My evening began with a can of pre-mixed rum and a vegan chicken burger on the streets of Camden; I’m not prepared to pay the fancy prices of booze in London’s pubs. Content and rather jolly I made my way to the Electric Ballroom to witness one of the greatest products of Australia, The Chats.
I was greeted by a friendly bouncer who informed me I would not be able to take my banana, hidden at the bottom of my bag, into the venue. So there I stood slightly disorientated and wobbly, eating a banana at an unholy speed with just 10 minutes before the band were due to hit the stage.
Once I made it past the banana police, I weaved my way through the mounting drunken crowd, adopting a prime position in what was set to become the most aggressive mosh pit I have ever seen.
Nambored
The 26-track mega set list kicked off with “Nambored”, an expression of boredom and desperation at living in their hometown of Nambour. Admittedly, The Chats aren’t famous for their musical talent or variation. Put bluntly, every song sounds the same, give or take. But this just adds to the fun. Their gigs are more of an experience than a performance. The whole set list was a blur of Aussie slang, riotous mosh pits and throat-strained vocals from front-man Eamon Sandwith.
Chaos, stickiness and suffering
I adore a mosh pit. There’s nothing more exciting than an eager crowd shouting the lyrics to their favourite songs in each other’s faces. But just one song in, I was flustered. Seconds into the gig a pint of beer was thrown in the air by an overbearing member of the audience, covering myself and many others in a sticky malty mess.
The crowd behaved in a way I had never witnessed. The room moved in one motion with waves of squeezing and shoving. To call it a mosh pit seems a modest understatement. It was more like being part of a claustrophobia-inducing compression chamber of sweaty men.
I made my way to the side of the room and stood watching at a safe distance while I regained some energy. In this moment I considered the choices that brought me here. Was it really worth paying 30 quid to get beaten up to the sound of an Australian man shouting about getting drunk in Brisbane?
Luckily the banana I forced down earlier kicked in and I managed to pull myself together for an onslaught of moshing during “Drunk N Disorderly”. The chanting began, “RELAXATION, MOOD ALTERATION, BOREDOM LEADS TO INTOXICATION” as the pushing and shoving intensified.
It’s a Chats classic about the Australian criminal offence of being intoxicated and acting like a fool in public, always invoking a fiery response from the IPA-fueled crowd.
The band tore through the 26 song setlist in just under an hour, most of which is now a blur for me, with the night coming to a close with the bizarre yet marvellous ode to pub lunches, “Pub Feed”.
Within seconds clusters of fans fell to the floor amongst the chaos, pilling on top of one another in a panicked and drunken crush. The pile up continued as the crowd tripped over one another, eventually taking me down with them. I felt a rush of fear in my skull, genuinely scared I was about to get trampled into the messy floor of Electric Ballroom. But in the nick of time on-lookers pulled us up from the floor and hurled us back into the thriving mosh pits.
There isn’t much showmanship from frontman Eamon Sandwith. Some punk artists surf over their audience or perform handstands in the crowd whilst screaming the lyrics. But that isn’t The Chats’ style. They turn up, drink VB bitter and charge through a chunky set list of cigarette, alcohol and drug-related tracks.
My eventful evening was made all the more unique when the last train back to Uckfield was cancelled and I was stranded with a group of passengers at London Bridge until 3am. Eventually a taxi was booked by Southern Rail for all passengers effected and I finally climbed into bed at an eye-watering 5am.
A few weeks have passed since the gig and I still can’t decide whether I had a good time. The mosh pits were over the top and jammed with sweaty drunken men colliding like billiard balls. There’s a fine line between an energetic mosh pit and full-on brawl. Electric Ballroom was too close to the latter for my liking.
I’m a big fan of The Chats’ music but the Electric Ballroom gig certainly wasn’t my best experience, though this was due to the crowd rather than the band itself. My enjoyment was held back by a persistent fear of being seconds away from having broken ribs and suffocating in a huge crush of fans. All in all, The Chats are certainly a spectacle worth witnessing.
If full-throttle Australian punk rock appeals to you, The Chats are heading to the UK in 2025 for the Reading and Leeds festival!
CLICK HERE TO DONATE TO OUR CROWDFUNDER
HELP US BECOME STRONGER SO THAT WE CAN CONTINUE TO DELIVER POWERFUL CITIZEN JOURNALISM!
