By Hallie Gay
Following a series of neon signs down a third floor of stairs, I understand the meaning behind the name “Underground Atlanta.” Upon entering the Heaven stage at the Masquerade, the smoke machine onstage and cool temperature of the room adds to the mysterious, cave-like setting.
Tonight, March 7th, 2026, I’m here to see Nothing, a band hailing from Philadelphia, PA. They have brought along three supporting acts, Violent Magic Orchestra, Cryogeyser, and Full Body 2, all of which I am entirely unfamiliar with and looking forward to hearing live.
The pre-show playlist is diverse and unpredictable. One minute, a distorted guitar booms over the speakers before fading out to transition into clean guitar and folk vocals.
I’m still relatively early; there’s 30 minutes to go until the first opener, Violent Magic Orchestra. The room has begun to fill with concertgoers in almost entirely black outfits. I realize this must be what Hot Topic looked like to my mom when I was 12. The cast of characters congregating by the stage is diverse in age. Gen Z friend groups grab drinks and merch alongside men with graying hair and cargo shorts.
I meet a fan named Spencer, who, based on our conversation, I assume to be in his mid-twenties. He gives me his extra pair of earplugs and asks if this is my usual show, but with three openers and a headliner I’m only slightly familiar with, I’m not entirely sure what type of show I should be prepared for.
Spencer says this is not his first Nothing concert. I ask what stands out to him about this particular group, and we talk about their eclectic sound that blends shoegaze tonality with a punk rock edge. He describes their sound as, “a blending of soft and loud,” which I believe is a perfect descriptor.
At 8:00 PM, the lights dim. Our attention is drawn to an illegible, interweaving logo on the screen in front of us, which strikes me as reminiscent of a typical black metal band. However, the performance that follows is anything but typical.
Violent Magic Orchestra, a group from Osaka, Japan, is exactly what the name entails. The vocals are guttural, combining intense growls with piercing screams, and they blend seamlessly into the intense electronic production. It’s sometimes difficult to decipher where effects end and vocals begin, creating an overwhelming and cosmic sound. I’m suddenly very thankful for Spencer’s earplugs. The footage on the screen changes with every song, depicting visuals of abstract creatures and figures that I can only describe as Lovecraftian for the digital age. For a moment, I forget that I’m at a concert venue in Atlanta until a man weaves in front of me to reach his friends. At the center of the floor, a circle pit forms, and a small group of people thrash violently to the harsh vocals, while those of us who are less brave step away to make room.
The next band is Cryogeyser, and by this point, the room has filled up even more. In some ways, Cryogeyser is the antithesis of VMO—grungy and grounded rather than cosmically abstract. Their indie sound is elevated by shoegaze-esque effects and ethereal vocals from the lead singer.
For the third and final opening act, Full Body 2, the chaotic circle pit of VMO has transformed into a congregation of heads and hands slamming up and down to the beat of the music. Their instrumentation is bass-heavy and thunderous with occasional electronic elements. The two vocalists stand at opposite sides of the stage, and yet, their voices coexist in a singular, unified sound.
At 10:45 PM, the five members of Nothing take the stage. The backdrop is simple, consisting of eight amplifiers and no visuals on the screen that had previously displayed the names of the openers. The comment about “soft and loud” rings true. The interludes between songs are dreamy and atmospheric, sometimes including prerecorded spoken-word elements, before transitioning into the roaring guitar of the next song.
It’s during this set that I notice the lack of modern technology in the room. From the eastern wall of the venue, scanning the sea of concertgoers, I can only identify one or two smartphones recording the show at any point. Towards the front of the crowd, two people record with digital cameras that might have been considered cutting-edge in 2007. At the set’s midpoint, during a particularly long interlude, a light in the crowd catches my attention. I look over, expecting to see an iPhone flashlight, but I am instead met with the flame of a metal flip-top lighter.
The energy of the band is contagious, and the lead guitarist and bassist are constantly alternating between the back and front of the stage. They’re sometimes playing to the crowd, sometimes playing to the drummer, and occasionally playing into the amps behind them, adding to the aggressive overdrive of the sound. In moments like these, I don’t see the transactional performance of a concert. Instead, this is a jam session between creatives that I’ve been lucky enough to observe.
No one in the band speaks more than a few words until the end of the show, right before playing the final song of the night. The vocalist recalls the opening acts, each of which is met with a room of applause. He also asks if the audience enjoyed the new record, A Short History of Decay, to which there is even more applause.
They introduce the final song, “never come never morning,” and invite the audience to sing along if they know the words. I make my way to the back of the venue to get a full view of both the crowd and the band. Some people quietly mouth along to the words, and some closer to the front sing loudly with the vocalist.
When the song is over, the guitars and bass fade out, and the members begin to leave the stage, tossing picks into the crowd as they go. There is no flashiness and no self-importance.
Despite their significant listener base, Nothing maintains the essence of live music. Their energy is both authentic and contagious, and they put on a show that demands your full attention.
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