It's a story that starts the same way, all over again. There's a thoughtful text from a friend, hoping you'll be okay, and a heart that breaks when you open a window to the real world and see the words. "Chester Bennington killed himself". The first article I saw was on TMZ and I got the blunt headline. 

It's been a little over a week and my socials are full of tributes, of thank yous, of heartbroken messages. I have left it until now because I couldn't find the right words, and I'm afraid there will never be any right words. 

Linkin Park turned up unannounced in my life when I was thirteen. I had heard Numb on the radio, but the moment that changed everything was finding an old magazine my brother had brought back home. It had an interview of Linkin Park, and, in it, Chester was saying that Linkin Park was about accepting the chaos in your head. Thirteen was a horrific age for me, as I'm sure it is for many teenagers. I had just lost my grandmother, whom I was very close to. I was struggling to fit in at school, kidding myself into believing that the people whose jokes I laughed at and the boy I liked who dated all my friends were friends of mine, out in this world to look out for me. It wasn't easy for me to see my mum devastated over her mother's death. I was taking dance lessons and hated it, hated it with a passion, hated how everyone excluded me when I had done nothing wrong. I felt lonely and abandoned. 

For the first time, I had found words that resonated with me. There was chaos up there. I didn't know what else to do so I turned to Linkin Park's music for comfort.

Linkin Park changed the game for me. I had a girl at my school lend me their Live in Texas and I adored it. I remember listening to it in the car with my brother, surprised that his scrawny little sister was following the same musical path as him. I spent my free time listening to the radio, patiently waiting for Numb, and then, Numb/Encore to come on so I could tape it and listen to it later. I borrowed Meteora at the local library and listened to it on repeat, asked for it at Christmas. Linkin Park were my band, there for me at the click of a button on a cheap CD player, there in ways no one else was, there in ways the school kids who told me "please don't tell me you like that kind of music?" weren't and never would be.

It took me seven years to see Linkin Park live. I queued from half 9 in the morning, underestimated the amount of people who would be there before me and still, was knocked off my feet. It was, and still is unreal to get to see my band and the man who changed my life in the flesh. I remember sitting down in the queue, listening to others' conversations, hearing a guy talk about his meet and greet. I probably had an embarrassing pair of heart eyes eavesdropping on someone's conversation, there and then. I was lucky to see them again four years later at Download Festival, when they played Hybrid Theory in full. Man, that was something. All my pictures from that day are awful, bar the ones taken with the friends I was with. You should see the look on my face. I was at the top of my hill, looking un-metal as ever in my flowery raincoat and my flower crown, staring at the stage in absolute awe. By that point, Linkin Park weren't my favourite band anymore, but they still had the power to steal my heart, easy as one, two, three.

Hearing about Chester's passing destroyed my heart. I had always found it hard to understand how people reacted when their favourite celebrities died. I had spent my childhood seeing my brother refusing to watch a Formula 1 rerun that would show Ayrton Senna, because he was too upset. Our copy of Senna collected dust on the shelf, unwatched, because he knew that if he watched it, he would be sad beyond belief. I have seen him cry when Lemmy died. But I didn't really understand until Tom Searle, and now, Chester Bennington. Losing an idol, a role model, someone whose words and works of art have had an influence on your life is like losing a little part of yourself. It's like turning the lights off and closing the door on a room. The only option you have is sit in the dark and reminisce. Coping with your role models' mortality is another thing that is tough to stomach. They have influenced your life so much that it is hard, sometimes, to remember that they are human just like you, and that in the blink of an eye, they can be gone. 

The truth is, I'm genuinely heartbroken and it feels like I have lost someone close to me. I read the words and I still cannot believe them. Love and tributes are pouring left, right and centre and a small part of me cannot quite comprehend that the man who changed my life for the better is gone forever. 

I still nursed the little teenage hope of, one day, meeting Chester. Imagining myself actually saying words was a bit optimistic, but given the chance, I would have taken it. I knew a couple of people who had been lucky enough to cross paths with him and listened to their stories with the awe of a little girl. I would have just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for helping me understand that my pain was okay and normal. Thank you for creating music that helped with my anger, my sadness, all these raw, sharp feelings I didn't know what to do with when I was so young. Thank you for those life lessons. Thank you for giving me a little bit of hope, a little bit of light, for putting a smile on my face the two days I was lucky enough to see you perform. 

