Only this time, it was against the law.
The story goes some urban explorers had found an unlocked access point into the iconic Dunedin entertainment venue, closed since 2017, a few months earlier.
Local bands Hot Sauce Club, Sunflower Scent and The Beatniks took to the same stage once used by their predecessors, The Clean and The Verlaines — The Beatniks even covering The Clean’s Anything Could Happen.
Fraser Thompson was there that night and says he captured "the most impressive act of vigilante problem-solving I’ve ever seen".
"The most surprising part was how wild it wasn’t," Thompson says.
"For an illegal gig in an abandoned building, everything was very calm and well organised."
Photos and videos of the illicit Sammy’s gig — the faces of the crowd blurred — can be found on Thompson’s website dunedinsound.com, described as a permanent and non-commercial media archive for gigs happening in Dunedin.
The wider kaupapa, Thompson says, is "to document as much of the music scene as I can over time".
And that he has done, having documented nearly 450 gigs since the website was launched in 2014.
"According to the shutter counts on my cameras, I’ve taken 126,538 photos in total."
The original idea was to record just the audio of live performances using a "stealthy recording rig" in the tradition of tape bootleggers from the 1970-90s.
"I built these microphones that go on my ears so I can record, and I built a little box that means they can withstand really high volumes.
"I go to the gigs and I record the full sets of everyone who plays with audio."
He began taking photos and videos once he acquired a decent camera, recording audio separately and syncing it with the visuals to achieve a higher quality.
Thompson, who has a background in web development, built this "little home" online in the hopes the material could be accessed forever.
As well as the one-off Sammy’s gig, Thompson has documented events including Shayne P. Carter’s recent South Island tour, the opening of worker-owned Moray Pl cafe Yours Ōtepoti (which involved a street procession complete with brass instruments and an accordion) and even a gospel choir performance at the Dunedin Public Art Gallery.
The entries are catalogued by gig, artist and venue.
"But now, I guess you could see it as like reclaiming the term, or whatever, but I don’t really take it that seriously.
"I don’t want to be disparaging or anything, but [the Dunedin Sound] is sort of a bygone era."
Every now and then, people declared something as "the new Dunedin Sound", sometimes the title being bestowed by the media.
It had happened many times over the past decade.
"It’s kind of just a marketing buzzword, and it has international recognition.
"I’ve heard that artists who go overseas, when they mention they’re from Dunedin, people are always like, ‘oh, yeah, Dunedin Sound’.
"It’s definitely valuable for that — it gives us a little bit of a leg-up over other small cities.
"If it helps artists today get bigger audiences internationally, then yeah, go ahead and exploit that."
Part of the reason he began documenting gigs was to feel a sense of belonging, Thompson says.
"I feel like part of why I started doing it was because I felt kind of uncomfortable at gigs.
"It kind of gave me a reason to be there, made me feel like I fit in more — which is kind of ironic because, obviously, you stand out more if you have a camera."
He reckons he is now pretty recognisable within the Dunedin music scene, particularly among regular gig-goers whom he considers friends and venue staff.
Most people know what he gets up to, and he likes to think of himself as a "friendly presence" at gigs.
While nice, what he is doing is "a bigger thing than just people giving me props", Thompson says.
For the first year or two, he mostly covered open-mic nights where his friends were playing.
Some of the most memorable experiences he has had at gigs were in rooms with as few as 30 people.
"I thought that it deserved to be recorded in some way."
At even smaller gigs, as little as 10 people, he says there is "a shared feeling of witnessing something special".
"Some of the ones at Pearl Diver I’ve been to have been very quiet but really nice.
"But then also the ragers at the Crown are always good."
Thompson admits he is "not a pro photographer" and ensures he goes to every gig with multiple lenses packed.
From wide shots of the crowd to showcasing each of the artists on stage, the goal is to capture the entire feeling of the gig "as completely as I possibly can".
The logistics of actually navigating a gig is a whole other can of worms.
"It’s places like the Crown — when it’s really full it’s difficult to move around.
"I also don’t want to be really annoying. I don’t like being the intrusive camera guy who stands in front of everyone."
