The Darkness Brings Glam Rock to Texas!
The lights dropped without warning. A scream ripped across the room. Then Justin Hawkins exploded onto the stage, glittering, grinning, and unapologetically larger than life! In an instant, Emo’s in Austin, Texas, became a time machine wired directly to the golden age of rock. The Darkness didn’t just arrive; they resurrected the kind of rock show that most people thought had died decades ago.
The opening blast of “Rock & Roll Party Cowboy” hit like a shock to the system. Sequins and leather flashed under the strobes as the crowd screamed every lyric back without hesitation. “Growing on Me” and “Get Your Hands Off My Woman” followed in rapid fire, each one dripping with the kind of swagger, guitar heroics, and soaring falsetto that had defined the eras of Queen, Zeppelin, and Van Halen. Classic rock may have disappeared from radio rotations, but in that room it was alive, loud, and unashamed.
The momentum didn’t slow. “Mortal Dread,” “Motorheart,” and “Walking Through Fire” thundered through Emo’s with the kind of unfiltered bombast the genre was built on: big riffs, bigger choruses, and zero fear of theatrics. Then “Barbarian” stomped in with tribal drums and chugging guitars, proving once again that The Darkness had mastered the art of excess without ever losing technical edge.
Mid-set, the band pivoted to full glam-ballad glory with “Love Is Only a Feeling.” Phones glowed, arms rose, and hundreds of voices melted into one. A power ballad straight from the lineage of 1970s arena rock. The softness vanished instantly as the band slung back into high gear with “Givin’ Up,” “My Only,” and “Heart Explodes,” each one delivered with tighter musicianship and more theatrical confidence than many modern rock acts would have dared attempt. “The Longest Kiss” escalated that energy even further, while “Friday Night” turned Emo’s into a crowd-wide celebration, complete with Justin balancing atop the barricade as fans screamed the chorus toward the rafters.
By the time “Japanese Prisoner of Love” thrashed through the room with blistering speed and glam metal flair, it was undeniable: this was what classic rock concerts used to be and what most modern ones were scared to feel like.
Then the moment everyone had known was coming finally arrived. The opening falsetto of “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” sent Emo’s into absolute chaos. The audience didn’t just sing; they shouted. Beer flew, hair whipped, and strangers belted every lyric like a shared anthem. For three euphoric minutes, rock wasn’t just alive, it was unstoppable.
The encore, “I Hate Myself,” landed as a triumph of tongue-in-cheek drama and full-tilt power. It was cathartic, loud, and theatrical; it was everything classic rock had been built to be.
If there had ever been doubts that classic rock had a place in 2025, The Darkness erased them in 90 minutes flat. They brought shredding guitars, falsetto heroics, glitter-drenched showmanship, humour, and heart, without apology and without irony. It wasn’t retro. It wasn’t a throwback. It was the living proof that rock’s most over-the-top era hadn’t died. It just needed a band bold enough to carry the torch.
If The Darkness passed through your city, you wouldn’t have wanted to miss the chance. Fans warmed up their falsetto, embraced the absurdity, and got ready to believe in a thing called rock and roll all over again.
Photos (c) Jordan Maloney
