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.

Ages ago, we're talking years ago, I started this little series that mostly consisted in me being emotional about albums I loved, and in the light of the ten-year anniversary of one of my absolute favourite records, the game-changing kind, it is time to dig the Album Club from six feet under.

This time last week, I was sitting on my downstairs sofa at about eleven in the evening, watching Tonight Alive frontwoman Jenna McDougall perform acoustic renditions of tracks from the band's debut album What Are You So Scared Of, which was celebrating a decade of life. And it took me back. It's simple, really. It took me back.

The first time I heard Tonight Alive's music was a surprise. They were supporting Young Guns on a small UK tour, and I was attending the Manchester show, thinking the only support was one of the rising stars of British metal at the time, Polar. I remember walking into the Deaf Institute, and it's strange how vivid those memories are, considering I haven't gone back to the venue since, but I remember walking in and past the merch table and seeing Tonight Alive's set up, and thinking I didn't know they'd be playing, and I think my brain said something like "oh, yeah, they're that Australian band. It's cool, I wanted to check them out."
And it's even stranger how, almost a decade down the line, the most vivid memories I have from that night are about Tonight Alive, the one band on the lineup I didn't know. I remember Jenna asking whether people knew Mumford & Sons before the band played their Punk Goes Pop cover of Little Lion Man, and thinking shit, I don't know who Mumford & Sons are! What's a little lion man? And I remember meeting Jenna at merch at the end of the night and, when we were taking a photograph together, Rage Against The Machine's Killing In The Name Of started playing over the venue speakers, and she was so happy to hear that song she squeezed my shoulder.
And maybe it's not that strange that almost a decade down the line, Tonight Alive are the only band from that night that never left me.

People leaving.
There was a concept I was struggling with around this time. You know, in One Tree Hill, Peyton's art piece with the traffic lights and the line "People always leave" inked above it? That was where I was at. And I was desperately waiting for someone to slide the matching one, the second half of the set that said "sometimes they come back" underneath my apartment door. This time in my life was a time of changes I didn't want. I didn't want to leave the safety of university. I didn't want to watch my mum leave me every day. I didn't want to figure out being a grown-up like this. This undoubtedly affected all my friendships. Every single one of them. And, eventually, because being around the depressed girl who's desperately trying to make it out on her own, as if this will give her more value in the future, every one of them fizzled out, and everyone left.
It sounds like such an emo kid cliché, thinking that the only thing I had going for me was music. But it's the truth. The only thing I had going for me was music. Bands broke up every once in a while, sure, but my favourite bands didn't leave me. They stuck around. If I turned up at a venue to watch them play, whether it was in Paris or somewhere stupid in the United Kingdom, they didn't care that I was sad. They only cared that I was here, and they stayed. And I desperately needed things that stayed.

So my love for Tonight Alive stayed. At the Young Guns show, I had bought a copy of one of their EPs, Consider This. And somewhere in my heart, ten years down the line, it still holds the most special place. I was listening to that thing on repeat. And, you know what, I'm not trying to rewrite history. 2012 me did not listen to albums unless I had CDs, and even when they were on my good old iPod, I listened to songs. Not albums. For the longest time, I was the kind of girl that played music on shuffle. And I can't pretend I once listened to Eject, Eject, Eject, the opening track to What Are You So Scared Of? and thought shit, this is life-changing. If I say this album is a collection of songs that changed my life, it's in the wrong order, it's a mess of a collection and an impact bigger than words could ever say.

In September of 2012, Tonight Alive played the Batofar, in Paris, one of these strange little shows during which a local band's album release party was squeezed in the middle because why the hell not. (Because we were trying to capitalise on our complicated relationship with pop-punk.) The venue was not very full, and the "moshpit" was basically just me and two or three of my friends dancing around behind the first few rows. (I have a vivid memory of a girl in heels and a blazer running in, pushing me hard, and leaving, but that's a story for another day, really.) But what I remember the most is the build-up to that show. Because I was listening to What Are You So Scared Of? on loop, albeit in the wrong order, for days and weeks on end, and thinking this is it. This is what I've been looking for. This is what I need.
This is what I want to believe in.

