Outside the Bellwether on August 30, a group of twentysomethings huddled together, debating what to expect from the night’s performance. One of them, clearly the biggest fan, puffed out his chest as if he were answering a mating call and summed it up with a blunt response: “Sweat, piss, and blood.”
And they weren’t wrong. Seeing Osees is like taking a sledgehammer to the head after escaping a sensory deprivation chamber. For over two hours, the band embodied the DIY ethos that has defined them for nearly two decades. Every note, movement, and carefully placed bottle of Corona, while seemingly random, is part of a meticulously planned showcase of sonic aggression. But don’t let the brutalist aesthetic fool you — they are as precise and coordinated as a philharmonic orchestra (if the philharmonic added chainsaws to its repertoire).
Osees’ sound has transformed drastically over the years, and their performance at the Bellwether highlighted how far they’ve come. The setlist, which included favorites like “Tidal Wave” “Toe Cutter – Thumb Buster,” and “Withered Hand,” felt like a journey through their influences. The band’s ability to shift seamlessly from lacerating punk to pugnacious psych-synths without losing any of their visceral energy is a testament to John Dwyer’s ever-evolving approach. Ditching guitars for synths, then synths for samplers, and combining all of those abandoned artifacts in a strange brew of chaos — sometimes with a saxophone. The appeal of Osees lies in their ability to make chaos sound organized. Every song, though it might feel like an unrestrained burst of improvisation, is executed with the precision of seasoned musicians who know exactly when to push boundaries and when to rein it in. Their performance is a tightrope walk between anarchy and order, and at the Bellwether, they walked it without a safety net.
A sideshow for any Osees gig is the tension they create on stage. The band seems perpetually on the verge of breaking out into a fistfight, each member feeding off the other’s discontent to fuel their frenzy. Dwyer prowled the stage with primal aggression, his movements commanding and urgent. Meanwhile, dual drummers Dan Rincon and Paul Quattrone pummeled their kits so relentlessly, you would think that a drum had murdered their families. Bassist Tim Hellman and keyboardist Tomas Dolas added layers of complexity with their deft, almost telepathic interplay, making the music feel like a living entity. Throughout the night, Dwyer seemed visibly annoyed with technical difficulties, lambasting Dolas for inquiring about a 9-volt battery, tinkering with his Roland monitor with the frustration of a disappointed parent, and spitting on the stage non-stop as if trying to expel his angry venom — all of which only added to the drama.
The crowd itself was a spectacle. The pit was a chaotic swirl of younger fans — wild, uncontained, and seemingly unaware of any concert etiquette — flinging themselves into the music with reckless abandon. Meanwhile, the older crowd, those middle-aged dads with broken backs from yesteryear’s mosh pits, stood at the back with their kids, a knowing smile on their faces as they watched the next generation dive headfirst into the madness.
By the end of the night, there was no escaping the ear-splitting aftermath — tinnitus was practically a guarantee for anyone within a mile of the Bellwether. But that’s just part of the deal when you’re at an Osees show. They play loud, fast, and without compromise, leaving your ears ringing and your body sore. At the Bellwether, Osees delivered a set that was raw and cathartic, etching their sound and energy into your memory like a tattoo you might regret but haven’t quite grown out of yet.
Words and photos by Eric Han
FULL OSEES AT BELLWETHER GALLERY:
