LIVE REVIEW: NITOCRIS + NUNCHUKKA SUPERFLY + SPUNKERS AT MARRICKVILLE BOWLING CLUB, SYDNEY. OCTOBER 3, 2026
BEFORE I get too far into this review, I need to let it be known that in the late nineties, Nitocris was one of my favourite local bands.
After first seeing them on a sodden and remote stage at Alternative Nation, I caught up with them dozens of times over the next few years, hung out with them and got to know them as friends. I’m putting this all out there lest readers think it might colour my objectivity about tonight’s show, but I doubt anyone that saw this could have gone away being less than deeply impressed.
First cab off the rank was Spunkers. A trio formed out of a youth outreach program run by Nitocris guitarist Kirra Brown in Queensland, their initial awkwardness was instantly replaced by raw and lively nineties-style punk. A couple of raucous originals and a cover of “Dammit” showed they were into the spirit of the evening. The drum sound was huge and the guitar tone had me thinking of the Hard-Ons, two of whom were in the crowd about to go on next. A version of “Pure Massacre” lacked finesse but had plenty of heart, and that’s what matters. Spunkers did a great job warming things up.
Nunchukka Superfly are always an unknowable entity. Their music uncoils like a huge serpent, a venomous strike of heavy psychedelia and angular metal guitar. Blackie tears out riffs like he’s ripping flesh. Ray wields his faithful bass like an axe. John keeps things together with thundering jazz moves as the band’s wild extended jams unfurl. When Blackie steps up to the mic, it’s to thank the crowd or pay tribute to Chronos from Venom before he loses himself in his guitar again. Vocals are minimalist, barely significant to the snaking, reverb-drenched artform Nunchukka Superfly was bringing to life.
It’s been seventeen years since Nitocris were all on stage together. Everyone here wanted to believe they could rekindle the old magic. When the band hit the stage and locked into the first few seconds of “Cruisey”, the cheers went up. Then Gana unloaded into the mic and twenty years melted away in an instant.
“10 Stories Down” and “Sycophant” followed, slabs of withering scorn delivered with exactly the right amount of venom and fury. “What’s it like being in an all-girl band?” the crowd shouts, on cue. The songs are angry, but there’s an atmosphere of joy in the room. It’s like no time has passed at all. It was astonishing. The magic hadn’t just been rekindled. It was exploding like a supernova.
Andi is plummelling the kit with a delirious smile. Kirra leans back, headbanging wildly. Jess rips leads from her trusty black Strat. Sara’s bass swings like a plank, her shock of bright hair is mesmerising. Gana dances out front as she snaps, snarls and roars, her voice grown in power and control since Nitocris played last. They harmonise in big infectious choruses that the crowd screams back at them. A groove hits and the pogo-ing starts. Between songs they all try to talk at once. It’s like they haven’t been away at all.
Gana brings out an acoustic guitar for “Askew”, adding a further dimension to the set. “Dark Side” slowly seethes, “Spouse Killer” explodes as guest Jess B steps up with a piercing scream that almost deafens us all and the surging groove of “Haemorrhaging Souls” brings things to a roaring conclusion.
And yet it wasn’t enough. They’re back almost immediately, encouraging the crowd to howl as they tear into “Hell Bitch”, smash through their hectic version of “N.I.B.” and finally end the night with “Butter” threatening to crash everything down around us, sustained guitar feedback ringing out long after they leave the stage.
Their energy and punch undiminished, Nitocris delivered the performance of their lifetime. They have one show left. The Crowbar is in for a wild night.
MAIN PIC: BOB LUPTON
