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.)

 As 2020 is nearing an end, it is time to review the albums I have vibed with the most this year. I had made a point and a resolution to keep in touch with music in the scene, as I am sure I have said before. I now find myself with too many albums to make a definitive list, but many things to talk about.
This is not a top anything. There is an album of the year, but that's about it. There are a lot of albums I really, really liked. Some I have novels' worth of content to talk about, some about which my feelings fit in a few lines. There is a little bit of everything.

Throughout the garbage fire that was 2020, I found myself drawn to positive albums. As I discuss somewhere in there, I believe positivity, especially in music, is a double-edged sword, because it's ever so easy to fall deep into the toxic positivity, "I am so disconnected from life so I will be telling you how wonderful life is, even though I know nothing about struggles" vibe. I found the sun, hope, and comfort I needed in albums that dissected feelings, explored the ups and the downs, in honesty, and in company. Strangely enough, despite seeing so many of my favourite heavy bands releasing music, I have not listened to -core bands as religiously and regularly as I usually do. But it's winter, accidental heavy metal season in my world, so, don't worry, I shall be finding my way back to screaming and breakdowns soon. Maybe I'll rediscover hidden gems. I am not purposely ignoring anything or anyone.

THE DEATH OF ME
(Polaris, released February 21st)

I have become picky with my heavy music, and I think it stems down from years of disappointing shows and albums I cannot relate to anymore. When I listen to heavy music, metalcore, deathcore, hardcore, whatever, I want to be blown away, I want to be stopped in my tracks and think well, this is one hell of an album.
I also tend to find most of my favourite heavy bands live, and Polaris was no exception. The first time I saw them was supporting Architects in Sweden, and, as the tour went on, I found myself more and more excited to see them play. In no time, in a click of the fingers, in the blink of an eye, their music has become important to me, and as soon as the state of my brain dips down into the uncertainty and the dark, it's the signal that I have to play Crooked Path on a loop until it gets better. This song has quickly become the musical version of emotional support.
Obviously, I was madly excited at the idea of them releasing a new album this year. I think one of the main reasons why I find it hard to relate to heavy albums is that I feel like some of the bands making them do not want to be making those songs and those albums. I don't know if they realise how easy it is for listeners to hear that the band on the other side of the microphone, the guitar, et al, would rather have their eyes scooped out of their sockets with a rusty teaspoon.
We can tell.
There is nothing like that at all with Polaris, there has never been, and I pray to God there will never be. The Death Of Me is the album of a band that is confident in their sound and who they are as a band. They have some of the most incredible vocals and don't overdo the split between clean vocals and harsher vocals. It never appears like their music sticks to a pre-made formula or something they should adhere to. It all feels very organic and natural, and, as a result, genuine. I couldn't be further away from being a musician, but Polaris also has some of the best guitar work I have ever heard. I love a good, strong, technical riff, as long as you don't try to revive the six-hour guitar solo à la Iron Maiden. I just love heavy music that isn't heavy for the sake of being heavy.
Metalcore has been through many trends and phases, often dictated by the bands who make it big, and all the bands that follow in their exact footsteps in the hopes of making it big too. Metalcore is a constant rotation of tropes and clichés, of keyboards, of breakdowns, of signature sounds, of music videos filmed in decaying warehouses or in forests, of aesthetics, fonts, everything. Metalcore somehow feels a lot more codified than other genres, and I love that Polaris is above it all. They are heavy, ridiculously so. They have screams and clean vocals. They tick all the metalcore boxes, but in a way that feels a lot more genuine than most bands, sometimes more experienced than them. Polaris is, right now, one of the very few truly exciting heavy bands. I wanted to find a better way to conclude this than "Fuck, I love them," but, fuck this. I fucking love Polaris, and The Death Of Me is gnarly perfection.
(PS - Anyone want to talk about their recent triple j Like A Version cover? I don't know what a Black Fingernails, Red Wine is, but I have no doubt Polaris made it 100% better than the original. I think my brain exploded when I first listened to it.)

