Saturday night. January 3rd. Valencia.The amps are warm, the beer is cold, and cancer is about to get yelled at. Welcome to Punk Rock Contra el Cáncer, a benefit gig that doesn’t whisper hope or light candles — it cranks the volume until the walls sweat. This isn’t charity-core with acoustic guitars and sad faces. This is three bands, a DJ, a Loco Club full of bodies, and every last euro hurled directly at the Spanish Association Against Cancer. No suits. No speeches. Just riffs. If you know Valencia, you know Loco Club isn’t a venue — it’s a pressure cooker. A room that smells like spilled beer, bad decisions and excellent memories. Doors at 7pm, and from that moment on, the place becomes a community bunker where punk does what punk has always done best: stand up, shout back, and refuse to shut up. Eat in the venue. Lose your voice. Leave better than you arrived. THE HAWAIIANS Pop-punk versions. Flamenco attitude. Mallorca roots.These maniacs take songs you thought you knew and kick them into the pit wearing Hawaiian shirts and zero respect for genre borders. Fun, fast, and dangerously catchy. SPIN-OFF Melodic hardcore from Valencia.This is the sound of clenched fists and open hearts — hooks sharp enough to draw blood, choruses made to be screamed by strangers who suddenly feel like family. KILL THE PRESIDENT Hardcore punk. Valencia. No apology.The name tells you everything. Short songs. Big punches. The kind of set that leaves you drenched, bruised, and grinning like an idiot. Just when you think you’re done, C.F.G. & Punk DJ Set takes over.Because the only thing better than a benefit gig is not going home afterward. Expect classics, chaos, and that moment where someone yells “one more” and nobody disagrees. Oh — and there’s a merch giveaway by Willshop, because punk karma is real. Punk doesn’t cure cancer.But community funds research.Noise raises money.And one packed room screaming into microphones can do more than silence ever could. This is punk rock doing its damn job.See you in the pit. For tickets and more information: Loco Club

If music could paint a sunset, it would look like this: warm tones of son cubano, eye-catching rhythms that lift your feet, and voices steeped in decades of Caribbean soul. This 4 January 2026, Valencia is set to experience exactly that when Estrellas De Buena Vista y Más bring their Live in Havana Tour to the brand-new Roig Arena for an unforgettable night of rhythm, heritage, and pure musical magic. Founded in 2021 with the mission to keep the legacy of the legendary Buena Vista Social Club alive and thriving, Estrellas De Buena Vista y Más is much more than a band — it’s a cultural force. Under the expert direction of Pancho Amat, one of the world’s most celebrated tres players, this vibrant ensemble blends original members of the Buena Vista legacy with fiery new talent, crafting a sound that honors the past while exciting the present. Their Live in Havana Tour is a celebration — part pilgrimage, part party — stretching across Europe and beyond, with audiences everywhere surrendering to the infectious energy of Cuban classics and fresh interpretations. Even if you’ve never set foot in Cuba, this show promises to make you feel like you’ve walked right off the streets of Old Havana: Timeless Classics, Live Again – Expect the rhythms and melodies that put Cuban music on the global stage, performed with passion and precision. Modern Masters Meet Legends – A dynamic mix of seasoned veterans and fiery young musicians breathe life into every note. Cultural Immersion – This isn’t just a concert — it’s a full-blooded fiesta, a sensory trip through the heart and soul of Cuba’s musical heritage. Whether you’re a longtime fan of Latin sounds or simply someone searching for a night where music feels alive, this concert promises to be one of the season’s most spectacular cultural experiences. The backdrop for this musical odyssey is none other than Roig Arena, Valencia’s breathtaking new multi-use venue — a space designed for major artistic showcases and large-scale events. With state-of-the-art acoustics and an atmosphere built for celebration, it’s the perfect palace for Cuban rhythms to come alive. For tickets and more information: Roig Arena

