Photos by Megan Hirao
By the time I had made it to Gallagher Square on October 10th, the sky was lit up in cinematic soft pinks and golds. The air was warm with the faint smell of beer, as a growing crowd trailed through downtown streets and into Gallagher Square at Petco Park. Inside, the chaos had already begun. Kicked off by a varied and genre-blurring slate of openers, the night was eclectic if nothing else. Jane Remover’s glitchy noise-pop set pulsed through the early crowd; Speed brought a unique take with the sheer force of their breakneck, flute-accompanied, hardcore assault; and Amyl and the Sniffers crashed in with their signature ‘80s punk rock charisma.
The real show, however, didn’t begin until just before Turnstile’s set. In the thirty minutes preceding Turnstile’s arrival on stage, the crowd—which was admittedly already a cramped melting pot of people—had become even more tightly packed like a can of sardines. And as the lights finally fell, all hell seemed to break loose. Before a single word could be uttered or one note plucked, I found myself in the midst of a raging mosh pit. A faint mist of beer and sweat coagulated in the air above, as bodies surrendered to the movement in tense anticipation. Then, a shimmering synth suddenly cut through the clamor as Brendan Yates emerged center stage. With arms outstretched like a messiah, the singer appeared otherworldly. As a silhouette backlit by a halo of blue light and echoed by an adoring crowd, “Never Enough” began to punctuate his rise.
What followed was an absolutely relentless set; banger after banger after banger with no water, break, or breather in sight. The setlist ripped through their discography, spanning Glow On, Time & Space, Nonstop Feeling, and their newest record, Never Enough. From “T.L.C. (TURNSTILE LOVE CONNECTION),” “HOLIDAY,” “Drop,” “Fazed Out,” “7,” to “Keep It Moving,” we were eating good. All. Night. Long.
I was lightheaded. Elbowed in the ribs. Beer-soaked. Barely breathing. Drenched in sweat that I wasn’t completely sure was my own, and yet strangely enough, I found myself feeling safer than you’d expect at a hardcore show of this caliber. People were punched, kicked in the head by flying stage divers, and falling into each other like human rat kings. Yet smiles were wide, and every time someone hit the ground, a dozen hands reached out to pull them back up without fail. Finally, as “Birds,” the final song of the night came to a close, it felt less like a finale and more like a realization. What the show lacked in deodorant, it made up for in unity, community, and at the center of it all, heart. It was a shared exorcism, an outpouring of catharsis like nothing I’d ever really experienced before. Whether it was screaming the words of each song shoulder to shoulder with complete and total strangers, or sharing in a crowd-wide rendition of “Happy Birthday” for a fellow audience member, this sense of genuine joy pervaded it all. Turnstile at Gallagher Square was undoubtedly one of my favorite concert experiences so far, and maybe it was just because I was lucky enough to attend the show with two of my best friends, but I can confidently say that “Finally I can see it / These birds not meant fly alone.”
Moments captured from an evening with Turnstile:
