GEL and local hardcore bands performed at Siberia this past week.

A black lace mask, a flowy white dress, ripped-to-pieces black stockings and burgundy shin-high boots with yellow laces— that’s what the anonymous vocalist of opening band Sodomite wore as they screeched barely intelligible screeds into the microphone, as the band opened for GEL. Backed by the coolest band of femmes and non-binary folks you could throw together, the lead singer’s vocals and jerky movements seem to flair like a tantrum.

Drummer True squatted behind the kit. Tall and long in stature, Tune dominated the kit effortlessly, keeping the band locked into fast, punishing beats. Bassist Heiress calmly loomed over the stage, filling out the rest of the rhythm with rattling basslines. And lastly, guitarist Fifi didn’t fight for your attention but rather calmly riffed, noodling it out as if the audience wasn’t even there and Fifi was messing around at home. Similar to many “classic” New Orleans musicians— like the recently honored Little Freddie King—this is an underground band in a different genre that defined the adage, “once you hear them play, it’s all over.”

After Sodomite’s set, Dracula took the stage. In NOLA hardcore, every band is the crowd favorite so long as there’s the rough outline of a danceable rhythm. Dracula brought huge guitars with a slowed-down, sludgier version of D-beat, a drumbeat that defined a whole wave of ‘80s punk bands. Vocalist Jesse threw around the mic stand like a pike, stabbing it into the earth to growl out his parts before lifting it to guard himself as if someone from the pit would lunge at the stage. The crowd piled into the bar but left 15 feet in front of the stage open to all manners of moshing. The energy peaked when someone lets loose a balloon roughly the size of a beach ball into the crowd, giving Jesse’s mic stand spear a real target.

Next, the headline act, GEL, did the ol’ touring band sandwich, switching with Paprika as the final act to play to as big a crowd as possible. It was more of a courtesy than a practical decision, though, as GEL has pumped up the draw among the hardcore community in recent years. The New Jersey band earned a reputation as excellent rippers with fast and catchy songs but stand out by highlighting mental health and the female experience in hardcore. As publication No Echo put it, “they’re hardcore for the freaks.”

There’s been a recent wave of femme-fronted, less-macho music in hardcore, like Scowl and locals Brat, who raise voices that punk should raise. GEL brought out more than the usual suspects in the NOLA crowd, mixing in younger Gen-Z folks and chronically-online music fans into the scene, almost selling out the venue. Compared to the local acts, they seemed tired from tour but still brought the tunes, generating a mosh pit so rowdy that moshers accidentally unplugged the guitarist’s monitor mid-song.

The madness continued as up-and-coming grimecore band, Paprika, took the stage. They released a heavy-hitting demo last year but have made a name for themselves locally with their wild shows and a familiar cast of characters. Drummer Rob Lovell currently plays in five other active bands. You would think a local band that has generated so much love would have nothing but fans at their show. But there was this dude with a sideways ponytail under a baseball cap at the front of the stage who seemed hell-bent on displaying his hatred.

“Ponytails,” as I’ll affectionately call him, sent his ire specifically to the vocalist, Jeremy Jones. To be fair, Jones spent most of the show singing while within the crowd and, at one point, getting in Ponytails’ face—to which Ponytails responded by slapping Jones in the face—who took it with a smile as he continued “singing.” Later, Ponytails threw a crushed beer can at the band and then somebody tossed a box of toothpicks on stage. Ponytails proceeded to flick toothpicks at Jones like little warheads. Other than that guy though, everyone seemed to have a really great time.

This show left me feeling that New Orleans hardcore is just one big happy family, as cliché as that sounds. On the outside, it may look like a punch of trashy, angry transplants who want to burn it all down. And some of that may be true. But in actuality, many of these young punks are New Orleanians who want to see the greater local zeitgeist more readily accept the values of their small community. Much like the social aid and pleasure clubs the city is known for, they want to see a New Orleans music scene where their existence and musical preferences are respected, protected and celebrated.

There’s no doubt that the same thing happens to other people in other genres of music that’s not thought of as “typical”
New Orleans music. And if hardcore fans are wondering anything at all I know it’s something like, “What is your deal? Who are you as a person? Can I trust you?” The misunderstood punk is an age-old cliché. New Orleans’ funk scene and culture-bearers were built on dirty dives. Maybe the values of all types of music fans aren’t so different at all. The music is the connection to each other.

Updated: Heavily edited on November 9