This time last year, I could not find enough positive words in any language to describe Slowly Slowly's third full-length record, Race Car Blues. It was this magical collision between a recommendation from a friend and something that took a space in my life that was a lot larger than I could have expected. Almost two years down the line, listening to these songs I know like the back of my hand still sparks vivid memories and retains the same hope and comfort I initially found in it.

At the end of 2020, just like an early Christmas present of sorts, the Australians gave us the gutwrenching Comets & Zombies as well as the promise of the second chapter of Race Car Blues. I don't know if I should, technically, count it as "an album that came out this year" in the technical sense of the term, seeing as it is the extended edition of something that already existed, but in this house, I make the rules, so I decide it is, and I think it was in the run for the album of the year title as soon as I first heard it, one Friday afternoon that I remember being somewhat sunny, for the month of February.

Comets & Zombies opens this side of the story, this second chapter, and it is a strange metaphor, but please, follow me on this one. Trust me. Everyone has a book they read, a film or an episode of a TV show they watch, and they know it will end terribly, but even though they have visited it hundreds of times, they still hold on to the silly little hope that it might not end so awfully this time around. It's like wishing no one dies at the end of Romeo & Juliet, just this once. This is what Comets & Zombies always feels like when I listen to it. Knowing this ends in death but always hoping it won't, because the love woven in its tapestry is so wonderful, it deserves not to end in tragedy. Comets & Zombies is inspired by the story of two people frontman Ben Stewart knew, who passed away from drug addiction issues, but it focuses on the way they loved each other, their "unbreakable adoration for each other." It's heartbreaking, of course, it is, but there is still something so poetic about it all. Not about the circumstances. About the way this love is described.
Favourite line: "You kinda look like a comet / Burning up to impress all the stars you hate."

Urgency. It is the word that immediately springs to mind whenever I listen to The Best Bits. It stems from the composition of the track, a music element I find utterly fascinating in Slowly Slowly's artistry. I could spread praise all over it like butter on toast, but let me just try to explain the feeling first. The Best Bits, lyrically, is a reflection on how exposing ourselves on social media, always stating facts and sharing opinions, and generally spending time on our phones stops us from experiencing the essential parts of life, the things that truly complete us as human beings. As we are all aware, social media has become a largely overwhelming element of our lives. I'm a firm believer human brains were never designed to handle such a large amount of information at such an alarming speed, and I easily become overwhelmed by things I read on social media or things I hear on twenty-four-hour news channels. This onslaught of information is drowning us and clouding everything else around us. The modern world somehow made us believe that it was our duty as good people to know everything in the universe, every problem, issue, battle and struggle, and since we all want to be on the good side of history, we comply and educate ourselves. And never process any sort of information. This goes way beyond the age-old "get off your phone and live in the moment" debate. This ties back to The Best Bits because the verses truly feel overwhelming in their vocal delivery. They have that streaming of consciousness quality Slowly Slowly have showcased in their songs before (Creature Of Habit springs to mind) and, if you don't pay close attention, they are hard to follow. The chorus is the breaking point, the moment when you admit that this is all too much, and you want to get out. The first chorus is quiet and almost shocking in its contrast with the verses. The second chorus and onwards become louder, the soft voice starts shouting, and I believe it is when the urgency truly kicks in. If I had to put this song in an image, as if it was a scene from a film, I would describe it as being held underwater and fighting as hard as you physically can to get out.
These are all compliments, by the way. I believe The Best Bits is a masterclass in song composition, and I wish more artists would utilise their instruments in similar ways to highlight their lyrics and messages, especially in the heavier parts of the scene.
Favourite line: "Then hang me from the brightest star, I wanna see the best part."

It is the least cool thing to say in the scene, or about music, as a general rule of thumb, but I am a big fan of consistency. I am a firm believer in "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." I think that you do not have to change who you are and what you sound like with every release to remain interesting. I hate the concept of "being relevant." That being said, I love it when artists explore new sounds and keep you on your toes too, as long as it feels organic and not like chasing the ever so elusive relevance.
Learning Curve, the third track of this chapter, fits into the first category, and quite beautifully, at that. Sound-wise, with its chunky, almost post-hardcore sounding guitars and harsher vocals in the choruses, it steers towards heaviness. However, the melody of the intro reminds me a lot of Dinosaurs, the opening track of the band's second album, St. Leonards. It even retains its twinkly quality, its almost light guitar, a delicate sound one would not necessarily expect in a heavier sound.
When I talk about change that feels organic, this is what I mean. Learning Curve is one of Slowly Slowly's heaviest tracks, but it still feels anchored in the band's roots.
And it teaches me that listening to a tale about regret and death, a "steep rise to regret" assorted with a crescendo in the melody is, for lack of a prettier phrase, fucking awesome.
Favourite line: "I've got my sights set on on the walls / And I forget why I'm climbing / And all I want to do is fall."

Low, the fourth track, was used in the short video teasing the release of this second chapter and, as a long-time lover of the song, I was excited to discover what its home would be and sound like. It was already out into the world before the original version of Race Car Blues, a bridge of sorts after St. Leonards, and it has been one of my favourites since.
I like hearing about a band's influences. I don't mean guessing them by myself, and I don't tend to scream bloody murder about plagiarism either. I just like artists talking about who they listen to and what sounds make them tick. I love the pages in music magazines in which artists talk about their beloved albums. After that, it all becomes a game of putting the pieces of the puzzle in the right place, trying to hear what part of someone's artistry has been used as an influence. Was it the songwriting or the way they conduct themselves? The guitar work or the live performances? The possibilities are almost endless. Sometime between my first time listening to Slowly Slowly and now, I stumbled upon their old triple J Unearthed page, and the "influences" section listed Jimmy Eat World.
Anyone who knows me, even just a little, will get it. For those who have just hopped on board: welcome to the party, Jimmy Eat World is my all-time favourite band. After that, I kept trying to hear it. Saying you've been inspired by a band like Jimmy Eat World is wide. They have an extensive back catalogue and, musically, through their three decades long career, they have gone from exciting garage rock to emo classics to pop-punk to beautiful alt-rock sounds, with a sax solo thrown in the mix. They have done it all.
One day, it clicked. Low sounds like something that's straight out of Futures. Again, if you know me, you know it is the highest form of praise I could give to any music, ever, as Futures is my absolute favourite record. I mostly hear it in the layered vocals, towards the end of the song. Not a lot (enough?) people still do that. I feel it somewhere in that unbelievably satisfying guitar solo, but I don't know enough technical terms to explain it prettily.
The lyrics seem to touch upon mental health, but it's the third verse that attacks my heart the hardest. The ideas of loneliness and finding one's place in the world are recurring in Race Car Blues (Chapter 2), but not in the sense of "I'm going to carve my place under the sun" with an inspiring undertone. It questions where one fits in this mosaic of people, and the association with the astronomy, celestial references, also recurring in this album, is beautifully worded.
Favourite line: "Do the stars look down upon the earth / Make constellations as people merge / Connect the lines that they find / While I look at them in vain."

"Being in someone's house after they passed away" is what the band said track five, House On Fire, was about when asked on an Instagram Q&A session. Almost a year down the line, I still cannot believe how I did not hear it straight away- but that's the magic of music, isn't it? Figuring it out as you go. If I'm being honest, I find House On Fire horribly heartbreaking and comforting all at once, even though I cannot picture a worse feeling than having nothing more than empty places and vivid memories, after someone you love passes away. House On Fire is a beautiful reflection on everything that could possibly come to your mind after you lose someone, from old memories to the meaning of life, in all their messy chaotic jumble of an existence. It seems to be briefly touching on religion in the chorus ("I hope there's a place like all the books say"), but I think it's hard for me to gush about this song appropriately because it really does break my heart. But don't all the best songs?
Favourite line: "A transient night, nothing here to report / Except all of life's meaning, just echoed down the hall."

"I wouldn't choose the Internet with you over a noose."
I love a song that exposes its subject matter in such an eloquent yet straight to the point manner, and I love a song you can sum up in one of its lines. I tend to link this song to The Best Bits, which deals with a similar topic, all tracing back to the Internet, which is, all at once, a great evil and one of the most incredible things humanity has created. What I get from this song is the conclusion that the Internet can be an utterly lonely place. "They're not your friends, they just like to pretend that everything is the new problem." One of the hardest lessons I had to learn, maybe especially as a socially awkward person who struggles to relate to others, was that complaining together did not equate to friendship. It equates to mutual loathing for something, anything, and that is no basis for a genuine connection with anyone. I love how this song addresses the subject of how lonely the Internet can be, paints a picture of technology that is far from being rosy but, just like The Best Bits, it manages to do it in a way that feels removed from the "get off your phone and live in the moment discourse." To me, the message behind The Internet is that it tricks you into thinking you build real friendships, relationships, connections, but a lot of the time, you simply don't, and you end up missing out on experiencing moments with people who matter in a tangible way. Last thought for the road- is "making a friend in a fire escape" the smoker's equivalent to making friends in club bathrooms when you're drunk?
Favourite line: "We'll take the long way home / And sing every song we know." 

