There was a time when Southern California punk felt like a regional secret with photocopied flyers, sweat-soaked clubs, word-of-mouth mythology. On February 13th at Hamilton’s TD Coliseum, that same spirit detonated inside an arena, as The Offspring and Bad Religion turned a mid-winter Ontario night into a full-blown punk-rock revival meeting.
Bad Religion wasted no time reminding the crowd why they remain one of punk’s most enduring institutions. Kicking off with “Recipe for Hate,” the band tore through a breathless 19-song set that felt less like an opening act and more like a manifesto. “21st Century (Digital Boy)” still hits with unnerving relevance, its critique of consumer culture landing just as sharply in 2026 as it did decades ago. “Infected,” “True North,” and a thunderous “American Jesus” had the early arrivals surging toward the barricade, fists raised, voices locked in unison. Greg Graffin’s steady presence and the band’s razor-tight execution proved that melody and militancy can still share the same stage.
After a brief intermission — one filled with playful fan-cam moments spotlighting diehards in vintage tees and homemade signs — the house lights dimmed again. The unmistakable intro of AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” blasted through the arena speakers, a tongue-in-cheek pump-up that whipped the crowd into a frenzy. When The Offspring stormed onstage and detonated into “Come Out and Play,” the building practically shook.
Over the course of a 19-song set, the band delivered a career-spanning celebration of hooks, humor, and heart. “Why Don’t You Get a Job?” and “Pretty Fly (for a White Guy)” turned the Coliseum into a sing-along carnival, while “The Kids Aren’t Alright” felt like a generational anthem aging in real time alongside its audience. Dexter Holland’s vocals were sharp, the band locked in with a muscular precision that underscored just how deep their catalog runs.
Midway through the night, the band shifted gears for a tribute to the late Ozzy Osbourne, slipping into a snarling snippet of Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid” before launching into “Crazy Train.” It was a reminder that punk and metal have always shared the same rebellious DNA.
The emotional apex came with a piano rendition of “Gone Away,” Holland alone at the keys as thousands of phone lights flickered. That vulnerability seamlessly melted into a communal cover of The Beatles’ “Hey Jude,” the crowd carrying the “na-na-na” refrain with a warmth that transcended genre lines.
By the time “Self Esteem” closed the night, Hamilton had been fully converted. Two bands, nearly four decades deep into their careers, proved that punk rock doesn’t just survive in arenas, it thrives there.
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