Amyl and the Sniffers with Sheer Mag at the Eastern in Atlanta, GA, May 22, 2025
“I don’t know what they’re putting in the water in Australia, but they’re pumping out some amazing bands.” Those were the words of my dearest friend, Kevin—something he said when we first started talking about Amyl and the Sniffers a little over a year ago. Maybe two.
For the longest time, if you asked someone to name an Australian band, the answer was almost always AC/DC. It could be INXS or Kylie Minogue, depending on your musical tastes. Nick Cave, in my opinion, feels too far removed from Australia these days to count, though he’s technically still an Aussie. If someone were to ask me, though, the definitive Australian act has always been the Cosmic Psychos- Australia’s premier and undisputed godfathers of Aussie punk.
However, over the past decade or so, Australia has been cranking out a wave of eclectic and punk-infused acts. Tropical Fuck Storm, King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard, The Chats, C.O.F.F.I.N., Mini Skirt, the Dune Rats, Private Function, Cable Ties, Drunk Mums, the Ausmuteants, Sly Withers, The Grogans, Itchy and the Nits—just to name a few.
Much like the Cosmic Psychos, unpolished and rough around the edges—exactly what punk should be. Amyl and the Sniffers are working-class purveyors of the classic formula, a prime example of what makes a truly essential punk band. Picture a bulldozer relentlessly plowing through the noise and nonsense of modern life. Amyl and the Sniffers is that bulldozer but powered by jet fuel. And in the short amount of time, they’ve been a four-piece act, they’ve been making themselves noticed worldwide.
Formed scarcely a decade ago in Melbourne, Australia, in their brief but volcanic existence, they have unleashed three full-length albums and several shorter works—each a nitro-fueled tantrum against the absurdity of day-to-day nonsense society presents to us daily. Now, they embark upon what appears to be their first headlining rampage across the North American continent, having previously served time on the road beside the likes of King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, Sleater-Kinney, and the Foo Fighters.
Joining them on this twenty-three-date run would be Philadelphia-based Sheer Mag, a punk rock assemblage whose riffs evoke both the ecstasy and defiance of rock n’ roll attitude. The tour commenced beneath the grey skies of Portland, Oregon, on March 25th, and concluded in the twinkling neon-lit music capital of Nashville, Tennessee, on May 23rd for its North American run.
The contents to follow are a recounting of the evening of May 22nd, 2025, when Amyl and the Sniffers brought their rip-roaring energy to The Eastern, a venue tucked into Reynoldstown—a neighborhood on Atlanta’s Eastside. With them, the two groups left a record of sound and motion, the two acts and the crowd meeting in a shared moment of loud, unruly celebration and plenty of positive energy.
This was my first trip to The Eastern, a relatively new addition to Atlanta’s music scene—four years old this September. The place has its act together. There’s a rooftop bar with a big screen streaming the action below, solid drinks, and food that’s more “craft” than a concession stand. The capacity tops out around 2,300, and this being a sold-out show, it never felt cramped. Gender-neutral bathrooms—because it’s 2025 and that shouldn’t be a big deal, but still, props.
Inside, the venue’s towering structure is built to let the music breathe. The sound was spot-on, no matter where you stood—balcony, floor, halfway to the bar. And the staff was cool, dialed-in, not the usual herd of disinterested security guards. You got the sense they wanted to be there, too.
Plastered on the walls and door of the venue was a message passed along from the band that roughly stated that there was a zero-tolerance policy for anyone who was acting in any discriminatory manner, be that racism, sexism, body shaming, etc. They made clear this was a safe space to have a good time, and anyone who was out to disrupt that would not be met with any less than a one-way ticket to the door.
Seeing these messages displayed brought a sense of affirmation to my being. Punk rock was never about being pretty or conforming to society's expectations of what it thought should be normal. It was about being loud, angry, and alive in a world that didn’t want you. From the start, it was a haven for the misfits—the weird kids, the outcasts, the ones who didn’t fit into polite society’s version of “normal.” So it’s no surprise that there would be a large number of the LGBTQ+ community that found a home there. This was music for people who had something to scream about, and who better than those who’ve been shouted down their whole lives? In the sweat-soaked clubs and DIY spaces, nobody cared who you loved—only if you showed up, stood your ground, and left it all on the floor.
Sheer Mag then made their way onto the stage as I stood gazing up from the pit below.
Composed of vocalist Tina Halladay, guitarists Kyle and Hart Seely, bassist Matt Palmer, and touring drummer Evan Campbell. Together on stage, the band channels a gritty, magnetic energy—equal parts swagger and soul. Their sound draws heavily from classic rock giants akin to Kiss and Aerosmith, but it’s filtered through a punk lens reminiscent of the Clash and Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, giving it a rough, immediate edge. There’s a sultry confidence in Halladay’s voice, anchored by a tight, driving rhythm section. While twin guitars churn out crunchy, vintage riffs that ripple through the air, thickening the atmosphere, the band so effortlessly commands. It’s music you feel in your chest, and you stop and find yourself unable to look away from the stage. The set lasted a brief but satisfying 30 minutes, comprising 8 songs from all their releases, including Need to Feel Your Love, A Distant Call, and their latest Playing Favorites, all distributed by Third Man Records.