Restless Legs had been released on the band's Patreon, sometime in the spring of 2020, during various lockdowns, and, after the website closed, I started mourning this little, short song I loved, a piece of the puzzle I didn't know what to do with, but I liked very much. When the full teaser came out, I almost did not register it on the tracklist, for reasons that shall be explained later on, but when it finally clicked, I became ecstatic to see how it fit into the narrative and to be able to listen to it again after almost a year
The first thing I remember reading about Restless Legs was on an album review, and the writer said: "I don't know who broke up with who." After many a listen, I don't know either. I want to believe that, when songs are out into the world, even though they have their own meaning and stories behind them, they become open to interpretation, just like paintings and the ending of Citizen Kane, and this is just my two cents on Restless Legs. I think not knowing who breaks up with who, who leaves, who stays behind is the whole point of the song. I believe it's split into two parts, and they're each from the perspective of one of the parties, first the person who leaves, then the person who stays behind. I also believe it's part of a story within a story, but we'll get to that when we reach the other chapters.
And the truth is, I don't want to know if I'm wrong or not.
I also remember someone praising how Slowly Slowly could write huge choruses when they used not to, and I like that Restless Legs doesn't seem to have a traditional song structure. It's just a story, and stories don't always come in predefined packages, they tumble out from behind your teeth and get the hell out into the world, sometimes. "But God it caught me like a cold" is one of the most fantastically mundane comparisons I have ever heard, and I love the idea of "restless legs" meaning the almost-primal urge one has to run away from their stable situation. (Here, a family.)
Favourite line: "And I'm thinking about love / How when it won't wake up / It just ups and leaves."

The reason why I did not register Restless Legs on the tracklist, at first glance, is our next track, First Love. It features Yours Truly's Mikaila Delgado, and the words "feat. Yours Truly" were more than enough for me to grow impatient and excited. I have talked a few times about my love for Yours Truly and Mikaila's fantastic vocals, and the collaboration with Slowly Slowly turned out magical, no less. First Love was my most played song in 2021, and it is largely to do with the voices merging together, the power ballad vibe, and the incredibly poetic lyrics. First loves are a common subject in music and in fiction, something romanticized, for the most part, something holding a mystique and a power over us all, and Slowly Slowly painted a perfect picture of them, half something you desperately need to forget, half something you know will live inside of you forever. Whatever happens, a part of your heart and your brain will always be drawn to your first love, whether you like it or not, whether the feelings are positive or not, and the song beautifully captures the idea, the contradiction at their core, something "lethal, dilute all your like," and "something pretty and impermanent that I could admire" all at once. I believe we all have our people we "turn to when you're drunk and you're empty" - first loves,  by essence, have to leave a different mark on our lives because they are the blueprint, they are our first experience of the wide and complicated spectrum of love and all that it entails. And we need it to be romanticized, dissected, and turned into pure poetry.
(The first time I listened to it, my brain felt drawn to the title track from the Phantom Of The Opera soundtrack, and I long wondered if it was not because I had just watched the Phantom episode of The Goldbergs. I couldn't help but hold on to the thought and, I can still hear it, somewhere. My tiny knowledge of the musical and I can tell the subject matters are wildly different, but everything that reminds me of a musical in some way is as good as gold.)
Favourite line: "Was I just your mistake / Cinnamon to the taste / Bitter but graceful" (the whole song)

Set The Table (The One That Got Away) was given to the fans on the band's Facebook group a few weeks prior to the release of the album. I think it was the catalyst to the first analysis of a description of the record: every sound we had heard from the second chapter, this far, had been wildly different, a tapestry woven with different threads. Low had Futures era Jimmy Eat World, mid-2000s emo vibes. First Love could almost be called a power ballad. Comets & Zombies was an alt-rock gem with unbelievable drums. Restless Legs didn't have a chorus to speak of. The Level was the grooviest little tune.
And Set The Table was a wildly heartbreaking acoustic track, complete with violins and trumpets towards the end.
Set The Table is a reflection on a relationship that went down the drain, went up in flames, or quietly disappeared, maybe, and had its share of traumatic experiences. It doesn't hold anger or bitterness, only sadness and regret. It is storytelling in its purest form and, in its songwriting, it takes me to my two all-time favourite lyricists, The Wonder Years' and Aaron West And The Roaring Twenties' Dan Campbell, and Taylor Swift.
The first time I listened to it, I immediately thought of the first Aaron West record, We Don't Have Each Other, especially the song Divorce And The American South. There was a similarity in the subject matter ("And hey, Dianne, I know I fucked up / It's just when we lost the baby, I kind of shut off" // "But we lost a baby, lost our love, and I just wasn't good enough") and the same simplicity that lied in describing a love that faded away without anger and along with a simple melody. The feelings and events are violent, but their delivery isn't. The mundanity of the actions described, the way you can paint a picture of who does what and where everybody is, reminded me a lot of Taylor Swift's All Too Well ("Cause there we are again, in the middle of the night / We're dancing 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light" // "In my doorway backed by light, by the kitchen sink at night"), and I don't think I could pay a higher compliment to a piece of music than by linking it to works by my two favourite songwriters.
If, musically, The Best Bits gave the feeling of being held underwater and fighting your damnedest to get out, Set The Table is best described by two lines in the song: "silent movie, black and white" and "flower blooming in reverse." Even though the title mentions someone who gets away, you don't know how the story ends when it starts, you don't know how tragic events will become. The flowers start as a beautiful bouquet in a detailed vase, set on a table, and they end up back as seeds on the ground, summer turning to winter again.
If you remember the story within a story I mentioned when I spoke about Restless Legs, I believe this is the second part. I still don't want to know if I'm wrong. I just know that, to me, they are connected, part of the same narrative, and the truth of it all does not matter.
Favourite line: "But I will not be victim to / The broken love I have for you / If I can dig a hole to die in / I'll build a life to live in too." 

As we have spoken about quite at length so far, or at least as we have deduced from the novels I have just written, Race Car Blues, Chapter 2, is nothing short of emotional and tackles some heavy subjects (death, addiction, grief, regret).
And there  comes The Level, the light-hearted break in an emotion-filled record, a story of "not wanting to be swept up in whimsical emotion, stay grounded and be pragmatic about the situation- all while butterflies swim around your stomach."  I suppose one could interpret the fact that being in love is described as "dancing with the devil" as something deep and full of meaning, but I see it as something almost tongue in cheek, the protagonist in a rom-com that claims they don't want to fall in love, kill them if they do, is being dramatic about it, but on the inside, they are in so deep about someone else? This is what this song feels like.
The light-heartedness of the track definitely lies in the music video, too. The Level starts with a running joke within the band's universe ("Softly Softly"), is set in a seventies type of background, all clunky, tentative computer work and wide-legged trousers, and ends with a fake ad for a soft drink called Slowly Soda. It's fun, brilliantly done, hilarious and light-hearted, exactly what the track needs. Try being emotional or teary-eyed while someone does a running man in an almost floor-length fur coat and turtleneck sweater. Yeah, you can't. (And believe me, I'm emotional over all sorts of things.)
According to frontman Ben Stewart, there are two Bruce Springsteen lyric references in the song, and my baby knowledge of The Boss only led me to one- "take my hungry heart" refers to the song Hungry Heart. That's literally all I've got. (Is it fate telling me I should finally sit down and listen to Bruce Springsteen?)
Favourite line: "I'm so sick of being so sentimental now." 

Let's mention the story within a story I have spoken about throughout this post: Small Talk is, to me, the last part of the trilogy, the end of it. One more time, I do not want to know whether I am right or on another galaxy of wrong- I just know my brain connects this track to Restless Legs and Set The Table, and that is all there will be to it.
Another thing I associate Small Talk with is the original album closer, the ending of the first chapter: Race Car Blues. I believe there is a similarity in song composition (starting off slow, taking you by surprise by launching into a massive chorus, lulling the listener into believing we're slowing down again, only to end heavy, whether it comes in the form of bold guitars or loud breathing), but also in the lyrics. It dawned on me when I first registered the parallel between "haven't slept in ten years but found the one" and "I wrote your name on shower screens, for ten years long, ten more it seems." Maybe, yes, ten was the figure that rolled off the tongue best, something less specific than nine and a half or twelve and a quarter, maybe it's an aesthetic decision rather than a meaning-based one, but...If you know me, you know I will always pick the meaning over the aesthetic, and it was enough to seal the deal for me.
Small Talk, in its strange little tale of a wedding party in a hospital, seems to interweave the concept of social cues to the story. ("I'm polite to all you boys and girls / But every one of you was small talk.") The idea of interaction between human beings, whether it is through social media, the Internet, or in person, whether it is the grand scheme of things or specific relationships, is all over this album, and I believe the string that ties this whole thing together, both chapters and all, is human interaction, human connection, through all its forms. And I understand it would be a tough mission to write about things that do not involve relationships between people, so this might be like saying the sky is blue, but, there it is, my two cents.
All of these songs are tied together like a family tree.
And, because I always love a fantastically mundane line, "I just came to party for the free drinks" stands out.
Favourite line: "I fell in love in an inhale / Standing at my coffin, you're the last nail."