I hope you found, in the other side, the home you gave me. 

My musical journey is full of revolutions. The Spice Girls were the first band I ever loved. The Offspring were the realisation something existed outside of pop music. Linkin Park were the first band to voice what was going on in my brain. Jimmy Eat World became everything in the space of seven minutes and twenty-four seconds. The list is long. I would even say that every band and artist I have ever loved has been a revolution in itself. Some were louder than others. Paramore was one of the loudest ones. 

It is a tale as old as man, and, tonight, frontwoman Hayley Williams will mention the love we all have for music. On stage, she will say that maybe, we have found our way here because one of our friends liked one of their songs. Back in 2008, when I was an entirely different person, one of my friends liked not one, but all of their songs, and mentioned them in passing, as an anecdote in an English class. One morning, before taking the bus to university, I typed their name on YouTube and listened to Crushcrushcrush not once, not twice, but about ten times in a row. It felt like a brand new world had opened its gates for me.

As they say, the rest is history.

The Grand Rex show is part of Tour One, the first ever tour in support of the band's fifth full-length record, After Laughter. Once again, the line up has changed, and original drummer Zac Farro is back in the gang. When he gets a moment to perform one of his own songs (HalfNoise's Scooby's in the Back), he thanks "his band, Paramore" for the opportunity. Those are just three words, but they are more than enough to take me back to the day the world found out Josh and Zac had left the band, almost seven years ago. I was so ridiculously upset I spent hours crying and wallowing on my kitchen floor. The day I found out Zac was back, in January, was a cause for celebration. I couldn't exactly go wild, so I just got my old Paramore t-shirt out of my closet and wore it with pride and a giant smile on my face.

I wasn't expecting Paramore to be back so quickly after that, but then, they were. It was a giant rollercoaster of news. In the space of three weeks, they released Hard Times and announced a tour, After Laughter, a show in Paris two days after my birthday. That was a lot of emotion and, somehow, I was ready for it all. I had been waiting for it all, and I didn't even know I had. I had been waiting for my love for Paramore to be reignited after taking a little break. 

If you saw me at that gig, last week, you wouldn't think I had taken a little break with Paramore. From my leather seat behind the sound desk, I was jumping up and down like a bunny, singing along to every word, dancing like the Grand Rex was my dance floor. I even had goosebumps as the trio broke into 2007's That's What You Get. Of course, I cried. Who do you think I am? I always cry anyways, it's barely worth noting anymore.

We're not here to talk about my tears - even though, as always, I am more than willing to make fun of how tragically emo I am and always will be. We are here to talk about Paramore, a band who has had many a rebirth, many a change, and who, tonight, is shining brighter than ever, maybe brighter than I have ever seen them shine. The second they walk on stage and burst into Told You So and its eighties vibe, you can tell you are witnessing something special. You are seeing a band who is, no pun intended, born for this and nothing else.

I have always found it hard to talk about Paramore because of how deep the connection I feel with their music is. They once were the entire world and beyond, to me. They were everything. Judging their performance from an exterior, unbiased point of view doesn't feel right and never will because it has always been love, love with its highs and its lows, with its complications and its doubts, with its bliss and its perfect instants, with its breaks, nothing but pure, unaltered love. There is no way I can be partial.

There is no need to say anything negative, though. There is no room for it. Paramore were absolutely stellar on that stage, and from the setlist to the lights, everything was purely beautiful. Even something like the colours of the lights was perfect. I am going there, but every time they were starting a song and I could detect a colour theme in the lights, my brain thought of course, this is such a pink/blue/mint green song. Of course. Why didn't I think of that before.

Let's talk about the setlist, maybe. Unsurprisingly, many songs out of After Laughter are performed. It is its first tour, they need a grand outing - and they will get it. A personal favourite of mine is Rose-Colored Boy and its cheerleader chants. Just thinking of the words "Low key, no pressure, just hang with me and my weather" is enough to plant the catchy song in my head, impossible to be dislodged. Caught in the Middle, despite all the feelings and how painfully relatable its lyrics are, was just lovely. Forgiveness took a whole new dimension - it was as if a studio version was too small for it, and it needed a stage to become the song it was meant to be. 

