From festivals to fashion to fist-swinging mosh-pits, hardcore is bigger now than it’s ever been – and still growing at an exponential rate. To find out why, we headed to Furnace Fest to meet the bands and fans that make up this burgeoning scene, and discover that amongst the violence and vitriol it’s ultimately about community, integrity and an unwavering support for one another…
“It’s like you’re on the set of a movie,” grins Speed frontman Jem Siow, still glowing from his band’s latest display of violence. “You’ve watched these sets so many times on YouTube, and now you’re here playing it. It’s surreal, to be honest.”
Under the vast, intricate shadows of the rusted, mechanical maze that is Sloss Furnace – resembling the dystopian grandeur of an abandoned factory you might stumble across in Fallout – almost 100 bands and tens of thousands of fans have come together for the ninth iteration of Furnace Fest.
Acting as a reflection of the state and strength of punk and hardcore in 2025, veterans and upstarts alike stand shoulder to shoulder across three stages to cause as much carnage as physically possible. At one end is The Pond stage, featuring the likes of emo-punk newbies Sweet Pill, Yorkshire mathcore favourites Rolo Tomassi, and psych-inflected hardcore crew SPACED. On the other side of the site stands the main stage, directly opposite the Monster Energy truck that keeps Furnace fully loaded with the holy grail of white cans all weekend, which plays host to scene legends Terror, Converge and Suicidal Tendencies, as well as arguably the best hardcore band on the planet today, Knocked Loose.
And yet, even though the Kentucky crushers bring an energy that is unmatched in its ferocity and vitality, it’s in The Shed where things truly come alive. What is essentially a corrugated iron Thunderdome, thousands of pitters and two-steppers keep the hangar-like structure at capacity all weekend, throwing down (and each other) to the hottest names in heavy right now without any kind of barrier or semblance of safety. Throughout the festival, everyone from Drain and Mindforce to Counterparts and Orthodox tear through the venue, with a huge Arsenal Strength crosshair logo emblazoned on the back, underlining the brute force of it all.
Such an expansive event wouldn’t be possible without the continued resurgence of hardcore. Originally running from 2000-2003, Furnace Fest returned in 2021 as a reaction to the reinvigoration of the scene, with incredible new acts popping up across the U.S., UK and beyond. Though it can be argued that music is cyclical, hardcore has never been this big. Speak to the bands and fans here at Furnace about why the music they love has come back swinging harder than ever and three different but interlocking catalysts come to the fore: social media, lockdown and a burning desire for something real.
“During COVID, kids really got bored and went on TikTok and saw live videos of not only my band but Sunami and Scowl,” offers Drain guitarist Cody Chavez, leaning against one of many large iron structures after his band’s blistering, beach ball-filled set. “But not only that, they wanted more stuff, and did their homework and found old bands and new bands and that really exploded. There was a want and a need for live music and energy. That’s why hardcore is exploding right now – kids are understanding that live shows are cool, bands are cool, and it’s amazing to see.”
“It’s very much a product of the time,” reckons Jem. “People are seeking some sense of belonging, a sense of connection, a feeling of authenticity and real emotion. Especially when so much of what we see through our phones is so curated. We’re in a world now that’s going into AI, and all these trigger words you want to pull out from 2025 are the antithesis of what hardcore represents. I think that’s why you’re seeing people who are feeling isolated around the world who are finding out about tangible communities. That’s why it’s happening.”
“Attitudes are changing, people are sick of listening to the same stuff on the radio, they wanna branch out,” adds Guilt Trip’s Jay Valentine, reclining on a plush leather sofa backstage. “People are getting fed up and wanting music that moves you. Music in the charts nowadays is all written by ghost writers and there’s no feel behind it – you can literally sense that when you listen to it. And to me, if you’re not writing your own music, what are you even doing? If you listen to really raw, emotional people put out their energy, it draws you in, and it’s contagious.”
And there is nothing more raw, more real than seeing bands like those we’re speaking to today in the live arena. Sure, you can get the vibe from a blurry video you find scrolling on your phone, but it cannot be compared to the experience of your first stage-dive, mic grab, or finding yourself part of a brawling melee as hundreds of bodies flood the stage in one writhing mass. It’s in these moments that people not only connect with the culture but truly thrive.