The opening notes of the album closer Anywhere sound light and breezy, airy, as if they were floating, which strikes as a stark contrast with the vocal delivery, quick and precise. After much consideration and thinking, almost a year off of the activity, I realised that Anywhere was a song about being a musician ("If I had one breath left, I'd sing for you"- talk about something that was in my face the whole time), and about looking back on your teenage dreams. I wish fifteen-year-old me had said "If I'm not up there, I'm not gonna be anywhere" in the face of her ambitions, but after having them shut down by a questionable school counsellor and taking more wrong turns than me on my holiday in Venice, she'd be damn proud of adult me for making them come true, working at them, finally. I was always questioning whether there was hope in Anywhere, because I am a master at finding hope in unlikely places and devastating songs, but I can safely say there is, and there was just the story of it. I don't think I had realised until today how much I would relate to those lyrics, even though I am not a musician (the ten minutes during which I have known how to play Green Day's Boulevard Of Broken Dreams on the bass do not count), and maybe that's the hope I needed today. For some reason, too, Anywhere reminds me of Trophy Eyes' Lavender Bay, but I think it's just a small lyrical parallel and similar energy between "If I'm not up there, I'm not gonna be anywhere" and "I won't sleep until Sydney knows my name." And The American Dream was a record in which I found a hell of a lot of unlikely hope, so maybe that's a sign.
Favourite line: "If I'm not up there, I'm not gonna be anywhere."

This is by no means a review. This is just stories upon stories, thoughts from every road in my tiny countryside village, from the Paris train, from my brother's car, from my small space in the house, from every overthinking corner of my brain. I would rather try to understand than pass judgement on an artist's or a band's music, I'd rather interweave my stories with their words than slam them because I don't get it. Race Car Blues, Chapter 2, takes the listener on a journey, a journey through human connections and interactions, through hope and the saddest stories you could possibly think of, through heartbreak and beauty, through highs and lows, and I have learned that for an album to cover such a vast array of feelings, you need to have the music to follow, and it won't be linear, and I love that more than I could put into words. Human emotions and connections are messy, bloody, beautiful and gory, they're loud and intense, and they're quiet and subdued, sometimes. And the music that accompanies it has to be all over the place, too, in the best possible way.

 I love side projects, but I don't think I like the term "side project." 

That is the conclusion I came to when I was spinning Congrats' Pharaoh EP last week, on yet another crisp winter walk in the forest in my village. For those who are not aware or were not around last year to read this blog, Congrats is the side project, for lack of a better phrase, of Slowly Slowly's frontman Ben Stewart. If I had to sum it up in one sentence, which might become a regular motif in these reviews, I would say: "Sounds wildly different from the music and aesthetic Slowly Slowly are known for, which is brilliant, because that's not Slowly Slowly. Has the potential to get Billboard big- or maybe I know nothing about the charts? I'd put this in my personal top forty anyway."
I don't think I like the term "side project." I understand I'm nitpicking about semantics, and it is simply a way of saying an artist has a main project they dedicate most of their time to and are most widely known for, and another, smaller thing on the side, but I still don't like it. Maybe it stems from being the girl who found multiple ways to channel her imagination, creative juices, and inspiration, all through embroidery, writing, taking pictures, drawing, or painting, and they all matter to me. Together, they make this bigger puzzle of my self-expression. They are simply different channels for one's imagination and creativity, different chapters of the same book.

From the start, that's what I have envisioned Congrats to be. Different chapters for other parts of the vivid, unique, and stellar story written by Ben Stewart. There were already a few songs out on streaming platforms, including the excellent Cut Down The Middle and its earworm chorus. When, in July 2020, single Russian Roulette and its slick, Quentin Tarantino-esque music video came out, it gave an inkling that Congrats was up to something more than just a few songs here and there. In March of this year, Pharaoh, an equal parts hopeful and gutwrenching EP, was released, and I knew, straight away, straight from the middle of the fields down the road, that it would be high up on the list of my favourite releases. Sometimes, I just know, I guess. 

In Ben Stewart's words, "this collection of songs encompasses the year [I] had in pre-COVID 2019- it was a blur of self-denial where I found clues in my own music as to what I was feeling, when I was seemingly okay on the surface." Every song on this EP is a piece to a puzzle, a colour in the tapestry, tales of heartbreak (Lobotomy), resisting self-destructing urges (Russian Roulette), or following your instincts (Berserk). Pharaoh, the title track, the focal point as it is the middle of the story, is musical perfection, plain and simple. I was initially taken aback by how dark it was and how understated the production seemed compared to the rest of the tracklist. It starts with a simple, almost quiet piano melody, and the vocals are close to spoken word. Right after the line "the shadow that I can't outrun," the sounds abruptly shift, the melody accelerates and, though in the future, we will have plenty of time to explore how I am a sucker for melodies, sounds, and words matching, here is a prime example of it. Once again, in Stewart's words, "there's a lot of darkness housed in shiny exteriors and that seems to be the common thread amongst the songs." Or, as the lyrics say: "In this pharaoh's golden tomb / This pretty painted room / I'm rotting out of view / I won't be the hero at the end of this story." Maybe darkness underneath shiny exteriors is the common thread, and maybe it was underneath my nose this whole time, but this is the line that made everything click together for me. Pharaoh is a masterpiece in song composition. 

As a different chapter of the same book, Pharaoh, the EP, comes attached to influences I am not all that familiar with, names I have mostly read but paid little attention to, such as Post Malone and Yung Lean. (Yes, I am aware that Post Malone is one of the best-known artists on the planet. No, I have never listened to his music apart from Candy Paint.) See, listening to different genres for me is almost like a trick question, the exercise I cannot bring myself to do because I don't know where to start. I initially jumped headfirst into Congrats' music because it is created by an artist I am familiar with, even though it is under a different name and form. Other than that, the genre itself, the music sphere it is a part of, is something I do not know how to speak about or qualify. I simply do not know anything about it. I know what a trap beat is, and I know there are some in here, but that's the most technical term you'll get out of me.

At the end of the day, none of it matters, because all I care about is that whatever the package, whatever the assembling of sounds, whatever the influences, I find components in Congrats that I love in music, in the general sense of the word: solid, most of the time emotional music, a strongly defined aesthetic, catchy hooks and melodies, and the concept that none of it has been put here as an afterthought. The rest lies between semantics and magic. All throughout my years of collecting favourite songs like some collect stamps or expensive cars, as if albums and EPs were part of the tapestry of my life, I have accumulated lyrics I love, the kind of line you like so much you would start the song over just to hear them again. If you were at school, you'd write them all over your notebooks and/or Converse while you were bored in math class. Pharaoh, the EP, is full of them, which is a testament to Ben Stewart's unique way with words and his undeniable talent at injecting so much poetry inside the darkness and the pain. The pre-chorus of Lobotomy is the first one that springs to mind. "Making side eyes in the car / Drinks in jackets at the bar / Oh and then my favourite part / When you broke my fucking heart." This line has it all: stories so vivid you could picture them in your mind, a perfectly placed F-bomb, and briefly being tricked into believing that this story is not going to end as awfully as you think it will. But it does, and the chorus drives the point even further: "You needed space / So I got a lobotomy." (This line always reminds me of Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, but I like this a lot more than I did the film.)

I could dissect lyrics forever, trained by an endless, thirteen-year-long love for a woman who has me analysing words and lines more than I ever did at any point during my English degree (hi, Taylor), but I will spare everyone the brain gymnastics. Pharaoh has been brought to glorious life by someone who knows the fine art of taking a personal story and turning it into something relatable and universal. With Congrats as an outlet, Ben Stewart proves the versatility of his songwriting and musical skills and gives us food for thought and reflective, dark lyrics, all packaged in a timeless yet modern, shiny exterior.

 [ A trigger warning is in order as this post mentions sexual misconduct and abuse as well as death. ]

In 2019, American punk-rock band Heart Attack Man released their sophomore album, the excellent Fake Blood, and the start of my story with them. After seeing their name float all over scene Internet, I checked them out and got sucked into their strange little universe, full of tiny places where my anger was okay and valid and fans being called "Carrot Gang" from a hyperactive Twitter account. Before their 2021 EP, Thoughtz & Prayerz, the band released two songs. The first one was the scathing Notes App Apology, a stab at people, band members, most likely, who got caught being abusive, questionable, and problematic, and whose responses were cliché'd statements sent via their phone's notes application. (My favourite part of the lyrics is: "I found God now, everyone thinks that it's a cop-out / Cleansed me of all my misdeeds, redeemed, and saved me / I found Jesus / Absolved me of all my demons / I'll pray you heal from how I damaged you irreparably" - Austin Carlile, anyone?) The second track, which came out in July 2021, was Old Enough 2 Die, a deceivingly light-hearted sounding number, all almost-vintage rock vibes, narrating the story of a father murdering his wife and young daughter, likely over a family altercation. ("This was such a lovely evening / We're gonna make the headlines tomorrow / A celebration gone so horribly awry / Father kills his wife and daughter.")

From then onwards, it became almost impossible to predict which way the band would be going, even after they announced their forthcoming EP, Thoughtz & Prayerz. It came out on November 5th on Triple Crown Records, and it blew me away. If you aren't familiar with Heart Attack Man's music, first of all, what are you waiting for, and second of all, if I had to sum Fake Blood up in one sentence, for reference, it would be: "Would have been all-over-the-radio huge twenty years ago but alas, the current mainstream is not a big fan of grungey guitars anymore. Still bangs, though." With Thoughtz & Prayerz, the band took a drastic departure from this sound, and from everything I could have possibly expected from them, and "drastic" still feels like a bit of an understatement.

