Panic Shack in Hamburg
Panic Shack Tear Up Hamburg’s Iconic Molotow
OLD MAN GIGGING
A last-minute Friday night gig, a masked duo, a shady alleyway… and one of the best punk sets we’ve seen this year.
I’m standing in a small iconic venue in a lively part of Hamburg. It’s filling up and it’s mostly Germans. A sell-out crowd here in the Molotow Club, all waiting to see a female punk band from Cardiff blow the roof off the place. And my lad has the same conclusion I had the first time we saw Panic Shack at Focus Wales: “I really enjoyed that.” Praise indeed from a teenager. And so did I.
Visiting Hamburg to see The Royston Club left us with a free Friday night, so a quick Google search revealed the Welsh girls were in town — the perfect way to fill the gap that the rescheduled football match had left in our plans. (Nice to know German Sky can move games around to your detriment just as easily as back home.) Tickets bought, we used our now-honed skills navigating the underground and made our way to the venue, stopping at a sports bar first to catch up on the football.
There’s a dark alleyway leading down to the entrance of Molotow, and stepping inside feels like going back in time. A dark, low-lit room, a small stage, booths tucked around the edges, and a bar in the middle — I was getting Auf Wiedersehen, Pet flashbacks. We were definitely in the shadier end of Hamburg, and I could easily imagine Neville stumbling into this bar before a stripper appeared.
A stripper didn’t appear, however. Two men in white masks did.
One on drums. One on guitar. No introduction. No explanation. This could go either way.
Before Panic Shack tore up Molotow, the night kicked off with Wasting Pigs — a surreal, high-energy duo of two masked Americans armed with nothing but a guitar, a drum kit, and a heap of chaotic charisma. Dressed in stark white masks, they crashed through a set that felt part punk, part Southern-gothic fever dream, and completely unexpected.
Loud, weird, funny, totally unhinged — and a brilliant curveball of an opener before Panic Shack hit the stage.
A quick set change, and then Cardiff’s own Panic Shack, one of the most exciting live bands to burst out of the UK DIY scene in recent years. Formed in 2018, they’ve grafted their way up with sweaty gigs, sharp humour, and a catalogue of gloriously spiky punk bangers delivered with attitude and a wink.
(Though I did, however, decide against buying one of the printed thongs on the merch stand.)
Their songs are fast, funny, and ferociously honest — covering everything from modern nonsense and everyday frustrations to the joys and disasters of being alive. Musically they sit somewhere between pogo-friendly punk, scrappy indie, and those shout-along choruses you can join in with even if you’ve never heard the track before.
On stage, Panic Shack are pure energy. Choreographed chaos, shout-along hooks, and a crowd fully on their side within twenty seconds. They’re the kind of band we go to gigs for — sweaty, joyful, a bit unhinged, and absolutely determined to make sure everyone has a good time.
We first saw them at Focus Wales and loved their set — they attacked the stage with gusto and had the whole room eating out of their hands. That performance nailed it for us. And looking ahead, they’ll be supporting Super Furry Animals in Llangollen next summer — a huge step up, and one we’re already looking forward to.
Molotow: A Venue With Serious Pedigree
Even the posters on the wall by the dodgy toilets tell the story. Molotow has a habit of booking tomorrow’s headliners long before they reach the big leagues.
Everyone from Sam Fender and Fontaines D.C. to Idles, The Killers, and The White Stripes has torn through these rooms on the way up. It’s that kind of venue — sweaty, narrow, loud, and forever one step ahead of the curve.
A free night in Hamburg turned into a great gig.
Panic Shack owned the room.
Wasting Pigs weirded it out beautifully.
And Molotow proved exactly why legendary small venues matter.
Follow us for more. A double Royston Club out soon.
Another cracking chapter in the Old Man Gigging diary.