“You can only really learn about this shit from going to the shows,” Jem explains. “Engaging and talking to people around you, learning the etiquette, learning about what’s cool in your scene, learning about politics, how you can contribute… that takes time. But now there’s kids who found out about hardcore in 2020 who are doing their first bands and getting really good. There’s people doing zines or starting labels that are starting to pick up a lot of momentum now. I think that’s why it’s persisting and why it’s never going to die. As the world becomes more isolating and heading in this bleak direction, subcultures and institutions like hardcore that are under the premise of realness will always exist.”
And it’s not just the new breed championing this burgeoning wave. Terror guitarist Martín Stewart is something of a veteran around these parts, and has never experienced the scene at this scale.
“I’m in my 40s, I’ve seen a lot of ups and downs, and a lot of vultures come and go where they’re trying to capitalise on what’s cool at the moment, but right now this feels more accessible and bigger than it’s ever been. It’s brought this underground culture into the mainstream.
“I’m not going to judge people for gatekeeping, I think their feelings are valid, but on the other side everyone does want to just grow this as much as possible. And because of the nature of what this is to me, there’s generally been a positive message behind it that the world could use. We live in a fucked-up world, and maybe it’s naïve to think that we could make a change, but I don’t think it’s impossible for this sort of music to have a positive impact on the greater world. We’re on a platform right now that I’ve never seen before, it’s pretty insane to watch it happen.”
But why are people gravitating toward hardcore in particular? There must be more to it than TikTok virality and a need to spinkick strangers in the face. Since its inception, punk music has been the sound of rebellion and revolution, kicking against the pricks and sticking one middle digit in the face of convention. It’s been the home of the misfits and misjudged, the angry and the isolated, and those looking for an emotional outlet they can’t find anywhere else.
Reflecting on his journey into hardcore, Madball frontman Freddy Cricien explains that growing up he “had a very dysfunctional family” with “household stuff, personal stuff, a lot of turmoil” to contend with.
“I think when you have that sort of background you’re definitely looking to cling to something and identify with something. I grew up listening to hip-hop as much as I listened to hardcore, but this scene, this outcast rebel scene, ignited something in me differently more than everything else. Maybe this was therapeutic to me in a chaotic way. Hardcore as a whole is a beautiful thing and there’s many facets to it, but New York in particular is a unique breed of hardcore. We literally came up in the streets, then everyone came together to play crazy music. It was a very unique place and faction. All those things lend themselves to how I came up.”
Finding his footing in sport at school, Jay Valentine already had one healthy way of expressing himself emotionally, but he soon began to realise it couldn’t match the feeling that heavy music gave him.
“I played a lot of football, which was a nice way of channelling my emotions, but it’s 90 minutes and then you don’t play again for the rest of the week, so it was really nice to escape and listen to these bands. I was never musically gifted and Jack [Maden, Guilt Trip guitarist] said I should try harsh vocals – I gave it a go, and it became this outlet. I felt like I couldn’t express myself on the pitch like I could doing heavy music, it was a totally different way of expressing myself but it felt more effective for me. Even just practicing or covering songs or trying to write our own songs, I felt more of a sense of accomplishment than winning a football game. I loved the way it made me feel and I’m still doing it today.”
For Jem, discovering hardcore through Byron Bay legends Parkway Drive at a gig in 2006 completely levelled the playing field and recalibrated the idea of what a band could be, and how it was actually attainable – especially when the people onstage are just like you.
“That symbiotic shared experience of aggression, passion, and the lawlessness of just being in that atmosphere fucked up my life forever. I think I was expecting to see something behind a barrier on a massive stage, all theatrical, but there were no rules and it was this unbridled sense of release that just took over me.”
On his way out he was handed flyers for shows that were within 15 minutes of his house, so hit them all up. Soon he was a regular in the local youth centre, watching bands his own age and part of a growing local scene in Sydney.
“It smashed this whole pedestal that I put music on,” Jem remembers. “Hardcore was a thing we could do and it also dispelled a lot of our ambition. I didn’t need to play in front of 10,000 people to see success, I don’t need to sell tickets to this big-ass venue – the fulfilment and performing of this art was literally about going to a show that our friend booked, playing, selling merch to our friends, moshing to our friends’ bands, then kicking it with an ice cream on the sidewalk. And doing it week in, week out. Sometimes it’s in your local area, sometimes you drive 20 hours up the coast to do it. And you make friends there and do the same shit there. It’s a ‘For us, by us’ culture.”