Puke, the opening track, makes the word sound almost unreal by the end of it and steers into heavy metal territory. (In an article on BrooklynVegan, frontman Eric Egan cites Beastie Boys and Pantera as influences.) You know, anger in music and lyrics is sometimes frowned upon or seen as immature and childish. As a pretty ordinary human being, I haven't magically stopped being angry at the world, at its sheer stupidity and, at, I don't know, hunting season and 24-hour news channels, when I grew up. I'm still angry every once in a while. And I like angry music. I need sounds and words to channel this anger, whether it's about something I can relate to or not. Stray From The Path gave us Badge & A Bullet, While She Sleeps gifted us ANTI-SOCIAL, and now, Heart Attack Man has offered us Puke. "You make me want to fucking puke." Super straightforward and applies to everyday situations, really. (Also, in the words of Eric Egan, it "sounds like wrestling music," and it's a crossover I didn't really know I needed. I'm fairly neutral about wrestling, but they always have kickass music in the background.)

Wondering where the title of the EP comes from? From what I understood in the Good Noise Podcast episode Egan appeared on a couple of weeks ago, it's a reference to how, when something horrible happens in the world, the people in charge and the powers that be respond with "thoughts and prayers," as in something that does nothing of substance to help the situation. Misspelling it adds even more to the uselessness of it, because, as the title track repeats in the chorus, like a mantra: "Thoughts and prayers / No one cares." Again, this song is full of straight-up anger and hatred towards this simple fact- thoughts and prayers do fuck all, and all they show is that the people who could do something watch others go through traumatising and horrific events and situations and let it be, thinking they've absolved themselves of any action because they said "thoughts and prayers." 

There are quite a few video compilations, on YouTube, which showcase people who have filmed themselves reacting to Taylor Swift's ten-minute-version of All Too Well and, whenever the lines change from the original version, or she spills the tea, big fucking time, you can watch people's eyes grow as big as saucers, their jaws drop, or they'll swear, pause the song, and try to make sense of what they've just heard. If anyone had filmed me the first time I listened to Heart Attack Man's Cool 2 Me, they would have witnessed an eerily similar reaction. Remember Notes App Apology? Cool 2 Me is the sequel, the sister song, maybe even the evil twin. It's beyond a dig or a stab, and it's aimed at the people who, when confronted with an acquaintance of theirs or a friend who has just been outed for sexual assault, their gut reaction is to say they find it hard to believe, because they know the accused party, and they could never do that. When I first heard the line "He isn't like that, I've known him for years / He never raped me / Never hit me / Never groomed me when I was fifteen," my jaw literally hit the London concrete. Real talk, this song came out about two weeks after the most serious allegations of sexual misconduct against All Time Low's guitarist Jack Barakat, and these words felt perfect to a, describe the band's reaction and b, come to terms with the mess of emotions, the disgust and the disappointment.

The first proper single and taste of the EP Heart Attack Man gave the world was single Pitch Black, which snuck its way quite high into my Spotify Wrapped playlist, despite coming out a the end of September- that's how much I have listened to it in a short amount of time. Sound-wise, it's still heavier than anything pre-Thoughtz & Prayerz, but it feels more reminiscent of late 90s pop-punk. (The Offspring vibes are unreal, especially in the choruses, and it's a major compliment.) Still in Eric Egan's words, Pitch Black addresses "human missteps in overcoming trauma. Personal growth doesn't always happen in a perfectly linear fashion, and that's okay." On top of being a subject matter that hits close to home for me, the line "Hold out your hand to me / Take me to a place in hell where / Having self-esteem seems selfish and unhealthy" reminds me of something I have tangibly gone through, being told that getting better was selfish of me, and it wasn't fair of me to feel good about myself again because the person on the other side of this wasn't. The line feels like a punch in the gut every time, but an extremely cathartic experience at the same time, which is a combination often at the core of music I hold super close to my heart and my constant recovery process.

The final track, Leap Year, also tackles recovery and taking stock of the years you have spent battling, knowing there is still a lot to do and go through, but celebrating the journey so far. ("At 19 / I didn't think I'd make it to 23 / But I'm happy to be here.") Since its release, the song has been the soundtrack to a TikTok trend that saw people sharing their glow ups from nineteen to twenty-three. Even though I haven't seen any of the videos and don't use the platform myself, I love the repeated examples that it does get better, the evidence and the reminders. It's a long hard road full of twists and turns, but it does get brighter eventually. The second half of the song reflects on strength gained along the way ("Everything crashing over me / Nowadays feels so weightless"), and I can't help but imagine hearing this live and celebrating the growth I have done since I was nineteen and broken, even though I haven't been twenty-three in quite a while, now. Sound-wise, Egan described it as "a Heart Attack Man wearing a Sum 41 Halloween costume kind of vibe," and the only thing I can say about this is that I wish I came up with a sentence like that myself.

Heart Attack Man have recently toured all across the United States alongside Neck Deep and, though I'll still bang on about how annoyed I am the Welsh lot is bringing every support act from the tour on the European leg except for them, I'm super happy to see a hard-working band like them take such big steps. (Hopefully, the other side of the Atlantic will be the next one.) They have also announced their first-ever headliner in March and April alongside Covey, Arm's Length, and Blood Root. Thoughtz & Prayerz is phenomenal, a soundtrack of anger as well as the celebration of one's growth, and, in all its surprise, it's the perfect follow up to Fake Blood.

 On the eleventh of January 2010, English band You Me At Six released their sophomore album, Hold Me Down. Their first major label release, it reached number five on the UK Albums Chart and is certified gold in the country. To celebrate its tenth anniversary, the band embarked on a series of shows across the United Kingdom, where they would play it in its entirety, front to back, and it was an opportunity I simply could not miss.

At the time of release, I was already a You Me At Six fan and had seen them live for the first time, as main support on Paramore's Brand New Eyes tour. A month later, Hold Me Down hit the shelves, and I remember buying it in London, where my older brother took us for a weekend. I left an East London HMV branch with a pile of CDs the height of the Eiffel Tower, glad to finally have access to music that was not available in my rock-deprived country, and it included several copies of Hold Me Down- I had friends who wanted their own too. In June of that same year, You Me At Six played the Nouveau Casino, in Paris, as part of a headline European tour, a show and a day that would mark a permanent change in my life, but I didn't know yet, at the time. How could I? In the meantime were some of the hardest times in my life, only the start of them, it seemed, and Hold Me Down was one of the records I used to play every day in an attempt to stay afloat. It would spin in my little stereo every morning before university and, chances are, it would also play in the shiny blue iPod my friend's then-boyfriend had given me because he didn't have any use for it in the end. It would be my comfort every time I felt down, the music I would turn on loud, the cliché of the teenager slamming the bedroom door because mum and dad just don't understand, though the issues ran much deeper.

I have been a You Me At Six fan for twelve years of my life now, and I don't want to say I have had a love-hate relationship with them because it isn't true. I simply am a human being, and I relate to sort of their art in different, closer ways than others. An album like Hold Me Down will forever be a prominent part of the tapestry of my life, a visible piece of the puzzle. It's a time capsule of the sweetest kind. Listening to it takes me back to the music videos, and all the little things we used to watch on YouTube, the running jokes that only mean something to the old-timers, things about ice cream being too cold, what's butter, something about sheep in a field, the Liquid Confidence behind the scenes footage and the JLS dance moment. (I don't actually know if this bit was ever iconic to the fanbase as a whole, but, just like the kids say, it lives rent-free in my mind. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be on YouTube anymore.)

On the morning of the show, I sat down in St. Pancras Station, in London, in front of the Starbucks no one can ever find when I tell them, and I played Hold Me Down in preparation for the show, something to get me hyped up. Playing The Blame Game came around, and I felt tiny tears, almost invisible, insignificant to anyone but me, during the line "You hold me down by keeping me around," and I realised I had never really understood that line before. There is something magical about finding new meaning in art that has been an ever-present part of your existence, deep in your blood, for the past eleven and a half years of your life.

The show was held at Kingston's Pryzm and was, once again, organised by the still absolutely amazing Banquet Records. I don't think I could praise them anymore- they truly are the best thing since sliced bread (and that's a French person saying that.) A night that, a decade ago, would have started in the daytime, queuing against all sorts of ludicrous weather, was birthed in the Wetherspoons pub across the street this time around, in front of a glass of Kopparberg's Cherry Rum. Nineteen, twenty-year-old me would have loved the barrier. (She even kinda threw a tantrum on Tumblr about it once because she was upset, back in the day, but that's a shameful story for another lifetime.) Thirty-one-year-old me wanted to crowdsurf and reclaim the music she thought had been tainted by someone else's influence.
Never again.
Hold Me Down is mine. This is not a proprietary statement. It's the admittance that nevermind what other people did to me, nevermind the stains they left on my life, music that is pretty much part of my DNA cannot be touched nor removed. It is mine for as long as I choose.

For all those reasons, I knew I would get emotional during You Me At Six's set. It's not even the cliché of me crying for no valid reason, bawling my eyes out because why the hell not, I love this song, or this child on TV at Christmas time is just so stinking cute. It's a mixture of nostalgia, melancholy, pure joy, and appreciation of how far I've come since I was a nineteen-year-old girl with a bad fringe who thought she was so hard when Sean Smith's part came on during The Consequence. Funnily enough, that's the song during which I started crying. The Consequence. The first goddamn song on the album. Even for me, that's a new record. They were about two lines into it when I felt tears welling up in my eyes, and they were not to stop for most of the set. This album is a part of me, it's in my bones. As of last Friday, I have seen You Me At Six live twenty-three times, unless I am awful at math and remembering things, and I have heard Underdog in the flesh a similar amount of times. The nineteenth of November 2021 was the first time it made me cry.