NO GOOD LEFT TO GIVE(Movements, released September 18th)

SELF CARE
(Yours Truly, released September 18th)

NEW WAYS OF LIVING(The Winter Passing, released July 3rd)

HELLO, IT'S YOU(Bearings, released November 20th)

AFTERBURNER(Dance Gavin Dance, released April 24th)

Afterburner was one of the strangest things that happened to my 2020. I have always liked Dance Gavin Dance, but do not ever ask me how or why I got into them, because I have absolutely no fucking idea. I just do. They're just here, in my life, and if you ask me, yes, I like Dance Gavin Dance. I have seen them live, once, four years ago, when they did that anniversary tour that somehow included all four of their vocalists, taking turns on stage and then all performing together like they were one big, happy, headbanging family. It was one of the weirdest live experiences of my life, and by weird, I may mean awesome. I mostly remember the confusion I felt when everyone was on stage, even though I was aware it was a celebration of their whole history as a band.I have also no idea what genre Dance Gavin Dance actually is. On instinct, I would say metalcore, but they don't sound anything like any other metalcore band I know. Post-hardcore? Who the hell knows. We're going to settle for Dance Gavin Dance-core, because they are so weird, and wonderful, and unique, and different that it would be criminal to force them into a defined genre.Afterburner was one of the strangest things that happened to my 2020 because, despite me seeing some of my adored heavy bands releasing new material, THIS was my favourite heavy album of the year, and I wasn't expecting it. I KNOW their sound, I KNOW their music, and I still can't quite believe they manage the utter and complete feat of making heavy music sound so...groovy? Like, yes, you could totally have a mosh and a crowdsurf to this, I mean, they ARE a heavy band, after all, but...you can absolutely dance to this. I can see myself busting some serious moves at their show. (It sounds like a threat, and considering the state of my dancing, it most definitely is.)My personal highlight of the album is Calentamiento Global, which translates to Global Warming. No, this isn't an enlightened song about the horrors of global warming and climate emergency. From what I have gathered online, correct me if I'm wrong, it is a song dedicated to vocalist Tilian Pearson's partner, who is Hispanic, so, as a tribute to her, half the song is in Spanish. Yes, you read that correctly - this is a metal song in Spanish. The lyrics, in true Dance Gavin Dance fashion, all bizarre metaphors and positively random associations of words, roughly translate to "Your ass brings world peace, the way you move solves global warming." This is, quite literally, the most incredible thing I have heard in...ever?(I'm also really excited because I now speak enough Spanish now to sing along.)I am aware most of these ramblings sound like the written-down version of those "so and so reacts to such and such" videos on YouTube, and this is basically a word for word vomit of the inside of my brain, but, in better words, Afterburner blows my little mind with every single listen. I love everything about it. I love the dual vocals, the harmony between Tilian Pearson's stunning voice and Jon Mess' brilliant screams is unmatched. I love the heaviness and the groove. I love the fact that they have included the word Kyrgyzstan in the lyrics (Lyrics Lie) and I am still adamant that it is a masterpiece of an album.


BIG VIBE(Seaway, released October 16th)

BRAIN PAIN(Four Year Strong, released February 28th)

WAKE UP SUNSHINE(All Time Low, released April 3rd)

FOLKLORE/EVERMORE(Taylor Swift, released July 31st and December 11th)

20/20(Knuckle Puck, released September 18th)

RACE CAR BLUES

(Slowly Slowly, released February 28th)

Let's begin with a story you may or may not have heard. It all depends if a, you know me personally, b, you have been reading this blog for a long time, or c, all of the above.
I grew up in France and, due to the COVID crisis, I have had to move back home. I now live in a tiny village north of Paris without traffic lights or a decent-sized car park for me to learn how to skateboard, and I am exposed to mainstream French culture daily. 
I try, sometimes. Over breakfast, I will sit in front of the only music channel we've got (by music, I mean they're playing the same ten music videos on loop for most of the day, until you get to 7pm and then, you can move on and watch about five episodes of Pawn Stars on loop, before there's a low-budget action film, possibly starring Jean-Claude Van Damme) and I will attempt at finding something I like about the video in front of me.
The thing is, the vast majority of the time, the positive things I find are "I like her outfit" or "I like that guy's windbreaker," so it isn't going very well.