By the time the doors opened at the Roig Arena on the afternoon of December 13th, Valencia already felt like it was leaning into a collective act of remembrance. Locos Por La Música is not a nostalgia trap so much as a living archive — a touring celebration of Spanish pop and rock that refuses to be embalmed. At the Roig Arena, the concept expanded to arena scale: seven hours of uninterrupted music, seven acts, and a crowd spanning generations, from original fans who lived these songs the first time around to younger converts who know them by heart thanks to car stereos, family parties and an inherited emotional memory. The Roig Arena continues to assert itself as one of Valencia’s most important new cultural infrastructures. Purpose-built, modern, and acoustically adaptable, it managed the difficult task of hosting a marathon event without ever feeling unwieldy or impersonal. Sightlines were clear, sound remained consistent across the space, and logistics — no small feat for a multi-artist bill — ran with impressive efficiency. Unlike older venues that buckle under the weight of legacy acts and long runtimes, Roig Arena felt designed for exactly this kind of event: celebratory, high-capacity, and emotionally charged. It didn’t just host Locos Por La Música — it framed it. Opening duties fell to Girasoules, a band whose reputation as tireless live performers precedes them. Formed in the early 2000s, Girasoules have built their career on melodic pop-rock infused with Mediterranean warmth and festival-ready choruses. While they may not carry the same mainstream legacy as later acts on the bill, their role was crucial: setting the tone. Their set was energetic and unpretentious, rooted in upbeat rhythms and sunlit hooks that eased the audience into the day. Rather than attempting to compete with the weight of history that would follow, Girasoules played to their strengths — immediacy, groove, and connection. As an opener, they succeeded in transforming early arrivals into active participants rather than passive spectators. Few bands in Spanish pop history have navigated intimacy and provocation quite like Amistades Peligrosas. Emerging in the early 1990s, the duo became known for their emotionally charged songs, lyrical tension, and a dynamic that blurred the line between romance and confrontation. Hits like “Estoy por ti” and “Me quedaré solo” are still emotionally loaded decades later. At Roig Arena, their performance leaned into that dramatic core. The crowd responded with a mix of reverence and release, singing along not just to melodies but to memories. Amistades Peligrosas reminded everyone that Spanish pop has always had a darker, more emotionally complex undercurrent — and that those songs still land with precision. When La Guardia took the stage, the atmosphere shifted toward classic, radio-era Spanish pop-rock. Formed in Granada in the early 1980s, La Guardia are forever linked to La Movida’s afterglow, with songs like “Mil calles llevan hacia ti”etched into the national consciousness. Their set was tight, confident, and unapologetically melodic. There is something timeless about La Guardia’s songwriting — earnest without being naive, romantic without excess. At Roig Arena, their performance felt like a communal exhale, a reminder of an era when pop-rock ruled the airwaves and sincerity was a strength rather than a liability. Los Rebeldes brought swagger to the afternoon. Founded by Carlos Segarra in Barcelona in 1979, the band has long fused rockabilly, classic rock ’n’ roll and streetwise attitude into a distinctly Spanish voice. Their catalogue is built for live performance, and decades on, that hasn’t changed. At Roig Arena, Los Rebeldes injected the lineup with grit and rhythm. Upright bass lines, sharp guitars and a sense of perpetual motion kept the crowd moving. They didn’t just play songs — they embodied a lifestyle, a reminder that Spanish rock has always had grease under its fingernails and hips firmly in motion. As the unmistakable voice of La Unión, Rafa Sánchez carries one of the most iconic legacies in Spanish pop. Since the mid-1980s, his voice has been synonymous with elegance, drama and sonic sophistication, particularly through timeless tracks like “Lobo-hombre en París.” Performing solo but backed by a tight live band, Rafa Sánchez delivered a set steeped in atmosphere. His vocals remain expressive and controlled, and the audience reaction bordered on reverent. This was less a concert moment and more a collective acknowledgment of how deeply embedded his songs are in Spain’s cultural DNA. By the time Revolver appeared, the day had matured into something heavier, more reflective. Led by Carlos Goñi since the late 1980s, Revolver occupies a unique space in Spanish music — part rock band, part songwriter’s confessional. Their music has always been about emotional clarity, introspection and lyrical honesty. At Roig Arena, Revolver’s set felt expansive and cinematic. Songs unfolded patiently, allowing melodies and lyrics to breathe. Goñi’s presence anchored the performance, reminding the audience that Locos Por La Música isn’t only about hits — it’s about songs that accompany lives, heartbreaks and long drives. Closing the night were Seguridad Social, the perfect choice to bring the marathon to a euphoric conclusion. Formed in Valencia in 1982, the band has always blended rock, punk, ska