Toys That Kill, Adult Magic, Faulty Cognitions
Ortlieb’s
847 N 3rd St.
Philadelphia
June 19, 2026
The long-running punk band Toys That Kill headlined a three-band bill last night at Ortlieb’s, and thank goodness: back with their first album in ten years, the group never really went away or took any kind of formal break, but I imagine it’s been a while since the San Pedro outfit made their way to Philly. It was the first time I’ve seen them here, anyway, and while their older records have remained in rotation for me, especially the 2001 classic-slash-perfect-entry-point The Citizen Abortion, I gotta confess I wasn’t clear on their status as an ongoing concern. And what a happy surprise to know they’re still going and having fun; I think this was my first time seeing them in over twenty years, and they’ve never sounded better.
But first: the openers. Going primarily for TTK, I didn’t bother checking out Faulty Cognitions or Adult Magic beforehand just to go in with fresh ears and get taken by surprise, and both bands are gonna get the deep-dive-on-long-enough-drives treatment soon; the three bands are all on tour together and I see why — they have very fitting and complimentary takes on tuneful mic-swallowing punk. Faulty Cognitions, based in San Antonio, kicked things off with a high-octane – and loud as fuck – set of mid-tempo, melodic, guttural punk, their singer reminding me of The Arrivals (spotted an Arrivals shirt in the crowd, solidifying that I’d found myself in the right place for the kind of boozy, bluesy punk rock ‘n roll I like). All unison-bend double-string guitar solos and thundering bass, rolling kick and steering-wheel-gripping drums, an excellent brand of whoa-oh and ba-ba-da-da-da-spouting punk with the kind of effortless-seeming songwriting chops that make checking out the records a requisite. They kept the songs coming like a barrage and the banter to a minimum: “It’s exciting and cool to be playing with these bands,” singer/guitarist Chris Mason allowed, barely giving someone in the crowd the chance to yell “YOU’RE FUCKING COOL!” before launching into the next one.
The next band – and the second of the night to feature a bassist with a Jawbreaker tattoo on his left arm – was Long Island’s Adult Magic, with a set mostly made up of songs on a still-forthcoming album, Are You Even Happy Now?, that’ll be required listening if it’s anywhere near as strong as they sounded live. The punk vets – featuring Iron Chic, Broadcaster, Crow Bait, Sister Kisser and more – scratched that same itch, with an eight-song set they barreled through with muscle and sinew: triplet strums on a black humbucker-powered, Blues-Driver’d-up Telecaster (it was a Teles-with-humbuckers kind of night all around, blessedly), the crash cymbal stand teetering on the brink of toppling during big, chunky, climactic hits, the guitarist lunge-and-lean strumming on big octave chords while the rhythm section followed in lockstep. All three players – drums, bass and guitar – sang, with a touch of Grant Hart in the drummer and the bassist’s low and gravelly in a way that would do Frankie Stubbs proud. I thought of Leatherface’s most euphoric, touchingly-gorgeous waves of pounding drums and rippling distortion – their last song, “Achin’,” with its chorus lodging itself right away into my skull, left me with a lip-sucking smile on my face, earplugs out to let the song hurt a little, sweating in the throng of the crowd.
After a delayed start (something was wrong with the bass) and my second Guinness and “The Guns of Brixton” playing over the PA, and an impromptu Todd Congelliere performance of “I Was Made For Loving You” that they kind of made ska, Toys That Kill finally launched into their perfect, edifying, loud, mic-swallowing, strutting punk rock ‘n roll. Considering how the drums are mixed on The Citizen Abortion, I was barely prepared for the thrill ride of seeing and hearing this band live and up close: Congelliere’s AMPEG amp riding the edge of feedback, Jimmy Felix’s galloping beats and crisp ride and hi-hats work, the whole band’s incredible tight energy getting the front of the crowd worked up, jumping around and singing along, beaming. This band’s howling, hooky punk is just as potent as ever, and they’ve always had a leg up on bands of their ilk with their wordplay and biting turns of phrase; I was hooked from the get-go 'til they closed with the classic “Little Bit Stranger,” the words coming back to me with ease. They left us, sweat dripping, with a quick, curly-grinned epistle: “Thank you for coming out, we like you guys and girls.”