Hold Me Down also takes me back to the questionable art every one of us used to make back in the day, those lyric drawings in several fonts that were plastered all over Tumblr. There are so many fitting one-liners in Hold Me Down, and I know I made several of these drawings. Lyrically, this album will stand the test of my time because of those clever, sometimes sassy one-liners. "I've got real big plans and such bad thoughts" (The Consequence) // "I'm down, down, but definitely not out" (Underdog) // "You hold me down by keeping me around" (Playing The Blame Game) // "And everybody was kissing on fire, and we all got burnt" (Safer To Hate Her) // "You've got nothing to lose, except for me and you" (Liquid Confidence) // "Dearest enemy, you should have never trusted me, you bitch" (Contagious Chemistry) // "I'm a man of my words and my words will never change" (Trophy Eyes) // "Remember when you were my boat and I was your sea, together we'd float so delicately" (Fireworks) Just to quote a few. (The Contagious Chemistry one is admittedly not something we would use in lyrics in 2021, but it was my favourite song back in the day, so I had to include it.)
(Also, can we talk about the fact that Trophy Eyes, as in, the band, named themselves after that specific song?)

I found this on Pinterest, so, unfortunately, I don't know who made this.

During the build-up to the show, out of complete superstition, I did not say anything about it online, as if me being openly excited about something carried the risk of ruining it. On the day of, when I was safely on English land, I made up for lost time, and I think everyone who came across me was sick to the back teeth of hearing me talk about the one song I was most excited to hear: There's No Such Thing As Accidental Infidelity. It received its first-ever live performance on Friday night and, despite frontman Josh Franceschi warning the crowd of potential rustiness, it sounded just as perfect as I always imagined it to be. I paid a tribute to my decade-ago self in today's fashion and crowdsurfed to Aled Phillips' part while wearing a Kids In Glass Houses t-shirt. Some parts of yourself can never die.

After finishing up with the album's closing track, the wonderfully heartbreaking Fireworks, You Me At Six came back for an encore composed of SUCKAPUNCH, Lived A Lie, Take On The World, and Beautiful Way. Did I emotionally need it? No. I would have been content leaving the room after the last notes of Fireworks. Did I mind? Also, no. Despite it not being my favourite song, SUCKAPUNCH shines in a live setting, and its packed energy is mindblowing. Lived A Lie is one of the band's most fun singles. I got someone to carry me on their shoulders during Take On The World, and my love for the track only grows. Beautiful Way is one of You Me At Six's best recent numbers, one of the reasons why I still love them, why I would still go the extra mile for them. Maybe I wouldn't queue at stupid o'clock in the snow anymore, warming my hands up in an Asda bathroom in suburban Edinburgh while wondering if my plane home is going to leave the next morning. Maybe I wouldn't chase the elusive barrier anymore. But I will always want to celebrate the shiny parts of my life and, as far as puzzle pieces go, You Me At Six are pretty golden.

The next step in this lifelong celebration takes place in Paris, in March 2022, and you're all invited. It's followed by another show that will shatter my heartstrings in the loveliest manner, the tenth anniversary of the band's third record, Sinners Never Sleep, in June.

In April 2021, Welsh post-hardcore outfit Holding Absence released their sophomore album, The Greatest Mistake Of My Life, sending them to well-deserved higher spheres, and allowing them to gather an even greater number of fans and followers. Due to the touring situation being all over the place, for the most part, they only managed to tour the record this late October and early November, and this band holding quite a special spot in my heart, off I traipsed to England to see them a few more times.

I first discovered Holding Absence's music in March 2017, when they landed the main support slot on We Are The Ocean's farewell tour, which I attended in its entirety. (Granted, it was only three shows.) Since the first show, at Glasgow's Cathouse, even if I was ill and exhausted, the band's sound stuck with me and, despite a few misses over the years, I managed to catch on a stage a number of times, the last one taking place at Slam Dunk South, this past September. I think that, from the moment I managed to properly see them again after that initial tour, I have decided there would be no way in hell I would miss shows I could attend again and, from the weird sort-of-post-pandemic-but-not-really limbo we find ourselves currently stuck in, I stand by the thought.
I just don't want to miss Holding Absence again.

All three shows I attended (Newcastle, Manchester, and London) started with High Wycombe's As Everything Unfolds, undoubtedly the greatest thing to have ever come out of this town. (Which is, coincidentally, where I saw them for the first time.) They, too, finally get to tour their debut album, the excellent Within Each Lies The Other, released in March 2021. Despite them still being a quite young band, they have plenty of followers all three nights, and singalongs can be heard at every show. I might have even spotted a moshpit situation at the Electric Ballroom. As Everything Unfolds are exactly as I remember them, fantastic on a stage, and they so easily hold the audience in the palm of their hand, night after night. It is going to be beyond exciting to watch them leap from milestone to milestone, and I can't wait to be along for the ride.
(As Everything Unfolds will be performing Within Each Lies The Other in its entirety at the Camden Assembly on the 25th of February 2022, and a good chunk of the tickets are gone. In March of next year, they will also appear on the European leg of Holding Absence's tour. Give them a listen here - Grayscale is a banger.)

Hailing straight from Sydney, Australia, Yours Truly are a little miracle during a rainy, cold week. In all honesty, I only believed they were on my side of the world when I saw them in front of me, on stage, even though it was all a bit silly, and they had been in the United Kingdom for over a week at this point. I first discovered the Australians when they supported State Champs in the summer of 2019, saw them again on a happy accident at Chicago's Riot Fest, and their debut album Self Care was one of my favourites last year. I have lived with this record for so long that it was almost surreal hearing it in the flesh, played live, and I still can't quite compute it. (Even though I still haven't heard Undersize. Next time.) The audience reaction was different all three nights. Newcastle offered quiet but invested singalongs. Manchester saw louder singing and a little more dancing. London was a straight-up riot, and I managed to crowdsurf twice. On stage, all I see is a band eager to conquer the world, a band I want to see doing just that. Their older tracks, such as Circles and High Hopes (both from their 2019 EP Afterglow), are known by quite a few people and could easily become pop-punk classics. They have mastered the "devastating lyrics set to an infectious tune" vibe in songs like Funeral Home or Together, and their latest single, Walk Over My Grave, full of angst and heaviness, shows they could be heading in any direction from now on. Frontwoman Mikaila Delgado's charisma is to be commended, she is simply captivating. Full disclaimer: Yours Truly were the main reason I crossed the Channel for these shows, and I am ecstatic I did. It was not something to be missed.
(Yours Truly are coming back to our shores in April and May as main support on Against The Current's headline tour. They have also been announced at High Five Summer Fest, a cool alternative weekender in Stockholm, Sweden, in July. Check them out here, and read the Self Care review here.)

As mentioned earlier, Holding Absence are finally touring off the back of their sophomore album, the perfect The Greatest Mistake Of My Life, and it's only natural that they start these shows with its first three tracks: instrumental opener Alive, Celebration Song, and Curse Me With Your Kiss. There is something undeniably life-affirming about the first words one sings, screams, belts out, whatever, being "I'm alive" with all your soul and all your heart.
And I guess it's how I always feel seeing Holding Absence live.

One of the reasons why I hold their Scala show, in December 2019, so dear in my raging emo heart is that at the time, I was feeling beyond broken. I was approximately ten days into my sick leave, having to hide everything I was doing outside of my tiny flat because "I literally cannot face being polite and cheery for four thousand people every day, and I'm mentally exhausted of having so much demanded of me with no reward" does not mix well with "actually, live music helps me feel better and stops the brain pain and existential dread for an hour" from an HR and managerial standpoint. I simply was not well at all. That night, I met up with my friend Mia, who had flown from Milan, Italy for the show, and we met up with some other friends of mine in the line. I remember, at some point, opening the door between the main room of the maze that the Scala is and the bar area and finding another two of my friends on the other side, not knowing they were going to be there. Being surrounded by people who loved and cared about me took this show from "this band I love is playing a discography I love just as much in full" to "I am with people who make my heart feel lighter" territory. The two combined made the experience extra special. 

Since then, I have somewhat always associated Holding Absence's live shows and music in general as a place where I feel safe and loved, and nothing could have made this sensation more tangible than starting a show screaming the words "I'm alive" with a grin that could not be wiped off my face.
Outside of my ramblings and emotions, let's be real and honest for a minute here.
Holding Absence is one hell of a live band. I remember the first times I saw them, knowing in my heart of hearts that they were something special. Almost five years down the line (Christ), their shows have that something fully realised. It's a feeling I can't quite put into words, but they are the kind of band that offers something from everyone, wherever you find yourself in life, and maybe it's just a lot of heart, and everyone can relate to that, but...Yeah. There has to be a word, somewhere, in any language, really, that puts this comforting, hearty feeling into words, that something special, that explains why Holding Absence have become as beloved as they are and why they seem to be growing and becoming even more appreciated as time goes on.

It could very well be because they are nothing short of a fantastic band, and their music hits the spot every time.
Music-wise, they can do it all. Within the little, poetic, beautiful world they have created for themselves, a world that could head in any direction, they know how to do everything. They know how to do the raw emotion. They know how to do the straight-up bangers that you just can tell are going to become classics, Emo Night crowd-pleasers and all, in five or ten years' time (Christ, the sequel.) They know how to do the heaviness- nomoreroses sees quite the intense moshpits every night. And they know how to lean into something softer and more vulnerable. Maybe it ties prettily with the idea that there is something for everyone in their music.