“I didn’t get into this music because it was cool, I listened because it made you stop and think something,” says Suicidal Tendencies mainman Mike Muir. “I didn’t ask what the title was or what the people looked like. We didn’t fit in – we’d play a metal thing, a punk thing, a skate thing, and we were ourselves. We were doing what we believed in, and sweat don’t lie. I think that’s the whole point. I don’t want people to be just like me, I want them to be the best they can be.”
Of course, not everyone is in a band, and a scene would be nothing without fans. Here at Furnace Fest, they’ve arrived in their droves from around the United States and elsewhere, all gathered in Birmingham, Alabama in the name of heavy music. Walking around the festival site, you can feel a tangible community spirit – from stalls dedicated to wellness and healing, to countless people selling merch, art and zines, to even a heavyweight gym with some of the most stacked dudes you’ve seen in your life. Because this scene is about more than music, it’s a lifestyle.
“It’s never a bad thing to have more friends – more community, more love,” says Amelia, who’s travelled to the U.S. for the very first time this weekend from Newfoundland, Canada. “There’s no other genre where I would feel safe enough to come down and chill out, but it’s such a community, and if you fall back in the pit you’ve got 19 hands picking you back up. It’s love and trust in general.”
“Hardcore for me means community. I’ve met a lot of friends throughout the years of coming to Furnace, and it’s where I feel at home,” adds Anna, who lives in Los Angeles but is originally from South America. “Being from Brazil where there’s a lot of social disparity, I think [this music] is where I found a political voice and a way to stand for the things that I believe in. Hardcore is where I found my people.”
“I love the way it makes me feel, the emotions it brings out. It brings out good emotions,” explains Magda from San Antonio, Texas, who actually named her son after the band Zao, who are playing in The Shed. “It’s a culture, for sure. It’s not a very calming genre of music, so it’s fun to find people who like the same thing. People think it’s just loud music but it’s so much more than that. It always hits that breakdown that you feel in your soul.”
Josh from north-west Indiana agrees from behind his luchador mask. “Whenever you’re down and you got something bad, you just listen to hardcore music and that shit flips you around – it gets you in a positive forward motion. The positivity is gonna bring you out of a funk, get you out of that tunnel, and it’s gonna get you on track.”
“People want to put their anger into something,” offers Andrew who drove here from Atlanta. “We came off the heels of pop music that’s like, ‘Have a good time, don’t worry about anything,’ and people can’t do that anymore. No matter what their background is, they want music that matters, they want music that has a statement to it.”
“People need a voice,” Anna reiterates. “They need to connect to something real and I think hardcore’s where you can find that.”
Community lies at the heart of hardcore. Whereas in other corners of music it’s very dog-eat-dog and artists routinely tear each other down to gain an extra inch in an imaginary popularity contest, here a rising tide lifts all ships. There’s a camaraderie, a sense of belonging and a deep-rooted connection coursing through the veins of this ever-growing scene. Bands aren’t eyeing each other with suspicion or judgement, they’re literally joining each other onstage to sing each other’s songs. Head behind the Monster Energy truck and you’ll find members of Speed, Drain, Sunami and Kublai Khan TX enjoying a classic southern barbecue together. A necessary refuel in the never-ending get-in-the-van touring cycle.
“I met a lot of good friends through this, and people I consider family at this point,” says Cody Chavez. “I think it’s very important. As we know, friends and family are everything, you hold those people close to you, and it goes hand-in-hand with this genre.”
Over the past three and a half decades, Freddy Cricien has seen first-hand how, despite all of the ups and downs, the soul of this scene remains in community.
“It’s part of the ethos,” he says. “Yeah, you can have a difference of opinion about various things, but ultimately we all leave that at the door and go and unleash our passion and emotions in this place together. I think the sense of community is what makes us unique to a lot of other forms of music. Not to take away from anyone else, but it is a unique thing to hardcore.
