Thystopia: Nothing Special

When I arrived at the Powerhouse around 10 p.m. for the Thystopia show this past Saturday, the venue was already packed. Though there was really no room to maneuver, I obstinately made my way to the front row, as close to the band as I could be. In order to occupy the coveted front row at a Thystopia show, you need to be prepared to fight for it. Armed with platform boots, winged eyeliner, my friends and my newfound weightlifting routine, I prepared for war. 

These performances are high-energy. A variety of musical genres may be featured at any given Thystopia show, but the band has a tendency to add a kind of punk-rock weight to its performances that lends itself to headbanging. They started out with Paramore’s “Ain’t it Fun,” followed by Big Thief’s “Masterpiece.” Bolstered by Adrienne Lenker’s particular combination of tenderness and throaty angst, the crowd’s energy intensified. 

More people were arriving, and I found myself being 

packed ever tighter in the crush surrounding Thystopia’s members. Personal space was no longer an option: I was shoulder to shoulder with my neighbors, swaying as they swayed. When the band moved onto “Gotta Get Over Greta,” my friend Olivia Markarian ‘26, a big fan of the song, requested to swap places with me. This swap was a delicate maneuver that involved the protective positioning of elbows and an averted gaze as I tried to make room for them while preventing others from sniping my spot up front, one that was repeated when the song ended and she relinquished her position to me. 

The intensity of the music infected the audience with a need to headbang, shouting and bracing against each other as the growing throng threatened to catapult us forward into the performers. I was thankful for my rugby experience as I shamelessly leaned my weight against the people striving to claim my place. 

The room was hot, people were sweaty, shouting, and the band played on tirelessly, rewarding us with protracted, improvisational drum and guitar solos, egged on by our cheers. A lucky few audience members had perched atop a ledge, gazing serenely down at all of us stuck jostling each other in the crowd. By the time the band started on “Teenage Dirtbag,” towards the end, I had practically transcended on a wave of adrenaline. An audience member was invited to sing a song: another perk of residency in the front row. 

I asked a bandmember, Noah Donnellan-Doser ’26, how they landed on the name Thystopia. The name’s pitch went as follows: “We wanted to be THIStopia, not THATtopia.” And they certainly are.