Every band seems to have a longer song that seeps into everyone's heart and grows to become a fan favourite against all odds. Jimmy Eat World have 23 and Goodbye Sky Harbor. The Wonder Years have I Just Want To Sell Out My Funeral. Taylor Swift's ten-minute version of All Too Well is currently topping the charts. There is always one.
Holding Absence has Wilt.
The six-minute-and-a-half-long song, a heartbreaking tale of a love ending, has become immensely popular despite its length, as is acknowledged in London, I believe, by frontman Lucas Woodland. It starts heavy and sees the usual moshing and crowdsurfing, and ends with "little people," Woodland's words again, carried on people's shoulders for a beautiful few minutes. See, I love being carried on people's shoulders at shows, but as someone who often attends alone and is generally plagued by social awkwardness, it's hard for me to just ask. It took me until London to get there, but it was a hundred percent worth it. I don't know what it is about being perched on someone's shoulders at a show, seeing the crowd and the stage from up above, a somewhat more intense feeling of communion and connection to others, but it gets me every time.
In the future, I do hope Holding Absence save a special spot for Wilt at every show, not just because it's my favourite song, but so we can all feel this way again, find comfort and company in the middle of an all-too-relatable track.

If there is one word I regularly use to describe a Holding Absence live experience, it's safe. I feel safe in their crowds, and I feel safe among the people around me, even after a drunk person tries to crowdsurf, rolls back, and slams their leg on my head (Manchester), even after I get a bike-shaped bruise (London.) It's not about the usual crowd movement that happens at heavy shows. It's about the people. I always feel among friends, whether I know someone in the room or not. The feeling was heightened by actually making friends at the end of the London show, and I hope I get to feel this way at every Holding Absence show to come. Nothing compares to ending the night with a heart so full. 

(Holding Absence are playing Exeter and Bexhill, of all places in the world, alongside Enter Shikari in November. They are also supporting Funeral For A Friend in January (how huge!) and touring the European Union in March 2022. This goes without saying, but check them out here.)

In July 2020, after having to postpone it due to the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, Bury Tomorrow released their anticipated sixth full-length record, Cannibal. In the words of frontman Dani Winter-Bates, the album was a "cathartic process to address some of the darkest moments [I've] had in [my] life" as well as an attempt to normalise mental health-related conversations. "The normalisation of mental health is what saves lives. I want people to see the light in the dark. If they delve into that they can find solace in the discussion, the normalisation, the positive action by discussing this. The term cannibal refers to being eaten away by your own thoughts but also eaten away by other humans. We're not kind to ourselves, let alone kind to each other." The Southampton-based outfit was set to play a series of intimate release shows, which were ultimately postponed to November 2021, a year and four months after the album had hit the shelves and reached a well-deserved number 10 spot in the UK charts.

This small tour starts in Kingston, in one of the branches of the nightclub Pryzm, organised by what is one of the most important and popular record stores and promoters in the country and the alternative scene, Banquet Records. After landing in Gatwick after a stressful flight, I checked in at the nearest Travelodge and, sure enough, my first stop in town was the small and comforting shop. I don't know how much I have addressed this before, but I tend to feel uncomfortable in record stores because I'm a girl who doesn't look like the music she listens to for the most part, and because I worry I will be judged for liking emo bands and metalcore records better than revered classics. The four walls of Banquet Records, on Eden Street, Kingston-Upon-Thames, are one of the places where I have never had to worry about such insecurities and elitism. Walking in and seeing the posters plastered from floor to ceiling, the Polaroid pictures with various artists stapled to the counter, and all my favourite bands represented everywhere fills me with a sense of comfort. For this review, I had set myself the objective of being a little less sentimental than I have recently been, but I always have to give credit where credit's due. Banquet Records is an oasis of comfort for me, as well as a fucking fantastic place to buy music, online and in person.

As announced by the band on social media prior to the show, the set starts at 8pm and afterwards, a free meet and greet will be hosted in the venue, though, while on stage, frontman Dani Winter-Bates explain how he hates the term "meet and greet" and just wants to hang out with fans after a long break. Throughout the years, Bury Tomorrow have been extremely vocal about paid meet and greets, and they have always made a point about meeting fans after every show, no matter the size. I don't like using such a turn of phrase because I don't want it to set unrealistic standards on the bands I care about, but when going to a Bury Tomorrow show, it's almost a given that you will meet the band afterwards if you stick around for a little while. Though I am aware that buying a ticket to a show, any show, does not entitle me to meet a band and spend time with them, I love that it always comes as a bonus, and I immensely respect Bury Tomorrow for it.

This series of four shows (starting in Kingston and followed by stops in Leeds, London, and the band's hometown, Southampton) is still labelled "Cannibal release shows," but the setlist covers most of Bury Tomorrow's career, from 2012's Lionheart to more recent tracks such as Choke, The Grey (VIXI), which had been released in 2019, ahead of the record, or the album's title track, Cannibal. It is actually the same setlist they performed at Slam Dunk Festival, back in September and, just like they did back then, the shows feel like a celebration of Bury Tomorrow coming back after an almost two-year break that saw the biggest changes they have ever experienced as a band. (In July 2021, the departure of founding member, rhythm guitarist, and clean vocalist Jason Cameron was announced. They are currently performing with Tom Pendergast on vocals and synths and Ed Hartwell on rhythm guitar.) These shows feel like a band telling us that they have been shaken, sure, but they will still stay here, and they are not going anywhere. At the end of this tour, they are even heading into the studio to record what will be their seventh full-length album. Bury Tomorrow are not going anywhere.

For the personal story-time moment of the review, we'll start with a stupid fact about myself: I have chronic sinus problems due to one of them being deformed, and I had suffered quite a bit the days prior to the show. On the day of, I thought I was doing well until about halfway through the hour-long flight to Gatwick Airport, when the extremely dry air of the plane messed it all up again. I ended up having to attend the show wearing glasses, which I never do, and, in true me-fashion, I put them away to safely head into the moshpit for Lionheart, then left the heart of the action, and put them back on for the remainder of the set. I could probably try to find some inspiring message in the way I fought against my own shortcomings to attend a metalcore show and be an idiot but, the truth is, I just thought it was a funny story. 

Bury Tomorrow's set in Pryzm marked my forty-third time seeing them perform live and, as I explained on my personal Instagram account, it is an odd number to celebrate, but I do because it means they now are the band I have seen the most. Those forty-three shows have spanned over the course of almost a decade, starting in November 2012 in Paris, and I believe 2015 was the year I saw them the most, mostly due to me following the entire first Stage Invasion tour. Come to think of it, seeing them in a nightclub in Kingston, a small venue by all standards, a sizeable difference from the packed tents at Slam Dunk and the larger venues of the Black Flame tour, in December 2019, took me back to those three odd weeks of April 2015 where I spent more hours than anyone should on various trains and coach services, was not given a break by my also chronic tendonitis, and almost broke my hand. The most important part of this celebration and the one that has hit me the hardest in Kingston is that Bury Tomorrow is something constant in my life, and I guess in many other fans' lives. I promise it's not the "people always leave/sometimes they come back" metaphor I stole from One Tree Hill again. It's just a fact. They are constant. They are here. They always deliver, and they never disappoint. Buying a ticket to a Bury Tomorrow show, nevermind where in the world it is, means I will have a brilliant time, probably mutter "fuck it" to myself before marching headfirst into a moshpit, like I'm the most confident person in the world, hear some of my favourite songs, and be blown away by a band I truly adore. Seeing them live is like pressing a reset button for me. From then onwards, things are okay, and we're going back to the start, back to where you know you're safe and okay. They really are a safe place for me. It feels like catching up with old friends but in music form.

For some people, I imagine describing a band's live performance as "you know what you're getting into every single time, without fail" might sound boring and unexciting. They might love the chaos and uncertainty more than anything else and, who could blame them? I do love a bit of chaos and uncertainty. But in this case, it means the world to have something I know will always be here to welcome me home. And the last thing Bury Tomorrow are on a stage is boring and unexciting. They are a group of musicians who knows where their strengths lay and use them in every last song and performance, take what they do best and push it a step further every time. 

And there's something so goddamn inspiring in that.

And for the forty-third time in my life, I had a fantastic time watching them concentrate all that energy, all their strength, and create madness and mayhem from the stage. 

 or this one, seeing as it is the first part of a tour I am following since I picked this blog back up in July and since the pandemic, really, I have decided to keep up with my somewhat spontaneous writing streak and go with some sort of diary situation, but with live music sprinkled all over.

About three years ago, I discovered American metalcore outfit Thousand Below on the Impericon Never Say Die Tour. Doors were at four in the afternoon and, seeing as it was a Sunday, I was free, so I turned up early and was absolutely blown away inside a half-empty Koko. Since then, it's been three years of waiting, of religiously listening to the band's two records, 2017's The Love You Let Too Close and 2019's Gone In Your Wake, and hoping for anything to happen on my side of the world. Sometime in the middle of this nonsensical hellhole that has been 2020 and 2021, a European tour supporting Sweden's very own Normandie was announced, and here I was, planning adventures in fun places like Copenhagen, Prague, or Eindhoven. COVID hit again, in the form of the mainland Europe leg of the tour being postponed to next spring, sans Thousand Below, the day after I looked up flights to Denmark. By this point, the UK shows, the only ones that were still going on as and when and with the correct line-up, had already been sold out for months, and here I was, back to basics, back on my bullshit, planning to attend a fully sold-out tour, very largely for the support band, and without a single ticket in sight.