Classics were here, too. We were treated to what I unfairly called a Twilight Corner as Decode happens just before I Caught Myself, a song I have always adored but haven't heard played live since 2009. I cried to That's What You Get (don't ask why) and reminisced to the sound of 2009's Brick By Boring Brick. Fond, but slightly embarrassing memories of me and my friends dancing and singing in a store as the music video was playing on their screens came to mind.

You couldn't think of a Paramore setlist without hits such as Ain't It Fun, Still Into You or the decade old Misery Business, a classic amongst classics. I'm more used to listening to this song with a drink in hand, under the bright lights of a sticky club, now, but I will always love it dearly. As has become traditional, the band get members of the audience on stage to perform it - Camille is on vocals and Paola on guitar, and both do a great job. I think I would throw up with nerves if I ever got up there. 

The lights are turned back on. The sound guy presses play on the "END OF SHOW" playlist he has on Spotify (there are privileges when you sit behind the sound desk - feeling like you are behind the scenes, desperately wanting to steal the technician's chocolate cake and berries salad). Whitney Houston's I Wanna Dance With Somebody fills the room. My eyes are shining and my heart is bursting with joy. I have watched Paramore play a wonderful show, I have had a kickass time. Nothing else really matters. 

2017 : the gift that keeps on giving, the June edition.

ALBUMS

Despite its exterior, Hey Violet's From the Outside is not your typical bubblegum pop. Don't look at the artwork and expect it to sound like the soundtrack to your average, mid-2000s teenage rom-com. From the Outside is a take on the mind and concerns of a young woman trying to figure out the world around her, trying to figure out relationships, love, sex, what she wants out of it all, and maybe what she doesn't want either. All these topics are dealt with in a very open, honest way, and tracks like Guys My Age (a slick, definitely modern pop tune on how unsatisfying dating guys your own age can be) could almost sound as if they were part of a conversation in between friends, with no filter whatsoever. From the Outside is a modern pop album with 80s influences (Brand New Moves, Where Have You Been (All My Night)), cleverly used EDM sounds (All We Ever Wanted) and tunes (Break My Heart, Hoodie, Unholy) that somehow can't help but reminding me of The Veronicas. The record's standout tracks are definitely Like Lovers Do, the theatrical and bittersweet story of a relationship that's doomed from the start and the lyrical equivalent of knowing you're going to crash, but accelerating anyway, and Fuqboi, an extremely catchy anthem for a generation of women who are trying to understand men who keep treating them like dirt. In a world where traditional pop culture feeds us some outdated ideals on relationships without taking into account the fact that the world is changing at break neck speed, Hey Violet's From the Outside offers a refreshing (sadly not always pleasing) take on relationships and love, and closing with a track like the über-catchy This Is Me Breaking Up With You and its shouted "Too many movies, I've had enough" sums this up quite well. Women want more than fairytales and settling down, and these are our anthems.


If you're looking for this summer's feel-good album, don't look any further than Broadside's second full-length, Paradise. The title-track and opener is a true summer anthem, and the perfect embodiment of "start as you mean to go on" - you got it, Paradise is filled to the brim with thirty-six minutes of pure feel-good summer anthems. All through the album, the key is positivity. Hidden Colors (one of the best singles of 2017) is all about empowering women, Paradise encourages you to chase your dreams and Disconnect wants you to live your life the way you want to instead of comparing yourself to someone whose life you're seeing filtered to fit Internet popularity standards. Paradise is unmistakeably a pop-punk record - just listen to Miss Imperius (a catchy tune about being controlled by someone who pinpoints your weaknesses, and yes, this is a Harry Potter reference in the title) or marvel at the drumming in Who Cares?, and you'll notice it. What needs noticing, though, is that Broadside are a pop-punk band who are never afraid of putting genuine pop elements in their sound. Every chorus is bigger than the last, and frontman Oliver Baxxter has one of the most versatile voices in the game, easily going from screams (in Laps Around a Picture Frame) to perfect RnB vibes. Puzzle Pieces, the album's first single, perfectly showcases the album's vibes and the fact that Broadside are a socially conscious and aware band who aren't afraid to stray from the typical pop-punk themes to discuss the hard truths and strive for a more tolerant and equal world. Paradise is a feel good album through and through, filled with lovely intentions, a social conscience and wonderfully satisfying pop choruses, perfect for my terrible dance moves.


