The rural hills of Santa Barbara received a much-needed disco disruption in the form of Justice performing at the SB Bowl for their Hyperdrama North American tour. Since their inception with 2007’s Cross, French DJ duo Justice have broken the mold of what electronic music should be, reinventing themselves and the genre each time they release an album. 2024’s Hyperdrama follows in the band’s rich tradition of innovation and boundary-pushing, all while staying cool and lowkey about it. Hyperdrama features appearances from Tame Impala and Miguel, adding dashes of psychedelic rock and R&B to an already expansive sound. Justice, unlike other electronic groups, aren’t committed to simply blending electronic music with rock or industrial or disco, like they were once notorious for with songs like “Stress.” Justice’s M.O. is much bigger—to cover the entire musical landscape through the Justice lens, which amplifies the power, tension, and release of songs while making them headbanging anthems audiences can dance the night away to.
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A Justice show is a communal experience. Every time the duo plays “We Are Your Friends” on loop, audiences grow closer together around the group. And though they might seem rather indifferent, with that French too-cool-for-school swagger, both Gaspard Augé and Xavier de Rosnay signed numerous pieces of merch for people in the audience, taking the time to really give it forward.
When Gaspard and Xavier fired up their cathedral of lights and plugged into whatever ancient sacred energy conductor gives their music that extra jolt of divine chaos, you could feel the vibe shifting in the Bowl. This wasn’t just another concert. This was cultural recalibration. Like a much needed earthquake for the soul.
You gotta understand, the SB Bowl doesn’t usually host acts that remind you of leather jackets, cigarettes, or existential dread. This was a rave for people with guitar damage. Justice showed up with every intent to break the myth that Santa Barbara was too bougie for raw power.
Everyone was absolutely losing their minds. The sound hit your chest like a spiked leather glove sucker punch to the sternum. Justice didn’t ask permission to do this. They just stormed the gates with a stack of bangers and a light show loud enough to turn SB feral.
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Justice has always been driven by higher themes and purpose than other electronic musicians. Just the fact that a cross adorns each album cover tells you something about their artistic motivations and philosophy. Once you delve into the lyrics, you see the underlying spirituality beneath the cool. Songs like “Civilization,” “Genesis,” or “Waters of Nazareth” present listeners with a dramatized version of reality—a battle between heaven and hell for the salvation of the soul. This is in deep contrast to their dance hits like “D.A.N.C.E.,” “DVNO,” or “Audio, Video, Disco,” all staples of a Justice set.
Regardless of which side of the spectrum their music is blasting, the intensity of Justice never quits. The music and performance grab audiences whether they want to be responsive to the duo or not. No one leaves a Justice show disconnected. And this is just as much a result of the infectious beat as it is a result of their light show which transports their disco church to heaven and hell throughout a show, all to amplify a message or a warning.
What makes the band cool, though, is their seamless ability to balance the casual with the spiritual, the extraordinary with the nonchalant. The power of God with the power of music. Through the music of Justice, audiences can get closer to each other but ultimately closer to their higher power through dance and celebration of life. By the end of the sermon, looking back on the long expanse of music and dance, it almost feels like the whole thing was a single song, a single gospel of sound, blending and bending styles but with every note contributing to the same story.
It felt like a prayer for every misfit in the 805. What makes Justice work? Beyond the French mystique and hair product budget, is that they build cathedrals out of sound. Every drop is sacred. Every build-up is a hymn. Every distorted synth line is a sermon. Even when they’re being tongue-in-cheek, they’re not phoning it in. Justice showed up and reminded everyone how to feel again. It also reminded people how to sweat. Thank God.
Santa Barbara was getting dangerously close to becoming a museum. A place where vibes go to die. But for one night, the outsiders, the ravers, the ones who still believe in the redemptive power of a kick drum—they owned this town.
It’s not just about the music either. Justice represents a bigger shift. They’re proof you don’t need to compromise to survive. You can keep your edge and people will still show up. The next morning, the town looked the same. The palm trees still swayed politely. But something had changed. You could feel it. Maybe it was subtle, but it was there. Something had rattled the cage.
Santa Barbarans are rarely treated to parties of this magnitude. And that’s what the concert was—a massive party taking place under a chill, serene Santa Barbara night, disrupted by lasers, haze, and undeniable disco.
Words by: Rob Shepyer
Photos by: Michelle Evans