After much planning and deciding on my end (I am far from being sensational at decision-making, and my sense of guilt is over-developed when I feel like I should be doing something, and I can't in the end), on Friday morning, I jumped on a ten-hour coach from Paris to London. See, I don't mind long journeys at all. I flew to Australia and back, two years ago, and I was absolutely fine with being on a plane for twenty-five hours, even though I was craving fresh air by the end of it. (Side note, a layover in China is not a prime location for oxygen. The sky was pollution yellow when we landed in Guangzhou.) I know I won't get bored, and I can bring lots of things to occupy myself, from books to embroidery kits. 

But I hadn't missed sitting ten hours in uncomfortable seats and having the man in front of me push both of his seats back, leaving me with next to no legroom. (I pushed one of the seats back with my knee. You don't mess with 2021 me.) As planned, I wasn't bored. I read the best part of a novel for the first part of the journey and actively listened to music (more on that later). On the ferry, I stitched while listening to one of my favourite podcasts, and here I started feeling inspired on an artistic level. I always do when I'm travelling. I stitch in ferries, coaches, and trains. A sizeable chunk of my luggage is dedicated to art and journaling supplies. When in Melbourne, I would wake up every morning at six, sit up in bed, and write. Being on the road, anywhere in the world, sparks my inspiration in ways nothing else ever does. I'm going back home from this trip with, at the time of writing, three iPhone notes full of future projects I am excited to start- the results of the aforementioned "active music listening." There will be moments when music is just a pretty soundtrack. There will also be moments when I will listen to every word and see where my mind wanders. Most of the time, creative endeavours.

[ If anyone likes a good podcast, there you go ]

There is camaraderie found in strange places, one of which is long-distance travel. Following the pandemic, paperwork to travel to the United Kingdom has become stressful at best, and the check-in process at the coach station was the longest I've ever seen. As it turned out, everyone on the coach set out to help each other and, by the time we reached Calais and got our passports checked three times, we were all politely chatting. The girl in front of me had the same voice as someone I know, which proved disturbing every time she phoned someone. The guy behind me informed me he had a professional phone call, and I found myself rooting for a complete stranger, even though I had no clue what he talked about in said call- I am not tech-savvy and I think he was an engineer of some sort.

After I reached London, I met up with my friend Diane, who is following part of Trash Boat's UK tour. We ended up in Pizza Express for food and, I guess it's the time of this post where I praise the country for vegan and vegetarian options in restaurants. Living in rural France when you're a vegetarian is a testing experience, to say the least. The only thing I'm asking from McDonald's is a half-decent veggie burger (not a cheese wrap, not a salad, not an Egg McMuffin), and if I see another goat's cheese and honey anything anywhere, I will set fire to something and yes, this is a threat. Pizza Express does a banging vegan pizza with jackfruit pepperoni and fake mozzarella, and it's not even more expensive than traditional options. Those kinds of things make me so happy I could cry.
(Yes, I am aware I could simply not go to large fast-food chains. Again, I live in rural France, and the nearest towns are in working-class areas. I'm not exactly spoilt for choice.)
Euston Station used to be a second home of sorts when I lived in England. I used to live in Watford, and I have taken the Northampton and Milton Keynes Central lines one too many times. If I never set foot on a late Saturday service full of drunk, middle-aged, white men screaming Wonderwall and banging on the windows again, it'll still be too soon. Unsurprisingly, every Wembley Central service was cancelled, so here I traipsed on the tube and across all of Wembley after ten pm. (The stadium lights weren't even on.) 

The next morning, I treated myself to a cup of tea and biscuits, like the middle-aged lady I am at heart, and went around the charity shops of Wembley High Road before heading to Victoria Coach Station. I hope every band on the planet knows that if I ever come to see them in Southampton via Victoria Coach Station, it's a declaration of love of the highest order. In my Instagram post relating to the show, I called Southampton one of the seven circles of hell, and not even the nice shopping centre can change my mind. (Though it is very nice. I like Westquay.) Victoria Coach Station has to be another one of those hellish corners of the world, right? (Alongside Gare Du Nord and Châtelet Les Halles, in Paris.) Why else would I have seen a woman floss in public with something I am positive was not dental floss? The coach journey was pretty nondescript, as usual, I read, and I stitched, and I had lunch, and here I reached Southampton at 4pm, still without a ticket to tonight's show. I kept checking out all of my social media and still found nothing. I decided to go out to get food and treat myself to a peach wine spritz, because why the hell not and, on the way back to my hotel, I checked my phone and saw someone had tweeted me, offering me their spare ticket for free. I couldn't believe my luck! I went to get ready (pro tip, spray to cover up roots is a horrible, horrible thing and, at the time of writing, I cannot wait to wash my hair) and power walked to the venue when I couldn't get an Über. (I'm not trying to be precious or anything in my use of taxis, I'm just petrified of the large rodent population of Southampton. Not a joke, just a phobia.) My friend for the night was called Tom and was great company, and I had a brilliant time and a lot of luck.
I guess Saturday was a bones day.

The first support act of the night was Caskets, which I had never heard of before, but I knew I was interested as soon as I saw their merch table. See, I like an original merch spread and, if you turn up with tarot cards as part of your items, I need to know more about you. (Same if you have household items of some sort. Give me those mugs!) At this time, I have no idea what the cards are for and how they relate to the band's music (or lyrics, one can imagine), but they drew me in immediately. Their performance was fun and energetic, and there was a large number of singalongs in the Joiners that night. I have downloaded one of their albums on Spotify to listen to on the journey back to London, so, from my point of view, I'd call this first set a success.
I got closer to the front for Thousand Below and...you know what? I don't use live music to fill the void anywhere anymore, but the joy I feel when I see one of my favourite bands walk on a stage and start playing is unmatched. I couldn't shake the stupid grin off my face for the whole set, and nothing compares to hearing songs you've been listening to for the past two to three years being played live. Thousand Below are just as brilliant on a stage as I remember them to be from the Never Say Die Tour, and it's as big a joy to watch them perform as it is for them to be on a stage. A little while back, I tweeted the band, as a joke, something along the lines of "How much is it going to cost me to hear The Love You Let Too Close live?" and one of them replied "Just the price of a ticket." And I can confirm it only cost me turning up in Southampton to hear my favourite song live. I know what I said about hell and its circles, but it was worth it. I sort of jumped in the pit, hoop earrings, tears and all, and gave my all to that bridge like I'd been waiting my whole damn life for it. At the end of a set concluded by the excellent alone (out of my head), I was still a bit emotional and shaking like a leaf. And, as I found since I came back to live music in the wake of that virus we don't want to hear about anymore, this is the best feeling in the world.
A few minutes before Normandie is meant to start playing, frontman Philip Strand walks on stage and apologises as he has lost his voice and might not be able to play to the best of his ability tonight, which resulted in their performance being cut short. I have first seen Normandie on Yellowcard's farewell tour, in 2016, then at Download Festival in 2017, and then headlining in London, a show which I'd mostly attended to see William Ryan Key, formerly of Yellowcard. (Both bands are good friends if I am not mistaken.) However, my most vivid memory of any of their sets, apart from thinking "that band's good" was them congratulating the audience on the results of the general election at Download Festival and being met with confused silence. (The June 2017 GE saw the Conservative Party remain in power, even though they lost part of their majority, if I understood correctly. I'll put the band's error on the fact that they are Swedish, British politics are confusing to say the least, and that comes from someone who had an English civilisation module in her degree.) Southampton marks my fourth time seeing the Swedes, and the two main thoughts I had were a, if this man has lost his voice, how come he can bust out a high note like that, and b, I have only listened to one of their albums once, how come I know the words to half of these songs? Turning up for shows mostly for the support act can be a tricky situation, but I suppose there could be much worse headliners than Normandie to have to watch every night. Much, much worse.

At the time of writing, it is Sunday, and I am waiting for my coach back to London. (I hadn't realised my hotel check out was at 10am, my coach is just before 2pm.) I didn't fancy walking around with my luggage, so I have been sitting down in Costa for the past hour and a bit, writing this around an iced latte with coconut milk. After this, I guess I'll eat the sandwich I didn't have for dinner last night and head to some charity shops in search of a red blazer for my Halloween costume.
I chose honesty for this post. I sometimes feel insecure having hobbies that are not being stuck to my phone screen in public. I feel like people look at me when I get a book out of my bag (not a Kindle, a plain old book made out of paper, a lot of the time in French because they're all I have access to in my neck of the woods), let alone a laptop to write or an embroidery kit. It's crazy how normal hobbies can make you feel insecure sometimes, because they are not the norm. Most people don't whip out fabric, floss, and needles on the train. Oh well. Again, no one messes with 2021 me, I guess. I've been thinking of writing a post like this since I knew I would be attending these shows, and I thought it would be something closer to "tricks and tips when you're following a tour" than this long-winded diary entry with live reviews in places. And to honour my original thoughts, here are some tips and tricks for when you're following tours.

- If you can, don't take the first coach or train out in the morning. Sleep. These things will get tiring.

- Get a good backpack. (Mine's from the hunting section of a popular sports chain where I'm from, it was relatively cheap, and it's perfect.) 

