TISM Are Shit
Saturday 17th October 2026
Written by Tom Wilson
Photographed by: Rashid AlKamraikhi
If You Weren’t Here, Then Whatareya?
This writer has a long history with TISM. (He’ll Never Be An) Ol’ Man River was the first distorted guitar I ever heard as a kid, and I can remember taping it off Triple J and jumping around my room with my mother’s acoustic guitar, headbanging for dear life. That was thirty years ago. TISM straddled an interesting line back in the day, able to raise the roof on shows like Hey Hey It’s Saturday and Recovery without a single swear word, only for you to pick up their CD in a shop and see a song called I May Be A Cunt But I’m Not A Fucking Cunt. So when we saw a band called SHOCK VALUE appear on the bill, our imaginations went wild thinking what kind of surreal, bizarre entertainment was in store … which made it all the funnier when they come out and drop into high-energy pub rock, played with all the sweat and conviction of AMYL & THE SNIFFERS, as frontman George Roberts writhes and twists, looking like a young Barnsey in the throes of a seizure. Their rhythm section is tight as a drum, and by the end of their set, their meat-and-potatoes rock ‘n’ roll has done a brilliant job of warming the crowd up, even if they live up to their name with George’s habit of spitting in his hand and wiping it through his hair. Eeeeeew!
Pictured: SHOCK VALUE
Pictured: SHOCK VALUE
Pictured: SHOCK VALUE
Pictured: SHOCK VALUE
RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE aren’t around, and The Chaser aren’t chasing politicians in chicken suits anymore, so thank god we still have TISM. Their previous Brisbane show at Riverstage was one of the most memorable live music experiences of my life, where we watched amazing paintings created onstage while they played, only for the artists to hurl their work into the pit and watch the mob tear them to shreds. As the lights go down in the Fortitude Music Hall, I know to expect the unexpected, and that’s exactly what happens when a band who is very clearly not TISM walk out onstage wearing dazzling gold sequins and beaming smiles, and drop into Barry Manilow’s Mandy. Looking and sounding like a wedding band from the 1970s, they hit every note, and the crowd is perplexed as they play the whole song and then launch into Feel Like Makin’ Love. What the hell is going on?
Pictured: TISM “Wedding Band”
Pictured: TISM “Wedding Band”
We aren’t left wondering for too long, as several figures emerge looking like bank-robbing disco balls with their sequined balaclavas, and as they take their positions they hijack the band’s performance, with Feel Like Makin’ Love shoved off the PA to make room for I Drive A Truck. The crowd roars as TISM take over, but the “wedding band” don’t go anywhere. They don’t even stop playing, we just can’t hear them anymore, and they strum their guitars and smile along to soft rock as if they can’t even see or hear the intruders. It’s chaotic, surreal, and very on brand, even if their performance tonight isn’t quite as riotous as previous shows (the $18,000 damage bill from their Opera House show is probably still at the front of their minds, but that doesn’t stop them from kicking a few footballs up into the lighting rigs).
Pictured: TISM
Pictured: TISM
Pictured: TISM
Pictured: TISM
Throughout the show, the audio shifts back and forth between the wedding band and TISM, like someone tuning a radio to find a station they like, and soft-rock staples like TOTO’s Africa and THE ZUTON’s Valerie sit alongside TISM staples like All Homeboys Are Dickheads and Greg! The Stop Sign!! People who are far too old to crowd surf do exactly that, and TISM are going hard for a full ninety minutes, all while wearing suits onstage in Queensland. The “wedding band” take it in their stride when the crowd boos them (let’s be honest, that’s what they here for tonight), and there is a great moment towards the end of the night when they are interrupted by TISM’s roadies, leading to a staged confrontation with the guitarist, before TISM’s Whatareya? segues into set closer Give Up For Australia, and we’re sent off into the night sweaty, dazed and satisfied.
TISM are shit. Long live TISM.
Pictured: TISM
Photos by: Rashid AlKamraikhi
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