bReview: Amyl and the Sniffers

Powerstation, Saturday 15 February 2025
Words by Imogene Bedford

Photography by Max Corlett

Is there a better time for provocative feminist punk rock than in the aftermath of Valentines Day? Amyl and The Sniffers has brought their Cartoon Darkness tour to Aotearoa, and while many belatedly celebrate the international day of love, I am hurrying to the Powerstation for the first of their two sold out shows.

I’m in the nick of time for the start of C.O.F.F.I.N, bringing with them a sudden influx of masculine energy to my spot up front. “We’re gonna get this place shaking a bit,” drummer and lead singer Dave Portnoy says, before asking punters to take care of each other.

(C.O.F.F.I.N opening for Amyl and the Sniffers at the Powerstation / Photo: Max Corlett)

The quartet is distinctively Australian, which, despite a few cheeky comments from Portnoy, is a completely non-derogatory observation. First song Cut You Off kind of reminds me of King Gizzard’s most recent album, a rollicking boogie rock track that leaves the floor sticky with spilt drinks. As the opening tones of Done By The Dogs begin, a chorus of barks erupt from the crowd, and a lone crowd surfer crests along raised hands before disappearing into the breach.

But despite the band’s ruffianism, C.O.F.F.I.N’s contributions to punk are thoughtfully altruistic. The four piece have toured with The Sniffers before, bound together by their similarly political lyrics. Several tracks from their 2023 album Australia Stops are concerned with Australia’s prejudices, drawing on the language of Aussie boganism to critique racism and homophobia.

Portnoy decries the overrepresentation of First Nation and Māori in Australasian prison populations before performing White Dog, a track that slates systemic racism. The song is especially poignant in light of Toitū Te Tiriti’s continuing Kaupapa here in Aotearoa. It’s a truly arresting moment before the band closes with the pub rock larrikinism of Through the Sewer.

(C.O.F.F.I.N opening for Amyl and the Sniffers at the Powerstation / Photo: Max Corlett)

The excitement is palpable from the crowd, almost restless as Amyl and the Sniffers finally make a theatrical entrance. Tonight is the band’s second ever show in Aotearoa and the energy is appropriately boundless. The punters welcome Gus Romer, Bruce Wilson and Declan Mehrtens on stage with eager shouts, before finally, the eponymous and ever enigmatic Amyl emerges.

(Amyl and the Sniffers at the Powerstation / Photo: Max Corlett)

With Destination Calabria blasting, her arrival almost feels like a UFC fighter walkout. In this moment, it’s easy to understand why Amy has become something of a feminist symbol. “They like all my outfits and hate my success,” she sings on Jerkin. Yeah, she knows she’s hot and talented – what’s so fucking wrong with that?

While carried by the riotous swirl of the circle pit, I’m adopted by a lovely grey-haired couple. The Sniffers are the sort of band your Dad tells you about, and it’s reflected in tonight’s crowd. There’s freedom in the disassociation of this space, age irrelevant as we blur into rowdiness.

(C.O.F.F.I.N opening for Amyl and the Sniffers at the Powerstation / Photo: Max Corlett)

The set is undoubtedly raucous on heaving tracks like Doing In My Head and Chewing Gum, but there’s also an underlying emotionality reflective of the themes at the heart of the album. Beneath the layers of crassness, Cartoon Darkness is a very sincere record imbued with the strength of the band’s principles.

This is demonstrated by the recurring political moments throughout the show. Amy namedrops Donald Trump and Elon Musk to criticise their hatefulness towards women and trans people, cracking that they “should stop fucking the world and start fucking each other.”

She also denounces the number of women murdered in Australia before launching into Knifey. I’ve just helped the girl next to me off the floor, and our arms are still linked as she shouts the lyrics: “out comes the night, out comes my knifey, this is how I get home nicely.”

Tracks Tiny Bikini and Me and The Girls, both stand outs from the album, also deal with gender. Their lyrics are punchy, tongue in cheek in their tartness. “You think the world isn’t man enough, so I’m gonna inject some of this cunt.” That vulgarity is classically punk but also feels totally singular to Australasian femininity.

Amy dares you to react, to prejudge her, to define her. If it wasn’t already clear she has transitioned from a rockstar to an icon, it is now. The stage fan whips her feathered hair around as she dances, at once a timelessly vintage and starkly modern performer. I’m in total awe of her defiance and convinced she is the coolest person possibly ever as GFY brings the night to a close.

It was the sort of show that reminds you why you love music: how much it can matter. Giddy off empowerment and shitty pinot noir, I order an Uber to go dance with my mates. It doesn’t matter that half my makeup has sweat off, because in the words of Amy Taylor, me and the girls are out having fun.