Early-2010s me had a complicated relationship with others, with life, and maybe most importantly with herself. The self-loathing was otherworldly, and I simply believed I would never amount to anything. I had big dreams but no idea where to start. I changed career ideas every other week, from translation to touring with bands. None of these ideas stuck around, maybe because I didn't allow them to, maybe because I was constantly fighting to stay afloat, and that shit gets exhausting, and maybe because they were shot down by the people who didn't believe in me, and those people weren't always me and my subconscious. For the sake of this, let's just say I didn't have the best support system in my early twenties.
And I remember walking in that boat, on a strangely warm day at the end of September 2012, and for an hour or so, I didn't have to fight anymore. I didn't have to be strong, and mature, and resilient, and show how well I could handle everything or take a hit.
I could just be.

Every time I hear Tonight Alive play the title track, What Are You So Scared Of?, I always check in with myself. I think of the things I want to achieve, and I ask myself, very seriously, while I'm dancing and singing along, what the hell are you so scared of? What's stopping you? If you asked the girl on the boat that night, her answer would have been a mile long. If you asked the girl on the orange couch who was watching one of her favourite songs being played on her phone, she would have stopped dead and thought well...I don't know, actually. And it's during one of those moments that I realise how much growth I have made alongside this band. I can't really tell where the line "What are you so scared of / Judgement's not unfair / It's what we've learned to see" took my mind ten years ago, but in 2021, it reminds me that yes, people will talk, and they will judge, and, well, it's a free world, really, but it doesn't have to stop you, and it doesn't have to hinder you, and it doesn't have to hold any sort of weight in the things you want to do and the decisions you make. I don't know if that's what I'm supposed to find in there, and I can't pinpoint when the realisation happened, but I know, for a fact, that it's always a great motivator.
Yes, the world will watch, but it doesn't have to stop you.
What would have stopped me ten years ago doesn't stop me anymore, and even though I don't have receipts and examples, I can promise you, hand on my heart, that this song is one of the many reasons why the things that would have stopped me ten years ago don't stop me anymore.

During the Instagram live stream, Jenna played Sure As Hell, which she said was her favourite song on the album, and explained how she had this feeling it was her future self that had written it for her at the time. And while I don't know much about future selves, I like the idea that, back in the day, Sure As Hell felt like everything I wanted to be. I wanted to get to a point where I could say "I never felt more free / I've never been more true" and "Now I'm finally content" and mean it, mean every word, every syllable, every letter. And maybe, just maybe, it was all a sign. A sign that I would get there. It would take a lot of growing pains, but I would get there. And, ten years later, feeling this, for real, for the most part, it's priceless. I think it's why I feel like I have grown up with Tonight Alive. Because all the words I wanted to believe in, I carried them and used them as catalysts until they came true. Kind of "fake it 'til you make it", except that none of it was fake, and I sure as hell meant all of it. 

As explained by the band members on social media these past few days, What Are You So Scared Of is an album that was born in fearlessness, in the unshakeable belief that you should pursue every opportunity that arises. This is an album that was born in youth, in the voices of five teenagers and young adults who had something to say, messages to spread. It's okay not to be in control all the time. Don't waste the time you have. Live in the moment. Love should feel safe. Listen to your heart. Let go. It's okay to acknowledge when someone's presence in your life doesn't work. These are messages born in youth, learned in the experiences that come with growing up, and, very importantly, carried out through most of Tonight Alive's career, in some way, shape, or form. These are messages I have taken with me and still keep in my heart, even when I'm older, even when I'm not a kid fresh out of university anymore, a kid who had a bone to pick with the whole world, even when I'm a girl who knows where she's going, who's starting on the big dreams, who's content with who she is. Maybe especially then. 

I would like to say that a record like What Are You So Scared Of and a band like Tonight Alive was my figurative piece of art that reminded me that "sometimes they come back" slipped under my apartment door when I least expected it yet needed it the most, but, ten years later, I have learnt that it is my reminder, or maybe my lesson, that not everyone leaves, and not everything disappears, and the songs you love will always carry you home. 

[ To celebrate the ten-year anniversary of the record, Walls Of Sound has written a fantastic piece on What Are You So Scared Of? and how it changed the face of Australian pop-punk. It counts as part of the inspiration behind this post, and it is a fantastic read, and you can check it out HERE. ]

The last show we attended during our six-day trip to the United Kingdom was also the largest one, and it consisted of Bring Me The Horizon tearing up the O2 Arena on the last night of their Post Human Tour.

