Hailing from Athens, Greece, Youth Crusher is a mixture of blistering hardcore punk with powerviolence influences and an uncompromising antifascist message. In February 2025, the quartet crossed the Pacific for some unforgettable shows in Japan. We asked them to share some of their experiences.
The tour we had been looking to organize since 2019 finally came to life in 2025. For us, Japan was far more than just a tour stop. This country represented a lifelong, almost mythical dream. From a young age, we experienced it through films, anime, documentaries, and the incomparable energy of its legendary punk scene. It was a country that had always felt distant and unreachable, yet it remained deeply ingrained in our imagination. We would often say, “One day, we want to go there to truly live it, to experience firsthand the punk spirit we saw in the videos that shaped us.”
The day finally arrived, and what we experienced surpassed all our expectations. Despite a few minor challenges, we made it to Japan and had an unforgettable experience.
The Japanese punk and hardcore scene is one of the most intense and disciplined in the world. At the same time, it has a wild, genuine authenticity that sets it apart. Since the late ’70s, bands like The Stalin, Mirrors, INU, and Friction laid the foundation. Then came the explosive rise of Japanese hardcore in the ’80s, with bands like GISM, Gauze, Death Side, Bastard, Contrast Attitude, Crude, and so many others creating a sound and aesthetic that was entirely their own. Japan didn’t copy anyone. It created something new.
What stands out most isn’t just how a band sounds like. It’s the complete dedication. The DIY mindset is alive in everything they do. Bands play like it’s the last show they’ll ever play. Every performance feels like a ritual. Fanzines, posters, venues, distros… everything is carefully built by people who love what they do. There’s also a specific aesthetic: leather, spikes, black-and-white record covers, handmade patches, chaotic artwork. But above all, an obsession with the noise.
It doesn’t matter whether it’s ear-shredding crust, total-destructive noisecore, desperate three-chord punk full of political rage and urgency, or hardcore that punches you in the gut. Style comes second. What matters is attitude. And beneath all that noise and chaos, there’s respect. There’s belief. Belief that what you’re doing means something. Punk bands aren’t chasing exposure, they’re searching for connection.
And if you’re real, they know it instantly. No one’s expecting perfect sound, flawless notes, or polished professionalism. They want intensity, pain, and a poured-out soul. If you can’t give that, just don’t get on the stage. The Japanese scene isn’t easy. It demands a lot. But if you offer something genuine, it gives back tenfold. That’s what inspires us.
We didn’t go to Japan just to perform. We went there to connect with punks, to truly live the experience. The Japanese scene expects a lot, but if what you offer is genuine, they’ll feel it and give it right back to you. We weren’t there just to play a gig. We went to get closer to the core. To feel punk the way they live it. To connect with people, however that might unfold.
We arrived in Tokyo on February 20, 2025, and returned to Athens on March 3. During those few but full days, we had experiences that left a lasting impact on us. We walked as much as we could, trying to feel the pulse of the city, to discover its neighborhoods, and to witness its landmarks with our own eyes. We played four shows: in Osaka, Gifu, and twice in Tokyo.
But it wasn’t only about the shows. It was also about everything else: the train rides, the homes that welcomed us, the tiny food joints serving noodles, baozi, katsudon. The lights, the smells, the people we met. From the madness of Tokyo to the calm of the countryside, we experienced Japan in its rawest and most authentic form. The daily rituals, the richness of street food, the rhythm of the cities. Everything left a deep impression. Even the train stations function like beating hearts. When they say “center,” they mean it in every sense of the word.
Kohei was the person behind the organization of our entire tour. He had spent several years living in Washington, DC, where he was actively involved in the American hardcore punk scene. Through that journey, he built meaningful connections and a deep understanding of DIY culture, which made him the perfect person to support us. Several of our friends who had toured Japan with their bands (mostly American bands) strongly recommended him when we first began looking for someone to help us organize our Japan tour. And truly, we couldn’t have asked for better guidance. He stood by us from start to finish. He was methodical, precise, and always available. The streets and train stations of the city can feel chaotic, and very few people speak English. Without him, none of this would have been possible.