and Latin rhythms with a sense of humour and social commentary. Their live shows are famously chaotic, joyful affairs. At Roig Arena, they turned nostalgia into celebration. From “Chiquilla” to their more ska-driven anthems, the arena erupted into movement. Seguridad Social didn’t just close the festival — they detonated it, leaving the crowd exhilarated, hoarse and smiling. Locos Por La Música at Roig Arena wasn’t simply a festival — it was a curated journey through decades of Spanish pop and rock history, staged with care and respect. The Roig Arena proved itself a vital new home for large-scale cultural events in Valencia, while the artists reminded everyone why these songs have survived changing trends and technologies. Seven bands, seven eras, seven hours — and not a wasted moment. In a time obsessed with novelty, Locos Por La Música made a powerful case for memory, melody and the enduring power of a great song played loud, together, in a room full of people who still care. Words and photos: Rhyan Paul

Silverstein were celebrating 25 years of noise, but on Wednesday night in Austin, the Toronto veterans were sharing the stage with a lineup that framed the genre’s past, present, and future in real time. The final leg of their 25 Years of Noisetour paired them with Thursday, Free Throw, and Australian upstarts Bloom, transforming what could have been a straightforward anniversary victory lap into a multi-generational survey of post-hardcore’s evolving shape. Austin had been notably absent from the tour’s earlier legs, a point vocalist Shane Told acknowledged from the stage while reflecting on the band’s early DIY runs through Texas. He referenced formative shows at the original Emo’s, grounding the night’s spectacle in the kind of rooms where Silverstein first earned their stripes. The band may be long removed from those relentless touring cycles, but the spirit behind them still hovered over the evening. Bloom opened the show after traveling from Australia, bringing the heaviest sound on the bill. Their set was tightly packed and unflinching, delivered with the urgency of a band intent on making their moment count. There was no attempt to ease into the room—Bloom played like a group determined to leave an impression. Free Throw followed, and for a noticeable portion of the crowd, they were the emotional center of the night. The Nashville-based band represented the more intimate, lyric-driven side of the genre, connecting immediately through sincerity rather than volume. Frontman Cory Castro wore a Thursday shirt, a quiet acknowledgment of the lineage on display. With over a decade of steady touring and releases behind them, Free Throw embodied the DIY ethos that continues to sustain emo at the grassroots level. Thursday’s appearance carried its own weight. Leaning heavily on the material that helped define the early-2000s post-hardcore boom, Geoff Rickly used the stage to reaffirm the band’s values before opening with “Signals Over the Air.” The crowd’s response was instant and deeply familiar. Songs like “Understanding in a Car Crash” and “War All the Time” didn’t function as nostalgia so much as reminders of why Thursday remain one of the genre’s most essential voices. In many ways, they served as the connective tissue of the night, linking Silverstein’s origins to the newer bands carrying the torch forward. Silverstein took the stage following a brief video montage tracing their early years, with Told narrating clips of basement shows and Myspace-era snapshots with self-aware humor. The set unfolded in reverse chronology, beginning with newer material and steadily moving backward through the catalog. Opening with “Negative Space” and “Drain the Blood” showcased how refined the band’s modern sound has become, while tracks like “Bad Habits” and “Infinite” demonstrated how naturally the newer songs coexist with longtime favorites. One of the night’s most effective moments arrived unexpectedly: a fleeting nod to My Chemical Romance’s “Helena,” played just long enough to trigger collective recognition before vanishing. It worked less as fan service than as a timestamp—a shared cultural reference point for the era that shaped much of the room. The closing stretch leaned fully into Silverstein’s earliest work. “Already Dead” and “Smile in Your Sleep” landed with renewed force, followed by an encore that opened with an acoustic “My Heroine.” Nothing felt padded or excessive. Each song served a clear purpose, completing the band’s story in reverse. By the end of the night, the bill avoided the bloat that often accompanies anniversary tours. The sounds varied, but the core ethos remained consistent. Silverstein may be marking the end of a chapter, but the evening made clear that post-hardcore’s future is broader, more global, and still very much alive. Words and photos: Victor Gonzalez