At quieter gigs, he is even more conscious about not getting in the way, and of the noise he is making.
When it comes to these larger events, he feels like he is "wasting" them if he does not photograph every artist performing.
"Sometimes I’ve left early and it has annoyed me that I’ve missed someone.
"I don’t want artists to feel like I’m snubbing them or anything."
Some nights, there is nothing on.
But on nights when multiple gigs are playing at once, Thompson is faced with the difficult decision of what to prioritise.
It sometimes comes down to his own personal preference, but other times a "sense of responsibility" informs the decision.
"Sometimes I’ll pick something that I’d usually be less inclined to go to, but it feels like I should.
"Although obviously I’ve been to the Crown way more than everywhere else, I try to spread around the venues.
"One thing that really felt bad was when Dog With Two Tails closed.
"I was like, ‘damn, I haven’t been to enough gigs yet — and now it’s gone’."
Pressing a tab on the website produces a map showing venues around Dunedin, past and present.
Crosses, 23 in total, represent venues that are "dead" — Sammy’s, Dog With Two Tails and Starters Bar among them.
But these crosses also mark the locations of DIY venues including The Attic in George St, Stafford St’s former None Gallery and Jutland St.
"Creativity flourishes in unsanctioned spaces which aren’t tied to commerce.
"But also by their nature they’re in such precarious positions.
"Currently, there’s a big void left by the loss of these spaces."
Browsing the entries for None Gallery reveals a photo of amplifiers and old television sets stacked up against a brick wall, behind an ironing board.
A portrait of David Lynch hangs from the wall in one photo, a dimly lit staircase in another.
Thompson says None Gallery, at the time, was the longest-running DIY gallery in the country, active from 2003 to 2019.
It is now a jujitsu gym.
He recalls the final gig held at None.
"People ended up in the basement just throwing stuff at a giant trash pile in the middle of the room while some of the residents sat on top of the pile observing the chaos.
"I don’t think I’ve ever felt energy like that since. It was like a cathartic release of frustration at yet another venue loss."
What makes a good venue is often some intangible mixture of qualities.
It is not just about the space itself, but "the sum of the people and the vibe, whatever that is".
"The fondly remembered venues aren’t necessarily the most successful or the most popular, and it requires more than just a financial investment in a space to make a legendary venue which fosters a scene."
With more than 120 recorded entries, it is his most documented venue and what he says is "at the centre" of all live music in the city.
"All live music in Dunedin comes back to the Crown Hotel.
"The threat to it from the building next door, it should be considered an existential threat to Dunedin music."
Thompson admits there is a weight he feels to what he does.
"When I don’t go to gigs, I feel kind of bad for missing them.
"But also, at the same time, no-one is asking me to do this."
He says he is always analysing why he is doing it.
"It is kind of a weird thing to do.
"It’s quite unusual to put this much time into something like this."
He plans to keep doing it until either he cannot any more or does not want to but "I don’t see that happening".
The website, at present not-for-profit, has in the past been drawn on by the Dunedin City Council.
A handful of photos adorn the pages of the Ōtepoti Live Music Action Plan, and some have also been used by others to promote their own music.
But Thompson says he has "no interest at all in making money off any of this".
"I have no interest in that.
"There’s so little money in the music scene and musicians are often getting, like, $30 a gig or something.
"Why would I take anything from that?"
There is a mythology in Dunedin centred on music from around the 1980s, Thompson says.
The Dunedin Sound as an idea is also subject to a lot of romanticisation.
He has noticed from talking to older people a belief that live music is not happening as much as it did during their 20s.
"But it never stopped.
"People never stopped making good music and going to gigs."
The website is proof of all the good live music still being made in the city.
As the recording quality of cellphones continued to improve, more value was being placed on the way media was catalogued and the ease at which it could be accessed.
Thompson hopes his website will serve as a reminder that live music "is never going to stop being made".
"Humans are always going to keep forming bands and playing music.
"Even if you don’t go to it any more, it’ll keep happening — and it needs to keep happening."
