Max Williams of Rifle has a point. “There’s nothing wrong with Busted!” he insists at one point, and of course, he’s right. Except these boys are a world away from “That’s What I Went to School For.” Indeed, the London five-piece sound like they’ve learned everything they needed to know on the mean streets.
With vicious punk that seems ready to cheerfully kick your face in, tracks like “Warfare” fully deliver on their “anarch-oi” tag. The frontman—clad in white denim—finds himself on the floor at points, embodying the chaos of the performance.
Still, it’s a captivating show, one with more than a slight whiff of violence. By the time “United State” crushes one last time, there’s no denying the truth in the old adage about punk never dying. All the filth and fury you could ever need is right here.
Melbourne’s The Prize are a very different proposition. There are five of them, but that’s where the similarities with the first support act end. What they do is magnificent power pop, complete with three-part guitar harmonies and two singers. Nadine Muller and Carey Paterson (drummer and one of the guitarists, respectively) are mighty, and between them, they elevate tracks like “Say That You’re Mine” beyond the norm.
“Easy Way Out” opens with an almost perfect guitar solo, and elsewhere, they make Thin Lizzy blush with their hooks. Indeed, if the idea of Thin Lizzy jamming with Redd Kross (or Silver Sun, take your pick) sounds like fun to you, then dive right in.
The title track of their 2022 Wrong Side of Town EP proves they’ve always had the knack for crafting great sugary anthems, and their first visit here was a runaway success. As I’d struggle to shoehorn any more power pop bands into this review, I’ll end with one more cliché: Keep an eye on The Prize.
Right toward the end of their set here—26 songs in just under an hour—The Chats launch into “Smoko.” When Eamon Sandwith delivers (because let’s be honest, you can’t call it “singing”) the line, “I’m on Smoko,” the packed floor responds in unison: “Leave me alone!” There’s nothing especially unusual about that, except that a) it happens entirely organically, with no prompting, and b) Wolverhampton does it in almost Australian accents.
If The Chats are heroes, they’re the unlikely kind—but my goodness, they are good.
They emerge with no fanfare. No intro tape. Nothing. Guitarist Josh Hardy, dressed in a polo shirt, looks like he’s just come from the allotment. After Sandwith casually announces, “We’re gonna play some songs for ya,” they dive straight in.
The most gloriously no-frills band in history, the Brisbane boys’ tales of Aussie culture have clearly found a home here. “Billy Backwash’s Day” is a standout, brimming with character you can almost feel.
And there’s plenty more where that came from. “6L GTR,” “Stinker” (a blistering ode to the Brisbane heat), “Drunk N Disorderly,” and “The Kids Need Guns” (“It’s about America. I don’t recommend it,” quips Sandwith) are all brilliant—and nowhere near as simple as they make them look.
The no-frills ethos extends to their between-song banter. Lines like, “Here’s one about a panic attack. It’s called ‘Panic Attack,’” are typical. Rooted in their local culture, tracks like “4573” make perfect sense, while “Price of Smokes” cleverly takes the government to task.
Relentless for almost an hour, Hardy takes the mic for a change to sing “Getting Better,” and there’s even a cover—KISS’s “Rock and Roll All Nite”—performed with more danger than Gene and Paul have managed in decades.
They close, as always, with “Pub Feed”—the track that, above all others, seems to encapsulate them. Sure, it’s about a simple desire for a good meal at the pub, but somehow, their songs have transcended that simplicity, becoming cultural touchstones talked about everywhere.
Just about a year ago, they blew QOTSA off the stage by being exactly what they’ve always been—no-frills, unapologetically themselves. And as long as The Chats stay that way, they’ll remain magnificent. Not that there’s any risk of them changing.