In Japan, touring with a van and full backline is a luxury reserved for big bands or those with the means to invest serious money. For DIY bands, the norm is traveling by train or bus—and we chose that path. Renting a van, especially with a driver, is extremely expensive. On top of that, driving in Japan takes place on the left side of the road, which adds another challenge for visitors.
After two days in Tokyo, we headed for Osaka. The trip was made on the Shinkansen, Japan’s famous high-speed bullet train. A full experience in itself: speed, views, comfort.
Everything it’s not in Greece.
Osaka
Osaka felt different right away. Rougher, more immediate. It reminded us of our past tours in the US, with that same familiar energy we’ve always connected with. A city much more aligned with our own pace and tastes. From the first walk through its streets, we knew it would leave a lasting impression.
We kicked things off by exploring the local food and drink. Gin, whiskey, and of course, sake. We found ourselves in tiny bars that could barely hold eight people, stocked wall-to-wall with Japanese and international whiskeys. It felt almost cinematic, like stepping into a scene from a film.
We keep talking about food, but it’s no coincidence. Japan is filled with tiny eateries that tempt you with their aromas. Every alley carries its own flavor. And of course, you can’t resist, even if you’re not hungry.
We also stopped by Punk and Destroyed, a well-known record store in the city. We found it underground, in a block full of similar tiny bars around it. At the entrance, a sign read “Only Members,” which added an extra sense of exclusivity and underground identity. A small but powerful experience.
The next day was time for our first live show in Japan. The venue was hidden in the backstreets, small but full of character and history. It was called Nippombashi R/H/B, an underground spot with a capacity of barely 60–70 people. As soon as we stepped in, we felt like we were transported to a ‘90s punk setting: a closed space that smelled like a warehouse, filled with feedback and a genuine immediacy with the audience that’s hard to describe. This is our scene. This is where we feel ourselves.
We met the bands we were sharing the stage with that night, and the guys were genuinely great. All pure energy, no pretenses. They were amazed that we had traveled so far to play four gigs in Japan. They told us it’s rare to see DIY bands from Greece, which gave even more weight to our presence there.
The show started. You could feel the audience right next to you, breathing with you. There was no distance, no filters. You experience the music and the live performance in its purest form. The energy there was raw, real, and unpretentious. Nothing staged, nothing unnecessary. This is how the journey begins. Our first live in Japan became a reality. The crowd reacted powerfully, intensely, but also with a special kind of respect.
After the gig, the bands who organized the show for us and some people from the audience invited us to a traditional izakaya, a type of Japanese bar-restaurant. There, through food and conversation, the real connection was made. They explained to us that there is an informal custom: when they host a band, they take them out for a meal after every live. It’s their way of showing hospitality.
Later, we ended up at a place that looked like a DIY bar inside someone’s house. We never figured out exactly what it was. That’s where we stayed for the night—sleeping late, trading stories and listening to records. GISM, Gauze, Bastard. And then, by request, we played some of the Greek bands we grew up on—Naftia (Ναυτία), Hibernation (Χειμερία Νάρκη), and more.
And then came the part every touring band knows: sleeping on the floor. No beds, just as often happens in Japanese homes and on many tours. If you don’t sleep on the floor, it doesn’t really feel like you’re on tour.
Gifu
Gifu turned out to be one of the most unexpected and meaningful stops of the tour. It’s a smaller city in central Japan, tucked between Tokyo and Kyoto, known for its calm, traditional atmosphere, the historic Gifu Castle, and beautiful natural surroundings. From the moment we arrived, we were welcomed with real warmth.
The show was made possible thanks to the help of Karasu Killer, who handled everything with care. The venue was King Biscuit, a small underground bar that’s considered a landmark in the local scene. Bands from Japan, Europe, and the US have all played there over the years. It’s a place with history and significance.
Inside, the setting was simple. The stage looked more improvised than permanent. The lighting was low. Posters from past shows covered the walls, like a living archive of punk memories. The crowd was right there with us, close enough to touch. The feeling in the room, charged but welcoming, was a reminder of what it means to be part of something bigger than yourself, something global but deeply local at the same time.
One of the bands we played with that night completely caught us off guard. They played a kind of powerviolence that wasn’t built around structured songs. Instead, they created short, explosive moments live on stage. It’s noise and rhythm colliding without a plan. It felt spontaneous, a kind of musical outburst, and it left a big impression.
