The first song began about two seconds ago, and there are crowd-surfers everywhere you look. At most other gigs this would be the encore climax. It’s that kind of night. “This could be the last show you ever see!” Bad Nerves frontman Bobby Bird declares, as the multi-generational masses roar their approval and beer fireworks shoot for the ceiling. “This could be the last show we ever play!”
Spoiler alert: it’s not (they’ve got tours with Green Day and Weezer coming up) but there’s a real crackle of excitement to this sold-out night – less than three years after Bad Nerves played to a similarly devout hoard at the tiny Sebright Arms across town. Billie Joe Armstrong, Iggy Pop and Radio One have since declared their admiration. The Darkness and The Hives brought them on extensive tours, the lessons of which have clearly stayed with them. To say they've stepped up a gear is kind of an understatement.
Brighton trio Snayx opened for the aforementioned Sebright Arms gig, and there’s a sense of camaraderie in having them back. “One of our favourite bands,” frontman Charlie Herridge enthuses, of our headliners, and you can tell he means it. Tonight they set the vibe brilliantly with their mashup of snake-based movie quotes (climaxing with Samuel L Jackson’s immortal ‘I’ve had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane!!’) and high-octane cocktails of 90s dance, skinhead and 21st century punk flavours.
But their earworm quota pales next to that of Bad Nerves, who literally play every song from their two albums (2020’s Bad Nerves and 2024’s Still Nervous, the latter adding a few nuances and even a three-minute-plus track or two to their punchy repertoire), and you never want to leave for the bar or bathroom. Baby Drummer is power pop with a mighty kick, like a mouthful of M&Ms chased with bourbon. Plastic Rebel oozes Cheap Trick-grade yearning. Antidote is pure punkoid speed, so fast they can only just play it – drummer Sam Thompson vanishing in a blur of blonde hair and drumsticks.
“I wanna see more people crowd-surfing!” an emboldened Bobby shouts. “TEN more crowd-surfers, BEFORE the next song starts!” There’s a ‘yeah yeah, very funny’ sort of chuckle… but fucking hell, it does happen, right on time for the early Supergrass-esque sugar of Alright. And while Bobby is the sole talker, in terms of performance and presence there isn't a bookend among the five of them.
Closers Can’t Be Mine and Dreaming drive a last wave of footwear over shoulders. A gen-Z mulleted girl in a battle jacket – stitched with Hives, Motorhead and Bad Nerves patches – whoops next to us. Cool without being dicks to the end, the band breathlessly wave, throw plectrums and drumsticks, then get the hell off. None of that ‘can-we-get-a-photo-for-socials?’ bollocks that’s become something of a box-tick at rock shows lately. They don’t need it. Two banger-stuffed records in one hour and twenty minutes was plenty.
If anyone’s going to make rock’n’roll ‘young people’s music’ again, without losing the older contingent of their fans, it’s Bad Nerves.
