CHECK OUT THE PHOTOS FROM THE SHOW HERE.

It sure is nice to know that some things never change. It’s comforting to know Tim Tams will always taste awesome, that people will continue to talk about the weather like it’s the most bewildering of topics, that it’s pointless trying to recall the name of that guy you were just introduced to. It was awash with this safe and fanciful feeling of familiarity that we witnessed NOFX and Bad Religion as they took turns in blasting the huge Hordern crowd on Wednesday night.

Compton’s Pour Habit had the enviable position of welcoming these two granddaddies of punk rock back to Sydney, and they did it as well as any band with a drunk frontman could. Their hard-ass set reminded me why people got into punk in the first place – to have fun.

Oh Fat Mike, how we’ve missed you and your satirical, sweaty friends. I was glad to see his shirtless, sub-pubic-pants ways held up (or stayed low) through the years. When it dawned that this gig was going to run much like any other NOFX gig from the last 25 years, complete with a set-list plucked from I Heard They Suck Live!!, I was thrilled. Fans don’t go along to experience new tracks or view the band’s “progression”. They just want the verbal diarrhea, the political incorrectness, and Linoleum. And they got it.

The ode to floor coverings struck up an early frenzy, Stickin’ In My Eye had the slam circle skanking down memory lane and Fat Mike’s “pills kicked in”. As the classics kept coming, the seedy frontman seesawed from declaring each track to be “the best NOFX song you’ve ever heard” to: “oh we fucked that one up” in his signature couldn’t-give-a-shit attitude. It must be tiresome to play with the same crew, rehash jokes, make the same fuck-ups, spurt the same political rants – but NOFX have a knack for onstage entertainment that makes their cheeky, balls-to-the-floor punk rock stand firm against that pesky band-killer called – œtime’.

As to be expected on a double-header bill, the – œsaviours’ of So Cal punk rock took to the stage amidst little fanfare. People were still recovering from NOFX and hovering in drink queues. But as Bad Religion drilled into their set, with Greg Graffin gesticulating meaningfully at the crowd and leading the band like a mad conductor, the crowd were right back in it. Picking from their huge back-catalogue, they played tracks from Suffer, Stranger Than Fiction and Generator, finally coming to rest at American Jesus, which prompted much fist-in-the-air chanting.

To poach one writer’s recent analogy, NOFX is like your drunk uncle at Christmas lunch whose off-the-cuff antics give family gatherings that much-needed edge. Bad Religion is your cleaner, wisecracking uncle who tries to engage you in political debate during dessert. Together they came to the party, ate a shitload of ham, drank all the alcohol and left a Hordern-load of fans happy, full and in need of a post-gig nap.