splits between laughter and groans – no one's sure if they're heckling the joke or mourning the classic.
Dead Kennedys - image © Clea-marie Thorne
The set keeps detonating. 'Too Drunk To F...' turns into a sloppy pogo party and the punk choir are ear-splitting. Greer has been making a few trips down to the barrier tonight to get right up close with fans who are frothing for it every time it looks like he's making his way to them.
Another highlight is Wilson giving a fitting tribute to the legacy of D.H. Peligro. The mosh pit is relentless, a sweaty proof of Brisbane's punk stamina. I did not expect tonight's fans to be this animated, crushing it like bulls let loose and horns raised in defiance.
Well, what this? We are being goaded, I'm sure! Greer tells us we have to windup early because their manager says there's a disco party happening and patrons are outside waiting, so we have to vacate the premises. Boos resounds from the mouths of fans all about our ears.
Dead Kennedys - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Greer then tells us they said the only way we get to finish the show it "is to start the disco dance party". He gets our buy in to do just that and they come at us with 'Moon Over Marin'; it rides a shimmering guitar line that feels almost disco pretty until the lyrics bite back like a rabid dog!
Starting out with a call and the crowd screaming the "F... off!" response, of course it is the classic banger, 'Nazi Punks F... Off' that is a one-minute fist fight, middle fingers everywhere that births pure f'ing chaos on the floor taking it to 11 in the mosh pit as more crowd surfers are tossed around on their way to the barrier.
Seamlessly cascading into the unmistakeable intro to another fan favourite 'California Über Alles', it stretches out, Ray twisting his guitar into something surfy and sinister all at once. They duck off then blast back for an encore.
'Bleed For Me' comes sharp and relentless. The band lurches into 'Viva Las Vegas', Greer hamming it up Elvis-style with all the cool mic stand moves, while Ray warps the classic into punk-drip weirdness.
Of course, the song that even non-DK fans know, 'Holiday In Cambodia' lands as the night's war cry, every throat in the room screaming along; but the show ain't over and a second encore sneaks in with 'Chemical Warfare' mischievously laced with a snippet of 'Sweet Home Alabama' that has punters laughing mid-mosh.
Dead Kennedys - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Dead Kennedys leave the stage grinning after tossing memorabilia scraps to fans soaked in angst and sarcasm, Greer making paper planes with set lists to get them far back into the crowd, and tearing one to shreds so everyone left at the barrier wins a prize.
He then jumps back down on the barrier to fist pump with fans and let them have selfies with him pulling some wild faces. The rest of the fans file out of the old venue that is left sweating out its punk rock ghosts.
No nostalgia polish. Just a jagged, still-angry soundtrack to a world that keeps giving them fresh material. Tonight's DK line-up, Greer and Wilson alongside OGs Ray and Fluoride and a heaving Brisbane crowd prove there's still a tonne of punk left in their collective trunks!
More photos from the concert.
