Last week, we asked readers to share their most ear-splitting gig experiences, prompted by an old Alistair Cooke column about Janis Joplin’s band causing hearing damage in guinea pigs. The response was overwhelming, with memories spanning genres and decades. From bowel-shuddering basslines to guitar sounds like pneumatic drills, these loud concerts left a lasting impression—literally.
Guardian head rock and pop critic Alexis Petridis recalled seeing My Bloody Valentine in the late 80s and at their 2008 comeback gig. At the Roundhouse, earplugs were distributed at the door, but even with them, the volume made clothes move independently of the body. Removing one earplug felt like being slapped across the ear. The band’s mythology of extreme loudness was well earned.
Deputy music editor Laura Snapes described Sunn O))) as the loudest gig she ever walked out of, citing volume without purpose. However, she found transcendent loudness in Rosalía’s recent London O2 show, where the Heritage Orchestra played at jet-landing volume, and in Angine de Poitrine at Leeds’ Brudenell Social Club, likening it to being lashed to Mad Max’s rig.
Other notable mentions include the post-punk band Mission of Burma, who disbanded for nearly two decades due to guitarist Roger Clark Miller’s tinnitus. The era’s minimal soundproofing in venues and lack of ear protection made such hearing damage common. Today, earplugs are more accessible, though the cheap thrill of going unprotected still tempts some concertgoers.
Readers also shared tales of extreme noise terror, with many remembering the physical sensation of sound—clothes shaking, chest vibrating. The consensus: a truly loud gig stays with you, figuratively and literally, often accompanied by a troubling ringing in the ears for days after.