Valencia has its monuments, its traditions, its rituals. But only one structure in this city carries the quiet swagger of something that doesn’t need to shout to be iconic: La Pèrgola . A modernist pavilion crouched right where the sea shakes hands with the land, it’s less a building and more a stubborn piece of Valencia’s musical DNA — a place that stays standing even when the waves come in snarling. For decades, La Pèrgola has been the city’s unofficial temple of sound. Generations of Valencians grew up knowing it not as an architectural detail but as a place where music simply happens : warm, noisy, communal, and unmistakably ours. Nearly ten years ago, when someone had the audacity (or madness) to propose an outdoor concert series in winter — on Saturday mornings, no less — it sounded like a borderline psych experiment. But Valencia does eccentric ideas the way other cities do cafés: with enthusiasm, stubbornness, and an almost unreasonable confidence. From that beautiful act of civic risk-taking emerged a cultural model unlike anything in Spain: close to 200 concerts , more than 300 artists , and nearly 250,000 attendees over its lifespan. A sonic collage of indie, punk, folk, surf, psychedelic, classic rock, local heroes, national giants, newcomers, cult legends — all woven into a community space where the breeze carries the bassline and the sunlight dances off guitar strings. La Pèrgola became Valencia’s musical lung, pumping fresh air into the city week after week. Even when the world shut down during the pandemic, when stages everywhere went dark and culture went into survival mode, La Pèrgola stood its ground. Outdoors, spaced out, cautious — but alive. It was the first venue in Spain to bring live music back, a lighthouse in the cultural blackout. La Pèrgola returns once again for 2026, unchanged in spirit, louder in meaning. This year’s edition continues its mission with absolute clarity:a festival made by and for Valencians, a declaration that this is a music city , a place where culture doesn’t trickle down — it erupts from the ground upward. From January to May, the lineup reads like a joyful, chaotic love letter to the national scene: Derby Motoreta’s Burrito Kachimba , Llobarros Repion , Diamante Negro Camellos , Joseluis Aurora & The Betrayers , Helen Helen Sandra Monfort , Esther Al Dual , Los Coronas Pony Bravo , Johnny B. Zero A special R.E.M. 45th anniversary tribute with Oscar Briz & Planet 8 Los Estanques y El Canijo de Jerez Wau y los Arrrghs!!! , Tumba Swing Rupatrupa , Intraperlo Viva Belgrado , Bestia Bebé It’s not just a schedule — it’s the city’s pulse written out in band names. La Pèrgola isn’t trying to be trendy, international, or algorithm-friendly. It’s something rarer: authentically, defiantly local, a cultural ritual that belongs to Valencia because Valencia made it possible. The sea will keep crashing.The city will keep changing.But La Pèrgola?La Pèrgola plays on — and the whole of València Music City moves to its rhythm. More info at concertsdelapergola.es .

Sound the alarms, hide the breakables, and stretch your neck muscles, Valencia — because we’re officially one week away from Strawberry Hardcore detonating 16 Toneladas like a Molotov cocktail packed with riffs, sarcasm, and 20 years of unresolved punk trauma. This isn’t just another gig on the December conveyor belt.This is the return of a mutant beast that’s been sleeping under the city like some radioactive mascot of the Spanish underground. Strawberry Hardcore — the pioneers, the instigators, the melodic hardcore misfits who rewired the national punk scene back in 2001 — are back in the ring and swinging harder than ever. Born from the temporary ashes of Def Con Dos, they were the band that fused breakneck punk speed with street-level storytelling: all grime, all guts, no filters. Their early days gave us the cult banger “Perdido en Silent Hill,” because of course they were the first ones deranged enough to turn a survival-horror fever dream into a punk anthem. They even opened for Bad Religion before some of today’s “punk” fans could tie their own Doc Martens. The lineup is basically a tattooed battering ram: César Strawberry snarling at the mic like the godfather of chaos (Def Con Dos) Samuel Barranco on bass, precision-loaded and nasty (Def Con Dos, XpresidentX) Mara Gilbert as second voice, slicing harmonies like she’s sharpening knives (Def Con Dos) Álex Ménez bending the guitar into weaponry (Kubika) Fernando Arce beating the drums like they owe him money (XpresidentX) They’re rolling into 16 Toneladas on December 18 , ready to rip open their full catalogue, dig their claws into our collective nostalgia, and baptize us with their brand-new single, “Punk Forever in the World,” the first shard from their upcoming third album. And before the main blast?Valencia’s own Pink Socks will be there, delivering their patented bullying punk — the kind of opening set that feels like being shoved into a locker filled with feedback and cheap beer. So if you’ve been sleepwalking through December, wake up, you coward. We’re seven days out from Strawberry Hardcore turning 16 Toneladas into a sweat-soaked shrine to melodic chaos. This is the week to dust off the boots, crack the neck, and prepare your body for choices your chiropractor will question. For tickets and more information: 16 Toneladas

