bReview: JUNK FEST 2025

bReview: JUNK FEST 2025 

Saturday 7 June 2025 across Whammy, Double Whammy & Public Bar 

Written by Flynn Robson

Photography by Joel Armstrong 

There are over 7,000 species of true crabs - but more than 10,000 creatures we've called crabs, just because they fit the vibe. That's carcinisation: evolution's weird kink for turning unrelated species crab-shaped. It's not the crabs' fault. See enough crabs, you start getting ideas - contorting your legs, tucking into your shell, hoping no one notices you weren't born with claws. Really, it's on us. Humans love a vibe. No matter the fact, we group on feel.

That instinct hits hard when scanning the Junk Fest 2.0 lineup. The second edition of the festival coalesces Australia's Twine and The Empty Threats with a whole mess of the country's noisiest, crabbiest acts. As June 7 loomed, I found myself trawling deeper through a mishmash of artists' back catalogues, the official playlist my guiding pou. I couldn't remember the last time I was this excited about the possibilities of a night.

Junk Fest doesn't quite take over Karangahape Road, The Others Way promises to in November, but Whammy, Double Whammy, and Public Bar bring a sense of scale to the night. By 8 PM, there is already a line bisecting White Lady and Whammy, of people snapping up merch and scanning their tickets. Downstairs, the first act is already on.

George Barney Roberts is a mellow start compared with the noise ahead. Bringing his own brand of Alt-pop to the stage, it's a heavier and cutting sound. The set is a family affair, with Mum up front, and his brother's projections overhead. It's anything but quaint, as George interludes to the audience between originals from gbr2 and a Lady Gaga remix, to "get your junk out".

George has only just wrapped up at Whammy when, through the catacombs, the piercing sound of Pearly* erupts. It's 9 PM and Public Bar is already bursting at the seams. For a rare moment in the night, one band is the only show in town. Inside the crowd is a mosaic of wrenched necks, severed fringes, and unruly manes. No one seems to be drinking, just raw dogging the gothic steez. Where I am standing, in the overflow, there are cigarettes being lit by cigarettes, and people pressed up against the windows trying to catch a glimpse inside. Pearly* plays with hypnotic momentum, tracks bleeding seamlessly into the next. The band plays an unreleased track, and Joel promises, we'll see it when they post about it.

I scuttle across the floor to make it to Whammy in time for Scrambline — a portmanteau of Scramble204 and Eveline Breaker. Heads turn towards each other and whisper into ears their admiration - this crowd is a nice break from the smartphone-holding, red light-flashing audiences of most post-COVID shows. The sound is incredible, with a voice that parks up in the space of your brain that tickles and refuses to leave. There seems to be an increased head velocity or amplitude since the last set, maybe both. The band gives a shout-out to Lara from the stage.

Office Dog is mid-set when I claw my way back through the underpass to Double Whammy. The three-piece is on a mission to prove they can make an equal amount of noise as the rest of the bill. I stalk my eyes up to see if I can spot a fedora. I see in the crowd ahead friends mime thumbs up to each other across the noise aurora. Drummer Mitchell Innes crashes his kit while wearing the iconic Dunedin penguin shirt. Between songs, Kane Strang takes a moment to thank Lara for making the night happen, as well as making candid comments directed at their ex (a US record label). Their final track 'June', is a captivating, sweat-staining anthem, cut short by a broken kick pedal. The crowd serenades the dogs with support, and Kane assures us they "are getting a new kick pedal after this" before restarting to rapturous applause, a natural encore.

Across the way, Vera Ellen is taking the stage. The last time I saw her, she was performing with Neil Finn and a Samoan gospel choir. Suffice to say, range is not an issue. Vera opens with 'Kiss U in the Punk', a relative deep cut from her 2018 album Beat Yr Name. I wonder when the last time Vera performed the majority of these tracks was, and how often with a full band? The title track closes with Vera lying down on the floor, offering herself up to the crowd. Sangria kills. And by the end of the performance, Vera is scraping together the minutes to graciously add a final unreleased track to the set.

