Despite being three stops away from Newtown station, the train carriage is already dominated by a sea of black t-shirts with frightening graphics and aggressive messages. A couple sits holding hands, both with shirts showing a head being crushed by a NSW train, aptly stating “NEWCASTLE HARDCORE”. Everyone gets off the train, and we pour into King Street which has transformed into a mass pilgrimage towards Australia’s front-running hardcore band: Speed. It’s impossible not to feel the excitement amongst the fans on the street, and the sense of community found within hardcore is even more apparent.
Since their humble debut release in 2019, titled DEMO 19, Speed have grown exponentially, becoming one of Australia’s largest, and perhaps most unlikely music exports. Amongst the plethora of uninspiring indie rock bands dominating the past decade of Australian music, Speed has pushed the boundaries of both heavy and mainstream music by bringing their violence-inducing riffs into popular consciousness. Sitting at a modest number 2 on the ARIA charts, their debut LP has managed to top that of Billie Eilish, Taylor Swift, and even Charli XCX.
Their night at the Enmore Theatre was a long one, and at least three fights transpired within the opening two bands. It was not uncommon to see moshpit attendees have their handsome smiles become mangled faces, their once white T-shirts becoming red Jackson Pollock artworks. As the final support act, High Vis, tidied up their set, an over-enthusiastic crowd killer was tackled and ‘dealt with’ by guardian-like audience members, and the entrance of Speed became even more anticipated.
Crowd Killing (verb): To violently mosh on the edge of a hardcore mosh pit, with a purposeful lack of self-awareness and an intent on injuring and assaulting onlookers.
Towering above the crowd is an enormous hand-painted canvas banner, commemorating the life of Tahmid Nurrallah. Tahmid, a photographer, graffiti artist and activist, was a close friend of those in Speed, and his project Lad Street was an important part of documenting and promoting the Australian hardcore scene. This banner, along with commemorations of Alexander Arthur (member of Dogshot and Blind Eye) showed the importance of forming relationships and developing a community within this music scene.
Signalling the arrival of the night’s headliner, the lights dimmed to a brooding red-tinted darkness. Speed’s lead singer, Jem Siow, emerged from the darkness and moved forth to the centre of the stage. The audience was brought to the edge of their seats, anticipating an explosion of metallic riffs. Instead, Gem unsheathed an orchestral flute, and meditatively performed a solo. In the best way possible, the vibe was a cross between an old Kung-Fu movie and a recital at a well-resourced school. This reinforced the message that their hyper-masculine image and music should not be taken too seriously. This peaceful introduction was short lived. An onslaught of beatdown and crossover riffs had arrived.
There is something incredibly awe-inspiring about the intimate relationship between the stage and its audience that forms at a hardcore show. Something as simple as a certain drum pattern can act as a call to the crowd; and in response the room assembles into a synchronised frenzy. The guitarist might chug a single specific rhythm, and the disciples in the mosh pit know exactly what dance move to return. This relationship can be even more direct than just responding to musical cues.
Dissolving the physical and social boundaries between stage and audience, the singer will bring their body and microphone down to the crowd and let their body be embraced as they scream their favourite moments together. Those lucky enough to be nearby will scramble and climb on top of one another like hungry animals being fed breadcrumbs. It’s not just singing to the music, it’s singing with the music, with the people that crafted your favourite songs, with their most tangible presence and body in your grasp.
But at Enmore, Speed’s aforementioned potential for transcendence was not fully realised. At times it felt like we were presented with a ‘clean-edition’ of the hardcore experience, placed behind glass and nice lighting. The Enmore Theatre is by no means giving the arena tour feeling, but given the bands uphill climb to beat the allegations of ‘TikTok Hardcore’, it does not help.
The metal barrier stood before the stage, manned by burly men with lanyards, preventing audience interaction. Stage diving at a hardcore show should be a God-given right, it shouldn’t feel like we’re crossing a national border every time we try. I suppose this is an inherent trade off to playing larger gigs, however their previous show at Liberty Hall managed to successfully tow the line between 1000+ capacity, and intimate community engagement.
Speed’s ability to achieve popularity outside its own scene brings the debate of ‘gatekeeping’ into question. Does the influx of non-hardcore fans have a negative impact on the strong culture within the hardcore community? Can a band retain the DIY, anti-corporate ethos when achieving large scale commercial success? Can music even belong to someone? These questions open an incredibly unwieldy can of worms, however we can confirm Speed’s friday night frenzy was still a great experience.