I have spoken about Bring Me The Horizon on several occasions in the past, and they were one of my very first dips into the pool of metalcore, over a decade ago. I remember them being one of the bands that were simply too heavy for me, at first. I played Chelsea Smile on YouTube, liked the guitar, but did not understand why there was any need for screaming. I waited it out a bit, more or less gracefully, and I saw someone share their song It Never Ends on Tumblr when it first came out. I clicked on it because I had a spare four minutes, and that was it. I understood. Ten years down the line, they have become unbelievably special to me as something I share with my older brother, who loves them and has travelled to see them with me several times. Watching them again after over two years was going to be special, I knew it.

Caught off guard by how early doors were and how long the queues of the standing area tend to be at the O2 Arena, we missed Nova Twins and only made it in ten minutes before You Me At Six were due to play. However, it was surprisingly easy to get to the front of the crowd.

Ah, You Me At Six.
I know I have spoken about them before, and most conversations led by me revolve around my deep and endless love for their earlier material, particularly their sophomore album Hold Me Down, which remains one of my all-time favourite records. Though I am not the girl who used to don their merch constantly and listen to their music every day on the way to university anymore, I still keep a close eye on what they do and keep up with their every release. Their music is like an old friend to me, the kind you don't always see or talk to every day, but when you do, it's like no time at all has passed.
Back in January, the Brits released their seventh full-length effort, SUCKAPUNCH. I have to admit some of it did not click with me as much as some of their older stuff, but when they are on stage in front of me, it doesn't matter. Who cares how many times I have listened to these songs, and who cares if they tug at my heartstrings or give me special feelings? I don't. Because the performance delivered by You Me At Six outshines everything else. See, when I first started listening to them, when I first saw them, when I saw them play large shows, I could tell how special they were, but damn- that O2 Arena set was beyond words. Music-wise and, undoubtedly, fandom-wise, they are light years away from Bring Me The Horizon, but they command the room with the kind of ease that forces admiration. It could be down to years of practice, years of cutting their teeth on the road and building their reputation as one of the finest rock bands in the UK. But it could also be due to natural talent and charisma, and I like to think it's a little bit of both.
The setlist is largely composed of tracks extracted from SUCKAPUNCH, and they all sound incredible in a live setting. Some older songs, such as Underdog, the band's timeless classic, or Take On The World, get an outing and an enthusiastic reception from the growing audience. 2014's Lived A Lie gets me crowdsurfing, even though I claimed I wouldn't and did not even dress appropriately for the adventure- proof that "I want to see as many crowdsurfers as possible" is my kryptonite through and through. They also play Bite My Tongue, which originally features Bring Me The Horizon's frontman Oli Sykes, who makes an appearance on stage for the first time on the tour. And, believe it or not, it's the moment that got me crying like an idiot.

At the end of a set concluded by the excellent Beautiful Way, frontman Josh Franceschi announces ten-year-anniversary shows for the band's third album, Sinners Never Sleep, which are then revealed to take place in June 2022, just before Slam Dunk Festival. If we're being honest, I am unbelievably excited, as the record holds a more than special place in my heart, but I am also terrified of hearing When We Were Younger live again, so I might need a little emotional support come June.

Recently, on a magazine's application page, I read the question: "Who is the most exciting band in the world right now, and why?" I thought of many options, many artists who social media is raving about, but the one true answer stood in front of me for an hour and a half on the 26th of September, 2021, and their name is Bring Me The Horizon. Who else could it be? What the Sheffield-natives do, no one else does it, but everyone draws inspiration from it in some way. They are the textbook definition of trendsetters, of trailblazers. The face of metalcore would not have been the way it has been if it wasn't for their music, charisma, anthemic lyrics, and style, and the face of rock music in the 2020s is going to be heavily influenced by their artistry. Mark my words.
I often speak about how unique it is to watch a band you once saw in smaller rooms play huge arenas, complete with pyro, screens, and a bigger budget, but I never really had that experience when Bring Me The Horizon is concerned, even though I have followed them for over a decade. The only time I saw them play an intimate venue was in May 2019, a few days before All Points East Festival, as a belated part of the Brit Awards shows. The one thing I can see, though, is a change of atmosphere. The first time I saw them play was at the first-ever Warped Tour UK, in Alexandra Palace, a strange day in my life to say the least, and the most vivid memory I have from their afternoon set was Oli Sykes asking people to open up a wall of death during Shadow Moses, which was getting its first-ever live outing, and do the Gangnam Style dance in it.

