One more dumb slut on the 86 to the Tote after another failed flirt. Accidentally keen. Get in the door for the end of Civic. Do Civic need my thoughts really, it remains to be seen. So much time in the scene they wouldn’t be here if they did. Surfy geetar tones, a collection hat should be passed around at every punk show in this city and anyone ‘punking’ under 20 should be forced to donate. But the joy experience for Civic here is closer to keening than curb-slides. Reviewing people’s grief feels strange and perverse, and you could pull a “thAt’S noT your JoB BytcH just FoCus on the Moosic”, but you can’t because nothing stands alone. Nevertheless, here comes the distinctive opening fill for New Vietnam and Jim’s calling everyone out, hard points into the crowd. It’s beers down the gullet and a stomping foot, and off we go.

Fascinating clash of crowds in the beer garden. More beanies than The Tote has ever seen.

Miss Hayley Mary, not as in the salutation, but as in the verb. I missed Hayley Mary.

I did see Black Deity, because I got my priorities wrong. I’m heading into the bandroom and a mate says to me ‘if i never see you again i love you’ and it’s just a firm ‘you.will.’ and a walk away.

Cal is clearly fighting for his damn life behind that kit beneath the fumblings of Eyehategod slowed down. If you’re going to parrot Acid Bath learn to hold your drink.

Chatting outside to Mish, Coco, Nick. Coco says Chrome Cell sound like if Drew fronted Low Life. Once again Coco has done my work for me.

It’s full mosh-defence in here now, senses sharpened at the edges by the shuffle of some speed. Signature bass intro to Tailor and it’s a tsunami in a fish bowl in here. Drew throws the mic stand into the crowd and it’s straight in like that fight for the pistol in Singapore Sling, and under an arm I go before it gets any worse. Melbourne Bitters chucked behind heads. Once a mate told me he had a friend who used to lose his eight-holed Docs every punk show and I was so confused. I am no longer confused.

I flash my eyes up towards Chrome Cell. They sound good. Phil of the Tiles is sitting stuck in his coat with his Crocs in one hand against my legs, and I’m trying to explain in clear terms that should the coat come off? I can hold onto it because he can’t move. We’re all dancing to The Fabulist. It’s short and sweet in here. That’s all it needs to be. There goes that fool. No one cares. No one. No one. I have never tasted so much nihilism in the air. It’s impossible to write about this show without acknowledging the fuckery. It’s remiss to say that a dear friend of mine was not mocked for saying people felt unsafe in there. It’s impossible to note that she was not punched in the face outside stepping in against male violence. It’s irresponsible not to say that another was not hectored by a man to explain how transition works. Stupid not to note that unsignalled this man forced his fingers into my mouth.

We all know that it is grief that is running rampant through here. Grief that hasn’t ever had an outlet for many of those in attendance. This is one of the biggest feelings a lot of punters here tonight have ever had to grapple with, ever been allowed the space or chance or opening to grapple with. But are these grieving behaviours? This is the word and the word is this: we’re all stunted emotionally. That’s why we do what we do. None of us have been de-stunted. We are having to de-stunt ourselves in real time. The social politics of that is extensive, and more than one show can solve. But that is why these shows exist. We must de-stunt each other. You have to fall beneath the big sleep of grief in order to come back out. In more ways than one this is what the purpose of covering this show is. You can’t write about music played under the swell of something so big. You can’t reason with it when it’s down, because you would struggle to hear it when it is you. But heed this that I know that it’s women who catch you when you’re down. I know you say so yourself.

I love you. Keep marking the milestones. Labour for each other and we will labour for you in return. That is where a scene becomes a community. Don’t push the scene away. Keep coming back and we will keep coming back for you.