Words by: Annette Geneva
Photos by Peter Mellows
It felt sort of beautifully absurd standing in a theatre built in 1916 watching “legs in the air” crowd-surf and a blurry circle pit unfold to songs about coffee mugs, suburban boredom and hating everything. Yet that was exactly the scene at Hobart’s Odeon Theatre when punk legends Descendents finally made it to Tasmania, their first show this far south in their nearly five decade long career.
And somehow, despite being one of the most influential punk bands to emerge from California, the venue wasn’t as packed as I anticipated. That felt strange. Not empty, but comfortably under capacity. I guess that meant more room for a decent mosh pit.
Local openers R.A.B.B.I.T were one of the night’s biggest surprises. Formed in Tasmania in 2020, the band delivered a set bursting with the kind of high-energy, melodic power-pop punk that feels both nostalgic and fresh. Their sound immediately brought to mind the nervous energy and sharp hooks of Buzzcocks, while threading in flashes of new wave and some catchy distorted guitar interplay. The opening song drifted between indie cool and punk chaos, before taking a sharp turn into Amyl and the Sniffers territory. Distorted guitars dominated the mix throughout the set, sometimes to the point where the vocals struggled to break through the room. It wasn’t an ideal sound balance, but there was enough chemistry and conviction onstage to cut through the muddiness. After the show, I dug into the band’s Bandcamp and discovered a different side to them entirely. Songs like Love Bites and Gone showcase just how strong their songwriting actually is when given room to breathe.
Special mention goes to the guitarist, who seemed determined to burn through every ounce of energy in the room. While the rest of the band held down the songs, they attacked every riff and lead line like their life depended on it, becoming impossible to look away from. The kind of performance that reminds you why local support bands are worth showing up early for.
Next 208L Containers – garage punk outfit delivered exactly the sort of dry humour and politically charged banter that works best in aTasmania pub or a DIY punk venue. Their set balanced noisy garage/ post-punk textures with a distinctly local sense of self-awareness, never taking themselves too seriously while still sounding really tight.
Then came the reason everyone was there. Descendents walked onstage with very little ceremony. No dramatic intro. No inflated sense of importance. Just four musicians who collectively helped invent melodic hardcore and pop-punk before half of the audience were even born.
From the opening stretch of Everything Sux, I’m The One and Coffee Mug, the floor became a revolving door of circle pits and crowd surfers. The audience barely needed encouragement. Songs that were written decades ago still landed with the energy of a chart topper released last week.
Meanwhile, at the back of the room stood what can only be described as a wall of emotionless suburban dads. Arms folded. Faces unreadable. Possibly having the time of their lives. Impossible to tell.
Milo Aukerman remains one of punk’s most unlikely frontmen. Equal parts science nerd, suburban philosopher and reluctant icon, he still delivers these songs with a sincerity that younger bands spend years trying to manufacture. At one point he casually announced: “I woke up in Hobart…” which earned one of the night’s biggest cheers. Tasmania may sit off the edge of most touring maps, but moments like that matter. I think punters here are the best kinds because they are not spoiled for choice like the mainlanders. These music fans appreciate such an even 10 times more.
Apart from Everything Sucks in full, the setlist dug deep into the catalogue, bouncing between fan favourites and staples. Hope was as emotionally devastating as ever. Clean Sheets, Good Good Things and Silly Girl provided flashes of melody amid the chaos. When I Get Old felt particularly poignant coming from a band whose audience has quite literally grown old alongside them, procreated and is raising their kids to take over the fandom.
The encore was pure fan service in the best possible way.
By the time ‘Merican kicked in, crowd surfers were practically queuing up. Bodies floated overhead in a steady stream while the room shouted every word back toward the stage. For a band whose songs often dissect suburban frustration, alienation and self-doubt, the sense of community was impossible to ignore. The final stretch of the show felt less like a concert and more like a celebration of endurance. Not just of a band, but of an entire punk culture.
Descendents are sometimes described as a “heritage act”, but that label doesn’t quite fit. Heritage bands often feel preserved behind glass. Descendents still feel very much alive. Messy. Funny. Self-deprecating. Loud. Nearly fifty years after they started, they’re still singing about growing up while proving that maybe nobody ever really does.
And judging by the crowd response maybe the are not wrong.
PHOTO GALLERY
DESCENDENTS
208L CONTAINERS
R.A.B.B.I.T