Gandía isn’t ready. Nobody is.Because after nearly a decade of silence, La Gossa Sorda — the legendary Pego war machine of Valencian protest music — is marching back onto the battlefield. And the only festival they’re blessing in 2026? Pirata Beach Fest, that four-day summer hurricane where sunstroke meets revolution and where thousands of sand-covered degenerates yell their politics through half-warm beer. This is no nostalgia cash-grab. This is a return from exile, a band stepping back into the arena because the world has become stupid enough, dirty enough and dangerous enough to require their voice again. Vocalist Josep Nadal said it best:“Above the mud and ashes you can hear the footsteps of an animal that returns.”Well, Gandía is about to hear the roar. La Gossa’s new tour, A Tornallom, promises to do what their music has always done — grab society by the collar, shake hard, and dare it to pretend everything is fine. For the Pirate crowd, this is holy ground: the first and only chance to see them on a Valencian festival stage in 2026. One night. One shot. Zero excuses. It’ll be a historic set, a full-blooded run through decades of hymns — the kind of concert where the entire Polígono Benieto might spontaneously levitate from collective adrenaline. From “Esbarzers” to the deep-cut rabies of La Polseguera, it’s the return everyone’s been whispering about since 2016 — half believing, half afraid to jinx it. Pirata Beach Fest didn’t stop with La Gossa Sorda. Oh no. They went full-berserk on this second lineup advance. Joining the returning giants are: Sanguijuelas del Guadiana Lia Kali Figa Flawas (their ONLY Valencian Community gig) Hoke And that’s on top of the earlier avalanche: La Fúmiga, Evaristo, Molotov, The Tyets, Talco, Non Servium, Mägo de Oz, Boikot, Obús, and an ever-growing parade of misfits, militants, punks, rappers, fusion freaks and Mediterranean noise-sorcerers. Forty bands deep and they’re still not done. More names incoming. Prepare your liver accordingly. From July 8 to 11, Gandía becomes the centre of the universe — or at least the loudest corner of it. Pirata Beach Fest has become one of Spain’s summer heavyweights, equal parts music marathon, beach pilgrimage and temporary autonomous party-state. Held just minutes from the sea, the festival turns the Benieto industrial zone into a lawless music republic, complete with rock, rap, miscegenation, fusion, and whatever else the Valencian scene throws at the sun. Every year it grows. Every year it mutates. Every year it gets closer to hitting critical mass and exploding into a nation-sized mosh pit. Pirata Beach Fest has made one thing clear: Valencia isn’t just part of the Spanish music map — it’s the engine room. Valencian bands are everywhere on this lineup, pulsing through the festival like a second heartbeat.Auxili, Doctor Prats, Malifeta, El Diluvi, Naina, Me Fritos & The Gimme Cheetos — the whole regional artillery on full display. La Gossa Sorda returning after ten long years.Their only festival show in the entire País Valencià.A lineup stacked deep with well-armed musical insurgents.And Gandía turning itself, once again, into the Mediterranean capital of righteous chaos. Pirata Beach Fest 2026 is already a storm — and the wind hasn’t even picked up. Tickets? They’re out there.On the official website.Waiting for you... For more information and tickets: Pirata Beach Fest

Deleste Festival is coming back to Valencia next May, and it’s not tiptoeing in quietly — it’s kicking the gates off the Jardines de Viveros and swaggering straight into the city’s bloodstream. On the 22nd and 23rd of May 2026, the festival once known for its refined, boutique cool is gearing up for what looks suspiciously like a full-blown psychedelic street riot disguised as a cultural event. And the moment the lineup dropped, the air in Valencia shifted — like the collective twitch of a city that knows it’s about to have a very loud, very colourful weekend. At the centre of this year’s hurricane is the return of Primal Scream , celebrating the 25th anniversary of XTRMNTR — one of the most politically radioactive, blood-pumping records to ever detonate inside the indie universe. Their history with