- Tea is your best friend. Travelodge is your best friend. Spray to cover up roots is your worst enemy.

- Make an itinerary for where you're going.

- If you tend to have mental health issues, mostly anxiety, try to incorporate some of your everyday life habits even though you're away from home just so you don't lose your footing. (Mine range from spending time alone to making space in my day to be a little creative.)

- Eat well and drink water regularly. Don't be like me, who automatically gets heavily dehydrated at least once. By eating well, I mean eat whatever you like, I'm not the healthy food police, but, you know. From experience, chips for breakfast and dinner won't ever do you any favours, and that's me saying that.

- If you're using a bumbag at the shows, don't put the clip on your back. It's safer to have it in front (and, if that's any relevant to you, no one can unclip it when you're crowdsurfing.)

- Document that stuff. All of it. Write, post on social media, take pictures, text your friends, whatever. Keep memories.

Before I got on the coach, I went into the aforementioned charity shops. I did not find the red blazer, so I changed my Halloween costume, but I found a pretty kickass Royal Blood tour shirt, and Lily Allen's book My Thoughts Exactly. (Just prior to entering the shop where I found it, I was in WH Smith, saw it, and thought I'd love to read it, as I love Lily Allen. It's crazy to me that I would find it on the next shop I step foot in, and only for one singular Great British pound.) At five in the afternoon, I touched down in London Victoria, jumped on the tube to King's Cross, and the first thing I did when I got into the Travelodge was to go for a shower and wash as much root spray off my hair as possible. (The amount of times I have washed my hands off its residue during this trip is unbelievable. Surely, it had to be some sort of record.) After making myself look somewhat decent, I headed to the Islington Academy, another place that has basically been home for the past few years, especially when I lived in Watford.

The queuing process felt like it lasted for hours, and the number of people who had turned up without their COVID passes, getting tested beforehand, or getting vaccinated altogether was befuddling. Didn't we come close enough to losing that thing you're here for? I sort of have to commend the venue staff for having lateral flows tests on hand, I suppose. I joined my friend Am upstairs and missed a little bit of Caskets but, as I had the night before, enjoyed what I saw very much. The singalongs from the crowd are so impressive that my first thought is that "they must be from around here," but as it turns out, they are from Yorkshire, so I'm guessing it's just sheer talent. Part of this tour felt like awesome bands sprouting out of nowhere, and somehow having several hundred people singing along to their music.
I loved it.
I briefly caught up with my friend Tosca, saw my friend Emily for the first time since the pandemic hit, and then, headed downstairs for Thousand Below. Shockingly, every once in a while, I like staying at the back or on the sides for shows. (Joiners had CHAIRS at the back. It was great.) But not during the band I have travelled for, and not when those three main support sets are something I have waited three years for. In London, the moshpits start during the first song, and I jump headfirst, as usual. I am also the first person to crowdsurf for the night, during The Love You Let Too Close, and security is taken aback, to say the least. And it was a great time. I appreciate the intention of the guy who offered to swap spots with me during No Place Like You, so I wouldn't get hit by the people in the pit, but I think he and I both knew he wouldn't have said that to a guy. I guess that's what happens when you're the only girl in a moshpit. Oh, well. Thousand Below are fantastic, meeting frontman James Deberg at merch afterwards was a great moment, our picture together is hilarious, and playing The Love You Let Too Close immediately followed by No Place Like You was kinda rude to my emotions, but I'll allow it.
Sometime during Normandie's set, which is the planned length in London, and which they explain is their biggest ever, I start wondering about one thing. Who are the people who listen to Normandie? How did a group of Swedish men become the kind of band who sell out a whole UK tour, including a thousand capacity venue, months in advance? Surely, touring with Yellowcard (who broke up five years ago) and Hands Like Houses (who have never been that big) doesn't make one scene famous? What did I miss? Who is the target audience? What's the demography? And I mean that with absolutely no disrespect, only curiosity. Have I missed out on a big tour they would have done? Is it because we collectively love Sweden as a society? (Also, as found out through research, why did no one inform me that frontman Philip Strand had contributed to a Eurovision song? That's the kind of fact that's right up my alley.)
On another note- Holy Water is a straight-up banger and has been stuck in my head for the past almost week.

At the end of the show, we run into some of Am's friends, head to merch, where I purchase a cool Caskets pin (if you know me, you know I'm a sucker for things I can put on jackets), spot one of my old team leaders at the merch table, and then, we head to the back of the venue in an attempt to meet people. See, I remembered the Islington Academy being something of a ballache when it came to meeting band members, I remembered having to go all the way around the block because security staff simply will not let you go in a straight line down, but I had never seen the "designated waiting area" they now have. Is this new?
We end up not meeting anyone, but I make new friends and I have a great time, so, who cares. Emma and Callum, this one goes out to you.

On Monday morning, I leave the cosy Travelodge room (I swear this is not sponsored content, though if they wanted to, I'm down- I just really love Travelodge) and head to Victoria Coach Station, yet again, to make my way to Birmingham. If every other journey had been comfortable and convenient enough, this cannot be said about this specific trip. Upon embarking, I notice a large and somewhat loud family group and decide to let them in first so I can then sit as far away from them as possible. (Disclaimer: I'm not mean about families and children, an overload of noises and voices can trigger panic attacks.) And I think I'm fine until we reach the Finchley Road stop and a second family group, larger and louder, sit all around me. The sound of their voices and iPad games sometimes grew louder than my headphones, and I had to step on discarded Skittles as I left the coach. For someone like me, this was the journey from hell.
Oh, well.
I don't know what kind of relationship I have in Birmingham. The wildlife situation being somewhat similar to Southampton's, I cannot say the Midlands city is my favourite place in the world, but I have to admit it is convenient, in the middle of everything, and it has a Tim Hortons café, which is always going to be an advantage. (For future reference, the presence of at least one Tim Hortons per tour is a requirement on my end. What's the point of going to the United Kingdom if I can't have a slightly-too-sweet Iced Capp with coconut milk?) After reading whatever All Time Low thought they were doing with that statement and getting ready, I head into the heart of the city for a well-deserved stop at Spoons (everyone in the scene will tell you, is it really following a tour if you don't go to Spoons?) and then, find my way to Mama Roux's without getting lost, which is a first. 

I have only been to Mama Roux's twice (both times in 2018, to see Mallory Knox, then With Confidence), and I can confidently say it is one of my favourite venues in the country. It is the perfect size for a good show, and it looks so lovely and quirky. The show opens with Caskets and, from my tiny corner, the only spot I could find in a packed and undeniably sold-out room, I can see the waves this band will be making in the future. This could have been their own headliner. The singalongs are deafening, especially considering they are the first band of the night, and everyone knows who they are. They sound as tight and fantastic as always, and I'm ridiculously happy I got a new band to fall in love with out of this three-day adventure. That's the best part of doing stupid things and following tours and going to shows early: you get new music out of it. You get to be swept off your feet three times around. Caskets are amazing, and I can't wait for the future.
About half an hour later, Thousand Below takes the stage for the last time of the tour, and a part of me starts feeling the end-of-an-adventure blues, last-day-of-summer melancholy, like, this is it, tomorrow, I'm not watching one of my favourite bands again. Outside of me being a raging emotional idiot, I have the best time during the third instalment of Only Girl In The Pit, a series by me, about my life. (Disclaimer: there's another girl who joins in about halfway through the set.) As I did the first times, I give everything I have to The Love You Let Too Close, I have a bit of a crying moment, I sing along really awfully, I dance equally awfully, and I have the best time. At the end of the night, the jacket I have made to celebrate one of my favourite albums and song gets a bit of a moment and a conversation, and, spoiler alert, I leave Mama Roux's a happy bunny.
(Honestly, I am so sorry to anyone who saw me dance, for lack of a better word, to Disassociate. I just don't know how to move sometimes.)
Finally, Normandie come up for their last show of the tour, and though still confused as to why they have become this popular, material for endless singalongs, I join in and enjoy the ride. (Also, I have discovered between the London and Birmingham shows that I have seen them support Hands Like Houses at the Asylum in 2018, which had entirely slipped my mind.) And, as usual, if you know me, even just a little bit, someone on stage asking for either crowdsurfing or moshpits is always going to be kryptonite and, after a quiet but decided "Fuck it," more to myself than anything, I jump in for the end of Holy Water. (I guess the track is now perpetually stuck in my head.) At the London show, frontman Philip Strand had informed the crowd he did not want a wall of death and, at the Birmingham show, he asked the people on the balcony to start a moshpit. It was probably a health and safety hazard, but aren't all the best nights?

On Tuesday, I finally treat myself to a Tim Hortons Iced Capp, I jump in yet another Flixbus service back to London, I sit down at St. Pancras station, waiting for my late Eurostar, I briefly catch up with my lovely friend Tosca, and I head home, slightly broken outside, but more than happy inside. On my wishlist for the future? Another Thousand Below tour, and maybe for the back of my leg to stop looking like I've barbecued it. (I burnt myself by accident on the radiator in my hotel room in London.) 

Also, as a final note! Do we remember the part about the hobbies and the insecurities? I embroidered on the Eurostar while listening to a podcast, just like I do back home. It was great. 

And, since we're on the subject of podcasts, have a listen to the Good Noise Podcast episode featuring Homesafe's Ryan Rumchaks and Tyler Albertson.