The Bronx like to drink; The Bronx also like their fans to drink, and luckily for those in attendance there was no shortage of ale for the pummelling meatheads that packed the front of the sold-out Manning's sunken pit. As thrashing limbs and airborne shoes greeted Matt Caughthran and co, the LA-born-and-bred fivesome tore through an ass-belting set that spanned the band's incomparable catalogue.
Leading the fray, the bobbing chicken-headed frontman Caughthran barked through songs including 'Shitty Future' and 'Past Lives'; all the while, his cuddly teddy-bear exterior was at odds with his menacing growl and frequent crowd invasions. Riding a sea of limbs, the singer proudly proclaimed his love of Australia as a deluge of stage divers rained down around him; yet through the somewhat seemingly-obligatory crowd praising shone a band that appeared truly floored and appreciative of the love they receive from this country.
But before sentimentality sets in, the Bronx open up with another blast from their recently-released third self-titled album, tearing the dance floor open with the appropriately titled 'Knifeman'. It's not long before the crowd's actions catch up with one unlucky punter; the boys make a false start on 'White Guilt' to ensure one overzealous crowdsurfer has survived his seemingly doomed attempt. "It's ok, he's moving!" proclaimed Caughthran.
At their core the Bronx is one hell of a party band, a group that undeniably brings the good times while leaving the pretention at the door. The nicest guys in hardcore close with the 48-second encore of 'Small Stone', no small feat for a band that doesn't normally do encores. It seems like the Bronx truly do love Sydney after all.
Mike Jeffery
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