“I think we went through periods and different waves where not everyone was showing their best face, but now, that sense of community is coming back and shows are taking place in VFWs again. It sort of is coming full-circle. And I’ve gotta give kudos to the young bucks and new generation because they’re hungry for that. That’s what they want. They crave something maybe they haven’t experienced. It is becoming more united.”
Although his band might not be strictly hardcore, Proper drummer Elijah Watson grew up on groups like The Dillinger Escape Plan and The Tony Danza Tapdance Extravaganza (both playing this weekend), and his music has been welcomed with open arms at Furnace.
“Even though we’re not the hardest or heaviest band, people still resonate with the message and the things that we’re saying,” he smiles. “It’s really cool to see people holding themselves to a personal standard and make sure everyone feels safe and comfortable. I think that goes a long way and leaves an impression to make the younger generation feel safe in this scene.
“You have someone like myself – a person of colour – you have queer people, you have people who have always been minorities in the scene, but now it feels more welcoming as it does continue to expand, and you have these minority groups becoming part of bands during this time.”
“When it comes to hardcore, it’s just a bunch of people from all walks of life but everyone feels the same,” says Jay. “Whereas you might have been through school and might not have many friends you can relate to, when you come to these spaces where you’re watching the bands that you love for the reason that you love ’em, everyone else is there for the exact same reason. It’s that brotherhood of connecting and relating to each other and meeting new friends.”
It’s because of these communities and friendships that new opportunities for the scene keep popping up to take things to the next level. Everyone has each other’s back and fans and bands alike are willing this movement to get even bigger. No longer is it confined to basement venues and youth centres, scene leaders like Turnstile and Knocked Loose are all over television and megafests like Coachella, bringing vital music to people who subsist on what algorithms tell them is cool. And as a result, festivals like Outbreak in the UK are expanding year on year.
Martine himself is in a unique position to help pave the way for the next incarnation of the scene, as one of three bookers for Los Angeles hardcore fest Sound And Fury (headlined this year by Basement and Knocked Loose).
“Maintaining a modern, current outlook is very important to us. To me, punk and hardcore has always been a youth movement, so the youth is important because if it’s all us old people in a vacuum yelling at each other about shit, what’s the point? The youth need to be involved and find somewhere they want to stay and be involved in.”
Also paying it forward, Freddy books the annual Rebellion tour in Europe, which he says is about wanting “to unify the newer generation coming up with us. We were the young bucks at one point, but we had to prove ourselves. Some of the elder statesmen embraced us and I remember being accepted by the OGs, so I wanted to keep that cycle going.”
This year, Freddy booked Speed, Guilt Trip, Death Before Dishonor and LIES! for the continental trek, and over the years has taken out the likes of Scowl, Drain and Harm’s Way, exposing them to new crowds and gaining valuable road miles outside of the United States.
“It’s a good way for me to access what’s happening and what’s going on. I want to keep my ear to the street and find out what’s new, but I’m not going to lie to you and say I’m listening to every new band that comes through. But when I bring these bands on tour, it’s how I got to know Turnstile and Trapped Under Ice, because we did tours and they were the new fresh faces. I get to watch them every night because live is important. Seeing a band perform the song is when it really clicks.”
And with a new clutch of bands waiting in the wings to one day stand where Speed, Mindforce, Haywire, Contention and more are currently demolishing The Shed, what advice would some of the old guard give to those looking to start a hardcore band today?
“Sit there and say, ‘How can we be the best we can be, and what do we really want to get accomplished?’” says Mike Muir. “Music is a powerful thing, but don’t confuse volume with power. There’s two ways to move people and it’s way easier to move ’em physically than it is to move ’em mentally.”
“Authenticity reigns supreme,” offers Freddy. “You can get away with cosplaying in other genres, having a schtick or a thing, but when it comes to this culture, I think you have to bring a level of authenticity. It has to be a main ingredient. And whatever that is for you, everyone’s different, but you’ve gotta live what you speak. You might get away with it for a while, but it’s not going to resonate with people over time if you’re not really about that life.”
“The best advice I can give is that as much as festivals like this are a beautiful, important thing, don’t make that your number one aspiration,” concludes Martín Stewart. “Care about your local scene first because without that we got nothing. This sort of thing can easily take over because of how appealing it is, playing to these big crowds, but focus on your local scene and playing local shows and helping out your local community first.”
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