Valencia goes way back: they’ve scorched stages here before, but this feels different. This feels like the band coming back to reclaim territory, to shake the Viveros trees until the parrots fall out and the ground vibrates under “Shoot Speed Kill Light.” For long-time Deleste fans, it’s the kind of booking that sends you stumbling back through memories of earlier editions — those late-night deliriums at Espai Rambleta, the years when the festival felt like a secret whispered between friends, the intimate shows where you found yourself five metres from a band you thought you’d only ever see in dreams or documentaries. Deleste has always been the oddball of Valencia’s festival season — the one that curates rather than accumulates, the one that doesn’t need a thousand acts because the ten it picks can melt your face off one by one. This year is no exception. Apparat will bring the kind of electronic melancholy that feels like discovering an abandoned chapel inside your own chest. Kerala Dust will drag the night into a humid, neon-lit trance that smells like diesel, incense and bad decisions. Holy Fuck — still one of the best band names ever committed to posters — promise a set that will probably short-circuit half the power grid. Los Invaders will stir the local chaos, and Billy Nomates will do what she does best: stand alone, defiant, and louder than entire cities. What Deleste does brilliantly — and keeps doing, year after year — is fuse the international with the hyperlocal, the cutting-edge with the “were you even alive when this song came out?” nostalgia. You get music, gastronomy, art, and those drifting festival conversations that feel profound at the time but usually end with someone spilling vermouth on their shoes. And you get it all inside one of Valencia’s most beautiful open-air spaces, where palm leaves, warm nights and feedback blend into something that feels like a communal hallucination. More artists are still to be revealed, but even now the message is clear: Deleste 2026 is shaping up to be one of its strongest editions yet. It’s the festival you go to when you want the whole sensory package — not just concerts, but atmosphere, attitude, and the delicious danger of losing track of time entirely. If Valencia needed a soundtrack to kick summer into motion, Deleste just handed it a double-barrelled one. And with Primal Scream back in town to finish what they started years ago, you can expect the Jardines de Viveros to shake like they’ve got a heartbeat of their own. For more information: Deleste Festival

Madrid, brace yourself. On December 27th, 2025, the feral Navarrese punk commandos known as Lendakaris Muertoswill storm La Riviera one final time before vanishing into that dreaded rock-and-roll purgatorio they’re calling an “indefinite hiatus.” A polite way of saying we’re off to blow up the world elsewhere. This isn’t just another gig. This is the last stand, the final rally of a band that’s spent two decades spitting gasoline on Spain’s political bonfire and then lighting the match with a grin. Lendakaris don’t just play punk — they weaponise it, hurling sarcasm, speed and a blasphemous sense of humour directly at the nation’s temples of hypocrisy. Aitor Ibarretxe — that whirlwind of throat-shredding fury and baffling cardio endurance — leads his troops into La Riviera as part of their XXI Anniversary Tour, though “anniversary” feels too civilised a word. Think less “silver jubilee,” more “riot in a fireworks factory.” And with the band’s looming disappearance, the whole thing suddenly feels like a wake where the corpse keeps jumping off the table to yell “Gora España!” just to upset the relatives. Fans are already treating this Madrid show like the last chopper out of Saigon. This is the final guaranteed chance to scream “Oso Panda,” “ETA dale al botón,” and all those gloriously unhinged micro-anthems that made Lendakaris the unofficial national therapy for anyone allergic to bullshit. And there are many. Because their legacy — beyond the breakneck riffs and the lyrical Molotov cocktails — is simple: they made punk fun again. Dangerous again. Stupid, brilliant, necessary again. They turned the country’s political migraines into two-minute bursts of joyous chaos, proving you can critique the entire sociopolitical apparatus while laughing so hard you choke on your own cerveza. So on December 27th, La Riviera won’t host a concert — it’ll host a canonisation. A ritual. A glorious, sweaty, pogo-pit baptism marking the end of an era nobody was ready to lose. Tickets are being hunted down like black-market relics, because nobody wants to wake up the next day realising they missed the final blast from the loudest, rudest conscience Spain ever produced. If this is goodbye, it’ll be delivered with boots, distortion, and the pure distilled stupidity/genius that only Lendakaris Muertos can conjure. After that? Silence. Or maybe the world ending. Hard to tell with these guys. Either way — be there when the detonator clicks. You can read our interview with Aitor here: Aitor Ibarretxe And find out more about the band here: Lendakaris Muertos

