Strawberry Hardcore

Some gigs feel planned.Some feel important.And then there are nights at 16 Toneladas where the ceiling sweats, the floor vibrates like it’s had three espressos and a bad idea, and you realise nobody involved has any intention of behaving. This was one of those nights.

Pink Socks went on first, which felt generous of them, because by the end of their set the room was already halfway to needing structural reinforcement and a written apology.

They opened like they’d just fallen out of a WhatsApp argument and decided to settle it with volume. No easing in, no foreplay — just straight into it, blasting through a set that felt less like a concert and more like a pirate radio broadcast hijacked by idiots with guitars.

Titles flew past like threats scribbled on bathroom walls:“Fuck Ambiguos”, “Cayetano de la Calle Borroka”, “Parkour en Magaluf”, “Puta Real Madrid”.Each one landed like a punchline and a provocation at the same time. Pink Socks don’t sing songs so much as lob ideas at your head and see which ones stick.

There were fake intros, real intros, intros to the intros. Shout-outs that went nowhere. Jokes that shouldn’t have worked but absolutely did. Somewhere between “Mis Primeros Influencers” and “Tips Para Grupo de Punk”, the band fully weaponised stupidity and turned it into a working philosophy.

It was fast, loud, knowingly dumb and weirdly smart about it. Punk as satire. Hardcore as meme culture. The kind of set where you laugh, then realise your ears are bleeding, then laugh again because you deserve it.

By the time they wrapped up with “Skinhead por Obligación” and “Rita”, the room was primed, cooked and lightly traumatised. Perfect conditions

Then Strawberry Hardcore came on and decided to burn the building down emotionally. If Pink Socks were the

chaotic warm-up act throwing lit matches around, Strawberry Hardcore were the accelerant. No messing about. No irony breaks. Just straight-ahead, clenched-teeth, no-exit hardcore delivered with the urgency of people who genuinely believe standing still is dangerous.

Their setlist read like a life résumé written in permanent marker:“La Gran Comedia”, “Cerveza y Pecado”, “Punk Forever”, “Todos Vamos a Morir” — no metaphors, no apologies, just statements of fact screamed into a room that already knew.

There was something beautifully direct about it. No posing, no speeches. Songs ripped through one after another, each one shorter than your patience and twice as angry. “Huyendo Hacia Adelante” felt less like a song title and more like the night’s mission statement.

By the time they hit “Perdido en Silent Hill” and “Me Suicidé Hace Años”, the crowd was a single organism: heads down, fists up, brains switched off in the healthiest possible way. This wasn’t nostalgia hardcore — this was still-bothered, still-moving, still-hitting-you-in-the-chest hardcore. Closing with “Mártires del Rock” felt right. Not in a heroic sense, more in the “we’re all still here, somehow” sense. Bruised, smiling, ears ringing, ready to do it all again tomorrow.

This wasn’t a polished night.It wasn’t pretty.It definitely wasn’t safe. But it was alive! Pink Socks turned punk into absurdist theatre, turning jokes into weapons and chaos into a setlist. Strawberry Hardcore followed by reminding everyone why hardcore exists in the first place: because sometimes shouting is the most honest thing you can do.

Two bands. Two approaches. One perfect mess of a night at 16 Toneladas that left the room louder, sweatier and slightly less sane than it started. Exactly as it should be.......