Words – @ladylane____
Photos – @djsedick
The room felt too small for the amount of history packed into it.
By the time the lights dropped, the crowd had already transformed the bandroom into something closer to a pressure cooker than a live venue. The air was thick with anticipation, old-school punk loyalty, curiosity about the newer lineup, and the kind of nervous excitement that only comes when a legendary band walks the line between nostalgia and reinvention.
When Greg Ginn emerged, there was no grand entrance. No dramatic intro tape. Just a guitar slung low and an immediate sense that BLACK FLAG still preferred confrontation over ceremony.
The first set arrived like a blunt-force reminder of why the band’s catalogue continues to resonate. Songs weren’t presented as museum pieces. They were stretched, bent, and occasionally pushed into noisy, unpredictable territory. Ginn’s guitar playing remained equal parts precision and collapse – riffs would lock into place before spiralling into strange, abrasive detours that somehow still felt intentional.
Max Zanelly proved to be the evening’s biggest surprise. Rather than attempting to imitate former vocalists, they attacked the material with their intensity. Their delivery felt less like a tribute and more like an argument with the songs themselves. Every shouted line seemed to ricochet off the low ceiling and come back twice as loud.
The pit never truly stopped moving. During ‘Nervous Breakdown’ and ‘Fix Me,’ bodies collided in controlled chaos while older fans shouted every word with the conviction of people who had waited decades to hear them live again. Younger attendees threw themselves into the songs with equal commitment, creating one of those rare gigs where generations disappear and only the music remains.
What made the night memorable wasn’t technical perfection. It was tension. BLACK FLAG have always thrived on discomfort, and the performance embraced that philosophy. Some songs exploded with speed; others wandered into lengthy instrumental passages that tested the audience before pulling them back in. It felt unpredictable in the best possible way.
By the second set, the room had reached a different energy level entirely. Sweat dripped from the walls. Empty beer cans littered the floor. The audience looked exhausted but refused to slow down.
‘Six Pack’ triggered one of the loudest sing-alongs of the night. ‘TV Party’ turned the entire venue into a sarcastic choir. And when the opening notes of ‘Rise Above’ finally landed, the reaction was immediate. It wasn’t just applause. It felt like a release.
The song arrived late in the set, but it carried the emotional weight of a finale. Hundreds of voices joined together, transforming the CORNER HOTEL from a pub venue into something closer to a communal declaration.
When the band closed out the night, nobody seemed particularly interested in leaving. House lights came up to reveal grinning faces, ringing ears, and the unmistakable feeling that everyone had witnessed something raw rather than polished.
This new revitalisation of BLACK FLAG isn’t your typical song-by-song setup. It’s a visceral, raw and frenetic projection of an enduring legacy that will live on with the freshness of young fury and anger. BLACK FLAG will never be a band built for comfort.
Huge thanks to Corner Hotel, Black Flag and Troubadour Presents.
