The Leftover Crack pit now has a challenger for most raucous; but first things first.

After hearing The Decline and finding out they’d been around for a while, it was embarrassing not to have heard them before. They revealed themselves to be one of Perth’s most solid punk bands.

They played the entirety of their upcoming Bill Stevenson/Jason Livermore (Fat Wreck Chords go-to men) produced debut album I’m Not Gonna Lie To You and it was impressive to say the least. They looked a little awkward at first, hell it’s always awkward playing to an empty room, but as they warmed into it and the room got a little busier, the four youngsters made their much older audience reassess their youth.

“Man, why wasn’t I making music like this when I was their age,” you could imagine the 90s high schoolers thinking to themselves.

Punk songs work really well when they begin at head-banging pace and then halve to become something bouncy. The best good-time bands do it and The Decline did it a lot. Their music was a mix-bag of punk tastes and it was obvious they live with an IV drip attached to this bag, as influence after influence poured out of their exploratory-debut album veins. Half the fun was trying to pick them all, so at risk of being a fun-ruiner and a cliché reviewer, the influences shall be left up to the listener to find.

They finished with Radio Friendly which induced memories of Happy Gilmore’s happy place music and then made the announcement their awesome drummer Harry was leaving the band. Hopefully this doesn’t mean they’re finished, if these guys continue to shape their own sound, the local punk bar will be raised and drunk dry.

Lara Bingle’s a topical little lady at the moment… so where the bloody hell was everyone for The Flatliners’ set? Perth people are normally on to quality stuff like this, yet the majority spent the set in Amps’ trademark courtyard. These fools missed the meat of the evening’s burger.

It was the Canadian quartet’s first trip to Oz and they looked to be struggling after just stepping off the plane. They had nine or so keen-as-commander punters euphorically skanking at their feet though and this carried them through their jet-lagged pain. They looked grateful for the boost.

Feverish frontman Chris Creswell looked like death with a pick, particularly during The Respirator, as he hacked through its joyous off-beat strums and raw reggae vocals. Guitarist Scott Brigham looked a little healthier which he attributed to the “Too-Hees extra dry” he was drinking.

The majority of the set was filled with belters taken from The Great Awake LP and the dedicated few at the front went testicles for all of them. -What they really wanted though, was some Destroy To Create hyper-up-strum debauchery and when Fred’s Got Slacks and Scrumpunch! were unleashed, the rubbery skankers gave their limbs a punishing.

People had been yelling for the band’s biggest song Eulogy all night and it took this song to get people to join the core group of lads at the front. Creswell’s voice was ailing so the punters helped him sing along. He thanked them for it as the song finished and The Flatliners completed an amazing feat of jet-lagged fun.

Out in the court-yard, the pavement had filled with the expected VHS crowd there to see No Fun At All. Everybody’s favourite surfing/skating video band were back after 11 years and the Amps gig space was toe to toe as they began their nostalgic treat.

For a bunch of punters who would have last attended high school in the 90s or early 2000s, their irresponsible Thursday behaviour was downright commendable. The word heaving gets thrown around a lot in pit descriptions but this one actually was. No Fun At All’s dampened chord progressions of the Pennywise school sent everyone completely troppo. While pits are normally a male-dominated arena, there were girls in there going just as hard as the lads. This wasn’t a fruitcake pit either it was the real deal.

Frontman Ingemar Jansson hilariously looked like he should have been writing prescriptions rather than whipping drunk people into a frenzy. His stage became a highway for stuntmen and the foldback their ramp. It is unlikely Amps had ever seen this many crowd surfers.

The drunkest of the lot appeared on stage with a gash to his head and Jansson interviewed him between songs. All he could say was “Masssttterrrr Celllbratttoorrrr” before supermanning himself face first into the masses. He later appeared again, snatched the backing mic and refused to let go as the bouncers dragged him away. They eventually called him an ambulance.

It was fitting for this pit that NFAA played Don’t Be A Pansy and with all the launching of bodies and disregard for self well-being, Suicide Machine took on a new relevance. A raucous circle pit was summoned for Catch Me Running Round and after at least 2000 requests, the band ended the set with ‘the song from that bodyboarding movie (Psychotic), you know.. the one that sounds like masturbator?’ Master Celebrator? Yes that’s the one.

Thursday’s show will be remembered as one of the finest and loosest week nights at Amps.