When I was seventeen, I had a crippingly embarrassing indie phase. My music taste revolved around French indie-rock bands, The Beatles, The Kooks, early Arctic Monkeys material and whatever Peter Doherty would do, and the rest I deemed "mainsteam" and, therefore, not worth my time. Ten years down the line, I still listen to some of those artists and bands, but my indie phase is dead and buried, and for me to find interest and excitement in an indie-rock band is getting rarer by the day. That was, of course, until Royal Blood came along. I was dragged to see them at Download 2014, then saw them again at Reading 2014, and then proceeded to listen to their debut album on repeat. My tiny mind was blown, and, for once, an indie-rock band had grabbed my attention enough for me to want to see them live, and for me to be eager to listen to their sophomore record. How Did We Get So Dark doesn't hit you like a brick at full speed the way the self-titled album does, but every song satisfyingly gets under your skin, seeps in. There is a clear continuity with the band's previous music, How Did We Get So Dark is a logical next step, one with more nuances and less urgency - which is a wonderful thing when it brings songs such as Where Are You Now and its complicated structure, or Hole in Your Heart, a personal favourite. There is still the Royal Blood touch everywhere, and a song like I Only Lie When I Love You is the pure, unmistakeable essence of what this band is all about. With How Did We Get So Dark, Royal Blood have managed, once again, to produce a stunning, perfect indie-rock record without relying on typical, classic indie music tropes. There is no obvious lead song like there usually is in indie-rock albums, every song could be the next single and get daytime radio plays. It's all killer, no filler - which might just be the reason why it got to number one in the charts, why they played the set of a lifetime at Glastonbury last weekend, and why they're only going to get bigger, and bigger. 

On the 2nd of June, All Time Low have come back with their eighth (already!) studio full-length, Last Young Renegade. When the band premiered the first single, Dirty Laundry, frontman Alex Gaskarth said they were out to "explore new things", and it doesn't take a long time to the listener to realise that Last Young Renegade isn't a traditional, pop-punk orientated All Time Low album. The sound all through the record has more pop than punk, and tracks like Good Times feature almost electronic vibes. Having worked with pop duo Tegan & Sara (on Ground Control, one of my favourite songs out of the record) also sends a message towards whatever it is you were expecting from the Baltimore four-piece : times are changing. Still, Last Young Renegade is undeniably an All Time Low record, their touch and their unique songwriting is instantly recognisable. Far from me the idea of comparing it to any of their previous work, but some parts and some songs (namely the opener, Last Young Renegade, and Good Times) reminded me of the Nothing Personal era. I feel the 2010 record is the one closest in sound and vibe to Last Young Renegade as it was their most sonically diverse... until Last Young Renegade came in and stole the crown, that is. Lyrically, Last Young Renegade is about changing, saying goodbye to the past, while still retaining the band's trademark positivity and optimism. By change, maybe All Time Low didn't mean a complete U-turn, maybe it was just all about saying goodbye to your demons and to what haunts you. Last Young Renegade is this month's pleasant surprise and one of All Time Low's best records. The change of sound they were aiming at is gracefully done and this new direction shows maturity on their part as much as it showcases their undeniable talent. It's a refined, slick album that experiments left, right and centre (notably with Gaskarth's voice, which has never sounded better), and I like that better than if they had tried to rehash a tired pop-punk formula. I feel like Last Young Renegade has a better chance of making a mark than some of All Time Low's previous records. It is a strange thing to say about a band who has released an album less than a month ago, but All Time Low have sparked excitement in me again, and I want to know where this album is going to take them next, which direction they are going to head for.

THE PLAYLIST

This month's playlist includes : 

MY NEW FAVOURITE ARTIST

As I said in March's post, the greatest thing about going to multiple shows of the same tour is that you have a shot at making the support bands your new favourite bands. Before following the Set It Off/With Confidence co-headliner tour, I knew of the Americans in Too Close To Touch, had listened to them, even. Seeing them live turned out to be a game changer and I have found in them another post-hardcore band with brilliant vocals - aren't I a sucker for that. The less great thing about following a tour is that you find yourself missing everything about it when you come back home, and I am now sadly sat at home, eagerly waiting for Too Close To Touch's return to the old continent. In the meantime, you should all treat your ears.