I could say it's pretty crazy to me that the band who did this is, ten years later, leading the pack of rock music in the United Kingdom, whatever anyone has to say about it, but there was unabashed confidence in asking that from an audience, and they wouldn't be where they are today without such self-belief.
I would like to say that, now, Bring Me The Horizon has the resources to fulfil their ambitions, but it would not do justice to their vision. Because you do not get where they are without a clear vision of what you want to be.
All throughout the years, there has been complete fearlessness in everything they have done. After the critically acclaimed Sempiternal, which many regard as the best metal record of its decade, they shifted their sound in That's The Spirit, going slightly softer, and even more dramatically with amo, which saw them explore poppier sounds and collaborate with people such as Grimes. In 2020, when POST HUMAN: SURVIVAL HORROR came out, it sounded like a love letter to the heavier music of their humble beginnings and almost a way of telling people that "actually, we can still do music that's heavy as fuck, and probably better than you think we can." And this fearlessness, this confidence, is, undoubtedly, what propels them to offer the live shows they do.

They do not have elaborate stage sets à la Iron Maiden, pyrotechnics, or complicated tricks. (Not that there's anything wrong with those. You all know me enough to know I love a bit of pyro.) They only have screens as props, behind them as well as a case of them around the stage, going up and down as the narrative demands. These screens are not here for an easy cop-out. They are here to tell a story, paint a picture, plant an atmosphere. Every song gets its own scenario, some we have seen before (Medicine comes to mind), some brand new, for the songs that haven't been played live yet. At various points during the show, dancers join them on stage, making the show feel like an all-encompassing experience. This demands every part of your brain. Yes, you are required to listen to the music, but also use your eyes and take in everything that's in front of you. This isn't just a live performance. This is the real definition of a show.
The setlist is a clever mixture of their biggest hits (Shadow Moses, Throne, Drown) and of songs released in the past two years, of course from POST HUMAN: SURVIVAL HORROR, but various singles as well, such as the poppy Ludens, the heavier Parasite Eve, Obey, which sees Yungblud's appearance on stage for an energetic feature, and their most recent track, DiE4u. This is a welcome reminder that they are one hell of a hardworking band, first, and that they will never go where anyone expects them. They are always surprising the audience. It's almost as if they are beyond traditional albums and EPs. They just release music in whatever form they want.

I don't know when I stopped to think it was all special beyond words, but it was definitely down to spotting audience reactions. From the right side of the standing area, I was constantly being pushed back in by security when crossing over the safety line, as moshpits were getting much too large. The lower end of the seating was right next to me, and there was a family right above me, parents and a kid who looked about twelve. The father was having a grand old time, and the child, in their Sempiternal era shirt, looked transfixed by what was happening on stage during Kingslayer. (I can't blame him. Kingslayer has exploded its way into my absolute favourite Bring Me The Horizon tracks, and watching it live was face-melting.) Maybe it was because I can always, always count on Can You Feel My Heart to rip my heart out and, considering the teary-eyed man next to me, it seems I am not the only one.
And that's when I saw it. The universality lying in Bring Me The Horizon's music.
They started as this deathcore band in Sheffield, and there is still heavy music to love and mosh to for the diehard fans. There is enough of a wow factor to transfix little kids who have probably never seen or heard anything like Kingslayer before. There's enough emotion and relatable words to tug at everyone's heartstrings, not only mine. I don't think I count anyway, I cry to everything. Yes, they are anthem-makers extraordinaire, but they can truly do it all. They can do breakdowns, a live show that feel like a pop star's, complete with dancers and matching outfits, clean and pretty much flawless performances. They can do everything and make it seem so easy and effortless that it's almost infuriating.

Maybe it's a reminder that we could all start jumping through life with the unabashed self-belief of a band who once asked a bunch of emo teenagers with fringes to do the Gangnam Style dance in the middle of a moshpit at five in the afternoon, and who, from there, have lifted themselves to the top of the pile, never mind the genre.

Remember the screens, the dancers, the outfits, the sounds, the music. Remember everything.
You'll be seeing them everywhere in the future.