I never thought I’d ever get the chance to see The Saints live, especially after the passing of frontman Chris Bailey. When I heard the band was reuniting with a new lineup, I had my doubts.
The Saints are a legendary Australian band whose influence shaped countless others. But seeing their current incarnation on November 5, 2025 at The Teragram Ballroom, featuring original members Ed Kuepper and Ivor Hay, proved that they truly do justice to the old classics.
The lineup was rounded out by Mark Arm (Mudhoney), Mick Harvey (Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds/The Birthday Party), and Peter Oxley (The Sunnyboys). Touring as The Saints ‘73-‘78, they focused on the band’s golden years-and it was everything a fan could hope for. Of course all the obligatory “hits” were played like “I’m Stranded” and “This Perfect Day.” The 90-minute set was perfect.
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Opening the night were The Chimers, an Australian guitar/drum duo who delivered a driving post-punk set that perfectly set the tone for what was to come.
Words and Photos: Albert Licano
The Saints at the Teragram Ballroom weren’t just a nostalgia trip-they were a living, snarling reminder of how punk was born outside the usual mythmaking borders. The crowd that packed into the downtown LA venue didn’t come for a history lesson; they came for combustion. And that’s what they got.
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When Kuepper hit the first slash of guitar, it was like someone dropped a match into a puddle of gasoline from 1976. You could feel the ghosts of Brisbane’s sweltering garages and the spit-and-beer energy of their early gigs burning through the Teragram’s clean sound system. The songs weren’t just performed-they were reclaimed, their urgency still intact.
“This Perfect Day” came early, delivered like a manifesto. Arm didn’t try to mimic Bailey-thankfully. Instead, he inhabited the songs with his own sneering Pacific Northwest rasp, giving them a fresh coat of grime. Hearing that voice-so tied to grunge and Sub Pop-rip through The Saints’ catalog felt like a generational handshake between two eras of underground music.
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Kuepper, stoic and sharp as ever, handled his guitar like a weapon of precision. His playing reminded everyone that The Saints were never just thrash-and-bash punks; their sound always had swing and melody under the chaos. And Ivor Hay-one of punk’s most underrated drummers-still plays with that off-kilter groove that gave The Saints their strange, danceable violence.
Mick Harvey brought a sly, sinister energy to the mix-more like a dark conductor than a sideman-while Peter Oxley held down the low end with cool assurance. The chemistry between these veterans made the show feel less like a tribute and more like a spiritual succession. This was punk played by grown-ups who never forgot how to sound dangerous.
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To understand why this show mattered, you’ve got to rewind half a century. Before London, before CBGB became shorthand for rebellion, there were three misfits sweating it out in Brisbane: Chris Bailey, Ed Kuepper, and Ivor Hay. They formed The Saints in 1973, calling themselves Kid Galahad & The Eternals at first, and by the time they released “(I’m) Stranded” in 1976, they had already invented the future.
Their debut single landed like a meteor in the middle of conservative Australia-a raw, snarling statement that rivaled anything from The Ramones or The Damned. The British press called it “the single that launched punk,” and for once, the hype was justified. The Saints didn’t just predate the scene-they outpaced it.
But unlike the UK bands who became fashion icons, The Saints were too weird, too un-marketable, too Australian. Bailey’s sarcastic drawl, Kuepper’s jagged melodies, and their refusal to conform made them cult heroes rather than chart stars. Over time, they drifted toward soul, pop, and atmospheric experimentation, confusing purists but building a body of work that still sounds vital today.
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Bailey carried the name forward for decades, his baritone aging like good whiskey-deeper, darker, more romantic. When he died in 2022, it felt like a final curtain for The Saints. But Kuepper and Hay’s decision to reunite under the ‘73-‘78 banner gave fans one last chance to celebrate what they built together.
At the Teragram, the past and present collided beautifully. Between songs, Kuepper would give a half-smile, a knowing nod, and count in the next blast from the vault. “No Time” ripped like a train through the crowd. “Erotic Neurotic” was pure chaos. “Messin’ With the Kid” had a loose, swaggering energy that made it feel like a bar fight set to music.
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The crowd was a mix of grizzled lifers and younger punks who discovered “I’m Stranded” through playlists and Reddit rabbit holes. But in the pit, the generations blurred. People shouted lyrics, fists raised, sweating under the Teragram lights.
By the encore, when those opening chords of “(I’m) Stranded” hit, it was a full-body experience. That riff still sounds like escape, like possibility. It’s the sound of punk before it was a product.
When the last note rang out, Kuepper looked up and said, “Thanks, Chris.” The room went quiet, then erupted in cheers-a fitting send-off for the voice that started it all.
The Saints at the Teragram Ballroom weren’t resurrecting the past-they were proving it never died. What began in Brisbane fifty years ago still burns bright in Los Angeles, in every kid who picks up a guitar and plays too loud, too fast, and too honest.
Some bands influence scenes. The Saints built one without even knowing it.
And for one night in LA, we got to live inside their legend.