Clambering back to Whammy, I find Salt Water Criminals already in place, despite drummer Mitch fresh from playing in Office Dog. They open with 'The Patient Type' engulfing the entire crowd in a chokehold. Then comes the anthemic 'I Believe in Dog'- say less. I've followed Reuben's journey since Bathsalts, and the unforgettable Three Quarter Marathon. They're gracious performers, and they bring to this set their unrivaled energy with that same marathon-like stamina. The Lara shoutout clock ticks 3, and an unreleased track *title redacted* brings the house down.

The first of two Australian bands on the bill is up next in Double Whammy. "Kia ora, we are Twine," Adelaidean frontman Tom tests, as the reverberation retreats after a medley of screeching and pleading. The band hails from South Australia but has played more shows across New Zealand over the last year than in Sydney or Melbourne. Their sound is chockablock, Tom's piercing vocals over graceful violin strokes contrasting a backdrop of crashing cymbals and thumping bass.

Dropper brings a different energy - thumping, pleading vocals that mesmerize the crowd. It's the most phones up I've seen all night, the audience eager to cement the moment. Jude Savage from Bleeding Star fronts the band, and starts to introduce the next track, "This song is called…" until the rest of the sentence is redacted by the incoming guitars.

Cabinet takes Whammy to a new level. They are literally screeching, and are met by the reactive applause of the night. A sea of loose curls bounces across the front of the mosh, in a tide of headbanging. A nice guy called Andrew regales me with tales of similar New Zealand bands like River or Coate, before pointing out that the members would all be too young to remember them.

Ringlets were the reason a lot of people bought tickets, according to whispers I caught throughout the night. There's a self-assurance in their performance, they've got nothing to prove, they're here just to give us their best show. The back of the venue is starting to pool full of admiring musicians from earlier acts. 'Street Massage' turns Double Whammy into a standing wave of heads and hands. Leith parades across the stage like a champion dressage equestrian, or maybe like the horse. The engrossing frontman takes to the mic and the Lara shout-out counter hits 4. "All the bands I love to listen to are here, buy all their shirts," directs Leith before offering, "and hopefully the Australian acts bring back this experience, and Australia shares their rare earth minerals, and our cycle lanes are paved with gold." Ringlets remain a strange beast.

A stone's throw away, a flock condenses in the tightest space of the night for HŌHA. The band is raw, rhythmic, and gothic. It's a sound both unique but shared with their offshoot projects of Nightlunch and Riot Gull. The visuals really hit - something about their gothic nature or the biorhythms. There's something ecological about their set, a grasp of rhythm and timbre that feels instinctively crabcore. No one else tonight quite masters noise the way they do.

Last onstage at Whammy are The Empty Threats, who by all accounts had one of the most memorable performances at CALH last year. They open with one of their more recent singles, 'Phone Call'. Their performance is theatrical but earnest. They yell "Fuck the fascists, fuck them all," before they roll into the gentle 'Dear Sunshine' from Monster Truck Mondays. They are able to hold an ambivalent energy, keeping the crowd on their toes, from swinging in the rafters to wading through the crowd. Cult leader Stu Patterson magically transforms into a saxophonist in moments on 'New Jet Ski', between biting political remarks, swooning chords, and crashing drums. Like a ritual, the band thanks Lara and this time implores the crowd to sing Lara a well-deserved birthday song.

The night gets one final encore in the form of Eveline Breaker's girls factory. Armed with a rework of "Only Girl (In The World)" and a massive screen, girls factory closes the night in a freakish hysteria. Lyrics projected like drunk texts. The vibe is a phone held on a head at the front of a rave. The final act ended the night with participants crowding the artist on stage in celebration, as the tide went out.

Junk Fest felt more like a movement than a gig – a community of punters, artists, and venues all buying into a larger manifesto. It was a rock pool reflecting to us the best of our alternative music ecosystem. In a scene that can often feel like a small pool overcrowded with big fish, Junk Fest made the water feel a little deeper, something that Junk's musical ecologist Lara Marie should be extremely proud of.