Concert Review: PALEFACE SWISS, Stick to Your Guns & Nasty Destroy The Orpheum – 3/30/25
There’s something about an outdoor hardcore show that just hits different. No walls to contain the sound, no ceiling to trap the sweat—just pure, unfiltered chaos under the night sky. On March 30th, The Orpheum became a battlefield as Nasty, Stick to Your Guns, and Paleface Swiss brought one of the most relentless shows The Orpheum has seen in a long time.
Nasty Brings the Fight








Pictured: Nasty (Photos by Warped Media)
As soon as Nasty took the stage, the crowd snapped into fight mode. It wasn’t just a pit—it was a full-scale street brawl. The air was thick with dust kicked up by bodies hitting the pavement; fists were flying, and security already looked exhausted. Their energy was unmatched, the kind of set that didn’t just get people moving—it made them want to break things.
Stick to Your Guns Rallies the Chaos









Pictured: Stick to Your Guns (Photos by Warped Media)
By the time Stick to Your Guns hit, the energy in the pit had turned from pure aggression to something more defiant. It was still violent—don’t get that twisted—but the madness had a sense of unity. People were screaming every word, throwing their arms around each other between two-steps, and turning the venue into a chorus of voices. STYG has that rare ability to blend hardcore power with something almost uplifting, and tonight was no exception.
Paleface Swiss Unleashes Hell









Pictured: Paleface Swiss (Photos by Warped Media)
Then, there was Paleface Swiss. If the previous sets felt like a battle, this was the final boss fight. The first note hit, and the entire crowd erupted—crowd killers swinging without a second thought, bodies flying over the barricade, and absolute anarchy from the front row to the back. It was the kind of energy that makes you forget about everything outside of that moment. At one point, even the people standing on the outskirts had to move—there was no safe zone, just destruction.
Final Thoughts: A Night of Carnage
By the end of the night, everyone looked wrecked—bruises forming, shirts ripped, and grins plastered across sweat-drenched faces. This wasn’t just a show; it was a warzone, and nobody left untouched. The Orpheum felt like the perfect setting for a night like this—nothing but raw, unapologetic hardcore under the Florida night sky.
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