Pennywise and Circle Jerks
Fillmore Auditorium
May 8, 2026
Photos by Dragonfly de la Luz
Pennywise and Circle Jerks, supported by H2O and DFL, played the legendary Fillmore on Friday, May 8. The Fillmore isn’t one of those spaces where punk history just hangs on the walls; it leaks into the floorboards and literally sticks to your shoes, as I can personally attest. You could feel it before anyone even plugged in that the entire crowd was about to lose their voices.
Underneath the speed and aggression, Pennywise is known for their explicitly positive attitude. This is radical for hardcore, and it turned the whole set into something closer to release than rage. When they took the stage, the crowd went full-volume singalong. Everyone in this all-ages space, from the kids sitting on their parents’ shoulders up front to the lifers in the back, became one voice, as if everyone knew every word.
The Fillmore crowd leaned into the positive energy hard. People weren’t just moshing with smiles on their faces, the pit seemed legit joyous. Crowd surfing shifted from occasional with the opening bands to virtually nonstop. And part of that is due to the venue itself. Even though the same lineup was playing Berkeley the day after and Sacramento the day after that, people from the East Bay took the BART over while others drove all the way from Sacramento just for the Fillmore experience. That says a lot about what this venue still represents — not just a stop on a tour, but a kind of sacred pilgrimage destination. The Fillmore just hits differently, and we all knew it.
Despite the fact that the pit was exceptionally friendly and rather uniquely San Francisco, there was one moment where it all snapped sideways. Mid-set, front row energy boiled over into a scuffle, directly beside me. Security jumped over the rail to break it up, the music cut, and two guys got hauled out, including the one who throughout the night seemed to be taking Circle Jerks’ “Wasted” a little too literally. It broke the spell for a minute, but when the music resumed, it came back even louder, the crowd even rowdier, combat boots and mohawks surfing their way to the stage only to run back in and do it again.
The band ripped through hits like “Same Old Story,” “Fuck Authority,” and “Alien,” ending the night with a raucous rendition of their legendary anthem, “Bro Hymn,” the crowd singing along to every word.
But if Pennywise was pure ignition, it was Circle Jerks who lit the fuse. Keith Morris came out like a guy who never left the original blast radius of early LA hardcore, because in a way, of course, he didn’t. As Black Flag’s former frontman and co-founder of Circle Jerks with Greg Hetson, he delivered the same sarcastic, wide-eyed chaos from the late ‘70s scene like it never cooled down.
“Deny Everything” opened the set, “Coup D’État” and “World Up My Ass” were among the crowd favorites, and “Don’t Care” hit like a slogan screamed back at the room, no filter, no irony missing its target.
“Wasted” was exactly what it’s always been in that catalog: fast, sloppy, instant crowd fuel. And all too true for the guy beside me who kept passing out on my shoulder before eventually getting ejected for fighting. Short bursts of songs like “Wild in the Streets” and “Question Authority” tore through the night at breakneck speed, just the way we like it.
And Keith Morris did that very Keith Morris thing where he just kind of talks to the room like he’s part narrator, part chaos emcee, part guy yelling from the back of a bar. At one point he casually mentioned that he collects Social Security now and how he’s honestly thrilled about it because it pays the rent.
But his comment about the band being in their 60s and 70s truly seemed apropos of nothing: These guys rocked like they did in their 20s. They survived everything they were never supposed to and are still here playing at full volume. After all, this entire genre was created by people who were never meant to fit neatly into adulthood, so when Keith Morris, at 70, is yelling the lyrics to “Live Fast, Die Young” into the mic, it somehow still seems like a plausible plan.
Keith’s between-song banter almost got in the way of them completing their setlist. But then again, these are punk songs. “We’ve only got five minutes left? Let’s see… yeah, we can play nine songs in five minutes!” he said before Greg Hetson blasted through the last of their set. The mosh pit really came alive when they closed with Black Flag’s “Nervous Breakdown,” with crowd surfing ticking up a few notches and whipping the crowd into a frenzy in advance of the headliner.
H2O played second, with a sound that is NYC melodic hardcore through and through. These are punk rock lifers, and their tight playing proved it. H2O is one of those punk bands that feels aggressive but still somehow communal — like you’re getting yelled at and wrapped in a bear hug at the same time. This was brought into sharp focus with lyrics about the punk community being family and the singer expressing gratitude for everything he could think of between songs. It was heartwarming; adorable, really. And it elevated the energy in a way that felt electric, properly warming up the crowd for Circle Jerks to take the stage.
DFL (Dead Fucking Last) went on dead fucking first, paving the way for a sweaty night of crowd-surfing, drink spilling, and full volume singalongs. DFL, a loose, skate-punk offshoot with ties to the Suicidal Tendencies orbit, has always been more chaos than polish. It’s fast, fun, and a little ridiculous in the best way — hardcore with a cheeky grin. Loud and slightly unhinged, they were the perfect way to wake up the crowd.
By the end of the night, it wasn’t really about individual bands anymore. It was just this shared experience that happened in a historic room — messy, unpredictable, a little dangerous in spots, but fully alive. It was the kind of night that leaves sweat on the floor, beer in your boots, spit on your face from strangers screaming lyrics in your face like old friends, and generations colliding in a room that still feels sacred after all these years. For a few sublime hours, chaos was community, led by bands who’ve spent decades proving this music only gets louder with age.