Empire Garage | December 3, 2025 The Aces turned Empire Garage into a queer disco confessional on Wednesday night, building warmth and intimacy in a room that started quiet but ended electric. Even with a smaller-than-usual crowd—the fog and light rain blanketing Austin that evening kept some fans home—what the night lacked in numbers, it made up for in connection. Lydia Night opened with vulnerable solo material from her debut album Parody of Pleasure, released in August via Warner Records. Supporting The Aces on the entire Gold Star Baby World Tour, she's had to build this connection night after night without the usual Regrettes faithful shouting back every lyric. Early on, she kept her banter minimal and her stage presence restrained, but as she moved through tracks she loosened. At one point she laughed, "Now everyone knows about my problems." By the closer, hands were swaying and the room felt noticeably warmer. The Aces picked up the energy the moment they stepped on stage. The Utah quartet—Cristal Ramirez, Alisa Ramirez, Katie Henderson, and McKenna Petty—played with the intuitive tightness of a seasoned band. The setlist leaned heavily on Gold Star Baby—opening with "Jealous," its strutting disco-funk bass line immediately setting the tone. "The Magic" and the title track landed with swagger, while "Twin Flame" built into a glitter-glossed groove that had the crowd dancing. They pulled from earlier records too—"Daydream" and "Stuck" drawing loud singalongs from longtime fans. True to form, the band blurred performance and conversation. Cristal asked the crowd for tea, only to be met with a long, chaotic story about an ex's ex yelling from the pit. Later, they pulled a fan forward as their "Gold Star Baby" best-dressed pick—a young fan in a sequined outfit who confessed that her attire was inspired by Cristal herself. Cristal then draped the boa over her own shoulders while the band launched into "Fire in the Hole," perfectly capturing Gold Star Baby's celebratory ethos. A throughline emerged: pop as confession, confession as community. Night's solo work transforms interior chaos into self-aware theatrics. The Aces expand that vulnerability outward, speaking openly about queerness and creating safe space. For a night that began with fog dampening expectations and a half-full venue, the show became something intimate and communal. Lydia Night is testing the contours of her new artistic identity; The Aces are fully in their stride, delivering a confident reminder that connection doesn't require capacity crowds. By the final song, no one was thinking about the fog anymore. The Aces had turned Empire Garage into the warmest room in Austin—not through spectacle, but through small, honest moments that make a sparse crowd feel like chosen family for the night. Words and photos: Victor Gonzalez

If you walked into 16 Toneladas on Thursday night expecting a “concert,” you were already in the wrong dimension. Drink The Sea doesn’t play music — they summon it, like a séance for the sonically obsessed. What unfolded on 4/12/25 wasn’t a gig so much as a cross-continental ritual performed by a rogue’s gallery of alternative-rock demigods who should, by all laws of physics, not exist in the same room at the same time. But they did. And Valencia was the epicenter of the quake. You know you’re dealing with something unhinged when the stage lineup reads like a cryptic crossword of cult legend: Peter Buck — the architect of R.E.M.’s jangling apocalypse. Barrett Martin — the rhythmic shaman from Screaming Trees and Mad Season. Alain Johannes — that Swiss Army knife of Eleven, QOTSA, Chris Cornell, basically half the desert-rock universe. Duke Garwood — the smoky, spectral force behind so many Mark Lanegan incantations. Lisette Garcia — weaving percussive patterns like a street poet of earthquakes. Abbey Blackwell — a bassist who plays like she’s tuning the planet’s heartbeat. If any bartender in Valencia had tried to list that lineup, you’d cut them off for irresponsible intoxication. Drink The Sea dove deep into their two debut albums, shape-shifting through soundscapes that felt like half-remembered dreams from a parallel timeline. There were moments when the room vibrated like a submerged cathedral, Buck’s shimmering guitar ringing out like bells from a sunken tower. Then suddenly the whole thing would lurch into something darker — Garwood wrenching dread and beauty from his strings, Martin drumming like he was exorcising ghosts one kick drum