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Some nights remind you exactly why you still care. On October 27th 2023, I found myself in Etxarri-Aranatz, a small town in the Basque Country, where something real was about to happen. No hype. No industry. Just a room, a band, and a crowd that showed up for the right reasons.
The venue was Etxarri Gazte, a community space built around the values punk was supposed to defend: autonomy, resistance, and doing things on your own terms. The headliner: Grade 2, a punk trio from the Isle of Wight who play with the sharpness of classic UK punk but with their feet firmly in the now.
Etxarri Gazte: Not a Venue, a Statement
Etxarri Gazte isn’t big. It’s not polished. But that’s exactly the point. The walls speak their own language—covered in flyers, paint, and years of DIY effort. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t need permission to exist.
The space was full, shoulder to shoulder. No guest lists. No VIP areas. Just people there for the music and the moment.
The Set: No Frills, No Faking
When Grade 2 started playing, they didn’t warm up the crowd—they detonated it. From the first chord, it was obvious this wasn’t a band phoning it in. They didn’t need pyrotechnics or long speeches. Just riffs, volume, and sweat.
The songs came fast, no filler. Some people shouted every lyric. Others just stood still, eyes locked on the band. Everyone was in it.
No separation between band and crowd. No hierarchy. Just shared noise, shared meaning.
The Crowd: Different Roads, Same Fight
The crowd was mixed—locals, travelers, old punks, new faces. Nobody was performing coolness. People showed up as they were. Some came alone. Some came with friends. Some had driven hours to be there. The common thread was clear: this music still speaks.
Even with language differences, the connection was instant. You didn’t need to understand every word to feel what was being said.
Behind the Camera: Documenting, Not Consuming
I brought my camera, but I didn’t come to “cover” the show. I came to witness it. To keep a record.
What I captured wasn’t perfection—it was noise, motion, sweat, and sincerity. A frontman leaning into the crowd. A drummer fully locked in. People laughing mid-mosh. Someone holding up a torn shirt like a trophy.
One of my favorite shots? A kid at the edge of the pit, unsure if they should jump in, grinning like they’d just found a door that had been open the whole time.
Final Thoughts
Punk isn’t an aesthetic. It’s a commitment—to honesty, to showing up, to resisting apathy. That night in Etxarri-Aranatz wasn’t special because it was big. It was special because it was real.
Thanks to Grade 2 for playing like the world was still worth screaming about. And thanks to everyone who filled that room—not as consumers, but as participants.
Punk’s not dead. It’s just off the map, exactly where it belongs.
