Henry Rollins steps to the middle of the stage, dressed in his uniform of black t-shirt and black jeans. Taking the microphone he holds it left handed, the cable wrapped around his hand a couple times.
With the right foot a half step forward, his body is tense. I’m half expected the rest of Black Flag to appear on stage or Henry to crush the mic in his hand.
From this stance, Henry proceeds to talk, or in some cases shout for 2 hours and 40 minutes. He does this with barely a pause, no interval and nothing to drink. In the seats we are thinking that we should have brought a bottle of water; on stage, under the lights it must be boiling.
[Photo borrowed from someone who went the next night]
It doesn’t take long to realise that Henry isn’t smart, he’s really smart. 51 years of experiences and encounters are delivered with intensity, born Rollins says of the fear that one day he’ll be back in a dead-end job serving Hagen-Daz.
Topics range from near-drowning at Bondi Beach, touring with Black Flag and why you shouldn’t punch people in the mouth1 to eating rats in India and trying not to crack jokes at the preserved body of Kim Il-sung. Each seamlessly segued into the next, with loops and sidetracks looping in and out seamlessly.
A great show, and one to catch if you can. And I’d just like to say:
Free Bindi!
- Hint, its not because you’ll hurt them.↑


















