Osees – Hollywood Theatre, 21 February 2025: Review & Photo Gallery

Osees obliterate Hollywood Theatre in Avondale with a frenzied, neolithic assault. The queue for tonight’s sold-out show was already spilling in two directions, a restless anticipation bubbling beneath the surface.

As I scanned the motley bunch waiting to be let inside, their choice of band tees painted a wild, genre-blurring picture, Kate Bush, Gorillaz, Stereolab, Rudimentary Peni, Red Hot Chili Peppers, even David Gray.

A mixed bag of restrained stationary hippies, sharply dressed hipsters, punks, and the outcasts of society all gathered under one roof, unified by the knowledge that tonight, a band from California was about to rip the stage to shreds.

Opening the show tonight was experimental musician and composer Kraus.

There’s something anarchic about a Kraus set. The moment he steps onto the stage, quiet, unassuming, almost detached, he flicks a switch, and the room is swallowed whole. His synth tonight sounded like a distant generator warming up before waves of vintage squelches and tape-loop distortions crashed into each other, creating a kaleidoscope of warped frequencies.

Kraus has described his music as being for freaks, outsiders, losers, and weirdos. Which might explain why it didn’t quite resonate with me.

Next up was the phenomenal Half Hexagon. I first caught them at Galatos during The Others Way festival, where they delivered a performance nothing short of world-class entertainment.

From the moment they hit the stage, it was clear this wasn’t going to be a casual affair. The opening notes, a ferocious barrage of jagged beats and pulsating synths, sent an electric charge through the room.

Frontwoman Yolanda Fagan prowled the stage like a wild animal recently released from captivity, her voice shifting between snarls, howls, and hypnotic croons, pulling the crowd deeper into the band’s dark, chaotic world.

Their sound is a Frankenstein’s monster of genres. Post-punk urgency colliding with industrial grit, shoegaze haze meeting Alt-Rock’s sheer force. Once again, they proved they belong on the world stage.

The moment Osees took to the stage, the room erupted.

Dual drum kits thundered in unison, pounding the walls like a war cry, sending ripples of chaos through the tightly packed crowd. The band wasted no time, launching into a savage assault of thrashing, primal energy.

Frontman John Dwyer, a master of calculated madness, wielded his guitar like a weapon, his vocals distorted and raw, riding the razor’s edge between precision and sheer abandon.

Then came the technical carnage. Somewhere in the sonic blitzkrieg, the onstage volume overwhelmed the singer’s vocal monitor, turning it into a straining, horrendous mess.

There’s something coming through my monitor that’s very bassy, Dwyer noted mid-set. If the crackling vocal mic was a problem, it was hard to tell. Osees’ thrive in the realm of beautiful disaster.

Sonically, the night was like tossing Flat Worms, Adam and the Ants, Crass, and Wine Lips into a blender, then pouring the results into a sewer-dwelling, mutant Rock opera conducted by a deranged, black-leather-clad Flintstone.

The guitars screamed, the basslines clawed at your ribcage, and the drummers. Oh, the drummers!

The relentless twin-attack percussion gave the set an unstoppable, tribal propulsion. At times, though, the relentless pummelling became its own beast, and a shift in dynamic, perhaps alternating between one drummer and the other, could’ve given the night an even sharper edge.

Between songs, Dwyer kept the madness alive with quips like, I did cocaine in the woods and the ever-classic, I blew up the rental (amp), that’s why you get the insurance.

It was those moments of raw, unfiltered energy that made the night feel like a controlled demolition of Rock’s past and future.

The highlight a moment of sheer, unhinged genius. Dwyer whipping the mic in front of a foldback speaker, capturing a sliver of feedback and looping it into a pulsating, hypnotic soundscape.

It was the kind of improvisation that defined the night. Osees don’t just play songs, they conjure something primal and let it run rampant until everyone either collapses or disappears into the night.

By the time the final notes screeched into oblivion, the room was a sweaty, euphoric mess. Osees had done what they came to do. Obliterate, transcend, and improvise until everyone left. And in true Rock’n’roll fashion, they did just that.

Paul Marshall

Photography by Leonie Moreland

OSEES

Half Hexagon