at a time. Johannes, meanwhile, floated over it all like a mad monk of tone, shifting from delicate melodies to distortion that hit like a fist wrapped in velvet. And just when the crowd thought they found their footing, the band ripped the floor away with reinterpretations of songs from their former bands — not covers, but rebirths. Familiar riffs arrived mutated, re-wired, reincarnated. It felt less like nostalgia and more like meeting old gods in new bodies. Somewhere in the whirlwind, filmmaker Tad Fettig slipped in his visual incantations — fragments of PBS-slick documentary craft hacked into surreal, oceanic dream sequences. Projected above the band, the images seemed to breathe, to melt, to ripple with the low-end. It wasn’t clear whether the music was feeding the film or the film was feeding the music — only that the whole thing was alive. Half the audience stared slack-jawed.The other half closed their eyes and let the waves break over them.Everyone had saltwater in their veins by the end. 16 Toneladas is built for sweat, distortion, and the kind of intimacy that borders on dangerous. On this night, it became a floating vessel — a low-slung ship lost at sea, lit by guitars instead of flares. Every corner of the room pulsed with bodies leaning forward, hypnotized, waiting for the next sonic mutation. By the time the final note dissolved into a humid haze, the crowd looked like they’d survived some shared, ecstatic shipwreck. No one moved toward the exit immediately; they just stood there, blinking, as if daylight might be an insult. Drink The Sea didn’t perform in Valencia.They flooded Valencia. They poured memory, myth, noise, cinema, and raw human pulse into a single night that left 16 Toneladas dripping with something too huge, too strange, too beautiful to name. It was a ritual, a storm, a tide that swallowed the room whole. Words and photos: Rhyan Paul

Valencia is about to crack open its calendar, fall backwards through time, and slam head-first into the soundtrack of its youth. Locos por la Música rolls into town on Saturday, December 13, and this year the festival isn’t just returning—it’s evolving, mutating, supersizing. After its 2019 debut at La Fonteta, the organizers clearly decided nostalgia needed more horsepower. So for its second Valencia edition, they’re unleashing it inside the mighty Roig Arena, the city’s newest, loudest, most futuristic live-music beast. And they’re coming armed with seven straight hours of Spanish pop-rock royalty—no filler, no downtime, no mercy. From 5 p.m., the Roig Arena becomes a nostalgia pressure cooker. One by one, the heavyweights march out: Revolver, with their eternal guitar-driven pulse. Seguridad Social, Valencia’s own kings of fiesta-rock. Los Rebeldes, bringing that rockabilly swagger still sharp as a razor. La Guardia, melodic storytellers of an entire generation. Amistades Peligrosas, provocative, theatrical, unmistakable. Girasoules, shooting joy like confetti from a cannon. Rafa Sánchez, iconic voice, immortal presence. It’s not a lineup—it’s a living museum of the anthems that defined the 80s and 90s, stitched together into one marathon celebration. If you grew up with a cassette in your Walkman or a burned CD from your cousin, this night will feel like a homecoming. Locos por la Música isn’t just another nostalgia fest. It’s a traveling cathedral for people who treat music like oxygen—fans who don’t just remember the past, they inhabit it. After selling out events in major cities across Spain, the festival has become the annual pilgrimage for those who want to dance with their memories and scream old lyrics like they’re brand-new. Behind the curtain is Sena Productions, with sponsorship from Aena and Binter, and a proud partnership with Fundación Asindown, whose mission for real inclusion of people with Down syndrome and intellectual disabilities gives the festival a heartbeat underneath the amplifiers. Moving the festival to Roig Arena is a power move. It’s bigger. It’s brighter. It’s built for events that don’t just want to entertain—they want to detonate. Picture thousands of voices singing “Chiquilla,” “Pero a tu lado,” “Sabor de amor,” “Devuélveme a mi chica”—a tidal wave of collective memory smashing into one perfectly acoustic bowl. If you’re looking for a quiet Saturday, run. Hide. Leave town.But if you crave a seven-hour sprint through three decades of Spanish pop-rock history, this is your mothership. On December 13, Valencia won’t just host a festival—it’ll hold a giant family reunion with every anthem you ever loved blaring at full volume. Expect tears. Expect dancing. Expect hoarse voices on Sunday morning. Locos por la Mú sica isn’t a concert.It ’s a multigener ational riot of joy. And Valencia? Valencia is ready. For tickets and more information: Roig Arena