The following day was a much-needed break. We were getting ready to head back to Tokyo for the last two shows of the tour, but before we left, our friend Satoshi—guitarist of the old band Muga, who had visited Greece some years ago—took us on a drive around the area. The highlight of that afternoon was visiting Gifu Castle. Built high on a hill, it offered incredible views over the city and the Nagara River. Quiet, high up, and completely different from everything else we had seen so far.
We finished the day with dinner at a traditional local restaurant. The kind of place you wouldn’t find on your own. The kind of food you might only eat once in your life, in that exact moment.
Leaving Gifu felt like closing a chapter. But at the same time, it felt like something new had started. We want to build a sense of continuity, that friendships and ideas are being passed along. As we boarded the Shinkansen back to Tokyo, that feeling stayed with us. The journey itself, even on the train, had become part of the story.
Tokyo: First Gig
Our first live show in the heart of metropolitan Tokyo took place at Nishio-Gikubo Flat. This is a small studio hidden in the narrow streets where the pulse of the city intersects with the most authentic version of the underground. A tiny space where bands rehearse with stacked amps, cables everywhere, no stage. We were all on the same level there. We played our first gig alongside Kohei’s second band, Umbro.
During those days, while we were on the other side of the world, back in Greece the streets were filled with tens of thousands of people protesting the murder of 57 innocent lives lost two years ago in the Tempi train crash. It was one of the largest and most emotionally charged demonstrations in modern Greek history. People didn’t just come out to mourn. They came out to shout, condemn, and demand justice. Because what happened was not an “accident.” It was a state murder, a product of privatization, corruption, and cover-ups by a government operating with fascist logic, abolishing any notion of justice and responsibility.
Before starting our set, we wanted to speak about this. We hung a makeshift banner that read:
“We can’t breathe Tempi 28/2 Murdered by the state.”
And we tried to explain, even with just a few words, what was happening in our country on that dark night. Some might have thought the language barrier would create distance. But the opposite happened. The audience’s response was touching and deeply genuine.
The Japanese punk scene is deeply politicized. Many of the attendees actively participate in protests, solidarity actions, support the Palestinian people, and fight against fascism. Through this shared experience, something more than a concert was born. A dialogue was born. A network of understanding and solidarity. Because pain knows no borders, nor does rage.
What we take away from that amazing night with great bands and great music was not only the voices, the hits, the sweat, and the pogo. It was that, for a brief moment, we all became one.
One body, one breath, one cry against a murderous state like the Greek one. As long as we live in a world full of violence and inequality, we will continue to play music, to shout, to fight, and to stand beside the weak and the oppressed.
Tokyo: Second Gig
After two days without shows, a necessary break following the intensity of our first live, we found ourselves wandering the endless streets of Tokyo once again. Lost among skyscrapers, small bars, street food stalls, trembling voices in karaoke, and tiny shrines quietly emerging in corners of the chaotic city, we tried to soak in the atmosphere.
Tokyo cannot be conquered. The only thing you can do is get lost inside it and let it reveal to you whatever it wants.
Then came the time for our second live in the city. Again in a studio, this time in the Umegaoka area, at Rinky Dink Studio (梅ヶ丘). One peculiarity we learned firsthand: when a band tours Japan, they almost always play two gigs in different areas of Tokyo. Not for the sake of “variety,” but because Tokyo is a huge city. Each neighborhood is a different audience, a unique scene, a new dynamic. This makes the experience even more exciting.
And so, with our second gig in Tokyo, the Japanese tour came to an end. A series of lives, journeys, meetings, and moments, all really intense, was completed. Japan was not just a stopover. It was a lesson.
From the small underground bars and studios of Tokyo to the voices and conversations after the shows, we realized that nothing is superficial. And if you have something real to say, people will listen, even if you don’t speak the same language.
We left tired but full and satisfied with moments and experiences. With faces, images that we already carry as our own.
Punk unites. It creates bonds.
We will return. And next time, we will be even stronger.
Find Youth Crusher on Bandcamp, Facebook and Instagram. Their self-titled LP containing the band’s both demos is available from Nothing to Harvest Records.
