Live Review: The Bronx, High Tension

It’s Thursday night and a strong band of early 2000s punk OG’s descend upon The Triffid for a tall order of madness, courtesy of LA native’s The Bronx as they kick off their Australian tour. 

As we enter the hangar we are first met with the brutal volatility of a High Tension set. Frontwoman Karina Utomo is a force, pacing back and forth and perching on the barrier like an other-worldly gargoyle before entering the admittedly pretty tame mosh. As a circle pit forms around her, we stand in awe, unsure whether to surrender to Utomo’s commanding presence or keep our eyes on the stage as Lauren Hammel (drums), Mike Deslandes (guitar) and Allan Stacey (filling in on bass for Matt Weston who we are told is on “parental leave”) show why they are an absolute monster of a band. “We might seem grim but we’re very, very excited,” Utomo chuckles. It is unrelenting and visceral.

Punk will never die my friends and The Bronx’s heavier brand of the stuff provides a live show that has to be seen to be believed. We’re told we have a heavy responsibility tonight; setting the bar for the rest of the tour is no easy feat but one Brisbane (the band’s favourite Aussie city we’re told before they presumably say the same thing at their next ten shows) is more than up to the task of. As Bronx chants ring out across the venue and the band take the stage to a tribal beat sweeping the crowd into a trance, the mosh pit opens a portal to hell and there are no signs of it closing in anytime soon. 

We’re treated to a mix of old and new - turning the clocks back to 2002 for the slam-dancing and thrashy Heart Attack American and there’s even a special appearance of Cobra Lucha: “A song we haven’t played in a long time.” We embrace the Shitty Future and newer tracks like Side Effects and Night Drop At The Glue Factory are met with as much vigour as the originals. 

Lead singer Matt Caughtran is potent as he orchestrates the chaos from centre stage. His irrepressible presence riles the masses to pure pandemonium, no more so than for the Fugazi-esque Knifeman as we join him “out here on the border line” and try to “hold it together” as he descends into the pit. The breakdown is extended and the circle of bodies implodes into him. Mayhem. 

A one-two-three punch of an encore ending with the classic History’s Stranglers and the night is over. If they’re not already on your live bucket list, make sure you add them immediately. Touring relentlessly, don’t go into the show expecting to reinvent the wheel. It’s The motherfucking Bronx man and they’re downright dangerous.