Between sets, I wandered the venue, trying to get a stronger feel for the place, eventually ending up at the rooftop bar, surrounded by the old habit of smoking. To distract myself from it, I watched the sun bleed out over the Ralph David Abernathy Freeway, the cars below humming past like a slow-moving current. The smell of fresh fries and fried chicken drifted in and out of the haze of Blue Camels and American Spirits. That warmth of freshly salted food in the air reminded me that my stomach was empty, the same as my wallet had been all week. I told myself hunger was a state of mind, and that a half-eaten bag of beef jerky in the car was somehow a reward for endurance. So I tossed back a paper cone of cold water, gave myself a nod, and headed back down into the pit to do what I’d come to do.
“If anybody falls down, you help them up! Don’t touch anyone who doesn’t want to be touched! Get rowdy!” gleefully proclaimed frontwoman Amy Taylor as the band took the stage. Someone had assumed she was thirsty and took it upon themselves to toss a drink her way, completely overlooking the fact that she’d already walked on stage with one. Unfazed, Taylor’s infectious smile never faltered as she geared up to hype up the room. The band strutted out to a thumping remix of Alex Gaudino’s “Destination Calabria”. As if the crowd needed another reason to lose their minds—a 2000s Eurodance banger was just the kind of absurd, high-octane choice to throw gasoline on an already burning fuse. Why not?
Guitarist Declan Mehrtens, bassist Gus Romer, drummer Bryce Wilson, and frontwoman Amy Taylor stormed the stage—and never gave it back. They launched into the set with "Control," a blistering cut from their self-titled debut, then tore through fan favorites like "Security" and "Freaks to the Front" with unbridled enthusiasm. After these few songs, Taylor paused to address the crowd—not to catch her breath, but to make her voice heard. “I don’t think that I’m smarter than anyone in this room, but because I have a mic, it's important that I say it to make sure people are thinking about it.” She spoke briefly but candidly about the ongoing tragedy in Gaza, framing the title of their latest release, Cartoon Darkness, as a reflection of her heartbreak towards the tragedy we all hear in the news day to day, of the atrocities unfolding there. Also, despite the risk of jeopardizing their visas, she didn’t hold back in voicing her disdain for the current U.S. leadership of President Donald Trump, delivering a choice set of words that landed somewhere between the front and the back of her anatomy.
I haven’t followed every public statement she’s made, but it’s clear that frontwoman Amy Taylor doesn’t shy away from speaking her mind onstage. She’s unapologetically outspoken, and the band stands firmly behind values of inclusivity and compassion. There’s a clear sense that they understand the weight of the world’s problems—and rather than retreat from them, they lean in with solidarity. The message seems simple but powerful: We’re not here forever, so let’s make things better while we can. That energy was palpable in the crowd. People moved freely and dressed however they pleased, without fear of judgment. It was a space where being yourself wasn’t just tolerated, it was celebrated.
Romer’s bass throbbed like a diesel engine, locked in with Wilson’s unstoppable precision drumming to form the ironclad foundation beneath the hood of this vehicle. Over top, Mehrtens unleashed sharp, shreddy guitar riffs that cut through the noise of the band's engine like a blowtorch. And in front of it all, Taylor—charismatic, unfiltered, and utterly magnetic—channeled the band’s energy as a driving force for positivity, defiance, and acceptance. Taylor bounced back and forth between band members like an electrical current connecting the circuits of the machines that made up the aforementioned jet-fueled bulldozer that is Amyl and the Sniffers.
Tracks including “Got You,” “Chewing Gum,” “Some Mutts (Can’t Be Muzzled),” and “Guided by Angels” were among some of the hits that lit up the first 45 minutes of their 75-minute set, each one landing with the force of a punch and the precision of a band completely in their element. Then the pace shifted. Amy Taylor paused to introduce “Knifey,” a song she normally dedicates to the ladies, non-binary, and trans friends in the crowd. But this time, she turned it toward the fellas.
“Because I genuinely think y’all have the same pains as us,” she said, her tone sincere. She spoke openly about the importance of men checking in on one another, acknowledging that everyone struggles with something and that it’s okay to feel that. But it’s not okay to take that pain out on women or anyone else.
“You never know what someone’s going through,” she added. “Everybody reacts to pain differently, so just have compassion. I don’t think there’s enough of that right now.”
With that, they switched tone and went to a track off the new album, “Me and the Girls,” this time with Sheer Mag’s Tina Halladay joining in on vocals—a brief, powerful moment of kinship and release. Afterward, the show rocketed forward by performing new album favorites “Jerkin’” and “Tiny Bikini” before finally settling on show enders “U Should Not Be Doing That” and “Hertz” before the 2 song encore.
As the final notes rang out and the crowd spilled into the warm Atlanta night, there was a lingering charge in the air—a buzz that came not just from the decibels or the dancing, but from something more personal and more inviting. Amyl and the Sniffers, with Sheer Mag at their side, didn’t just deliver a show—they created a moment, a pocket of time where noise became meaning, rebellion became communion, frustrations a little less so, and insecurities surrendered. It was sweaty, loud, righteous, and human. In a world that often feels like it’s coming apart at the seams, nights like these remind you that joy can still be loud, compassion can still be punk, and music can still be a lifeline.
Amyl and the Sniffers Setlist via Tidal
Sheer Mag Setlist via Tidal