French mainstream culture is something utterly and intrinsically bizarre. A part of our collective psyche still believes in the French cultural exception, some outdated concept that leads us to have quotas of music that has to be in French on the radio and believe the sun shines out of our national backside. And at the same time, France seems to have completely given up on promoting music of any kind. You'll have the odd segment on the news, usually featuring someone who hasn't been on television in fifteen years, or someone related to an already famous artist, and that's pretty much it. We have one musical program, a classic called Taratata, but it's on at, like, eleven in the PM, in other words, not at a time when anyone is in front of the television, and the artists on it are usually famous already anyway.
The bulk of what's in the solitary, abandoned music channel is trendy rap about women and crimes, tacky rap about smoking weed and fancy cars with music videos filmed in football stadiums, remixes of ten-year-old songs, and white men with guitars and fedoras singing about how beautiful life is, how they love the village where they're from, and how we need to protect the Earth and the polar bears (but they're probably still eating foie gras at Christmas). Most of these songs have been written by the same dude. The only rock song we've got on there is the unexplainably present Summer Is A Curse by Australian pop-rock band The Faim. Why? No one knows.
This is, in all honesty, quite depressing. 

Finding out it isn't the same in every country is still bamboozling to me. (Is bamboozling a real word? It now is.) A part of me believed it was the same everywhere across the world, a planet of mainstream culture promoting the sons and daughters of your already famous people, and not much else. The rest of me knew it wasn't so, but it didn't stop me from being bewildered when I realised it.

Having "alternative" as my favoured genre of music and half of my favourite bands being Australian led me pretty early on to find out what triple j is. For those who don't know, it is THE radio station down under, and its most famous segment is called Like A Version, in which artists cover other artists' songs. About a year ago, a random man in Sydney told me it was a government radio, and it entirely blew my mind. 
Since the start of 2020, I have delved pretty deep into Australian music, and have often fallen into a deep dark hole of triple j videos on YouTube. (It's surprisingly easy. You'll listen to a song by an artist you like, and the suggestions will be a person you've never heard of covering Linkin Park or Avril Lavigne and, if you're like me and a sucker for a cover, you're there until the end of time, watching people perform In The End with a harp.) 
A lot of bands and artists I appreciate, which, again, fall under the "alternative" umbrella, have been performing live from the studios and been broadcast for the country to hear, at a time of day when people are likely to have the radio on, ie, not the middle of the night. 

A couple of days ago, something else about triple j and the multiple videos I have been watching hit me. 
There are quite a lot of women involved in the process, and a lot of these women are playing rock music, pop-punk music, alternative music, are playing the guitar, the bass, or the drums. See, our representation of women in French mainstream music is limited to a very small amount of categories: 

a- R'n'B singers with songs that don't always mean anything at all, but then again, maybe I'm too old to get it. (No matter what anyone ever leads you to believe, "tu hors de ma vue" is not a grammatically correct sentence in French.)
b- Girls next door with acoustic guitars who whisper into a microphone and are really pretty with minimal makeup on, and usually sing about love, but in metaphors that make no sense to the general public, but then again, maybe I'm not middle-class and cosmopolitan enough to understand.
c- Mylène Farmer. She's been majorly famous since the eighties, every single one of her songs is either about death or sex, again in metaphors I'm not sure I understand. To the best of my knowledge, she's the only French woman who consistently sells out stadiums and arenas all by herself, and she's got a bit of a rockstar mystique about her. Too bad she's also made it her mission to choose young protégées and have them sing sexually charged songs when they're sixteen.

Again, finding out it wasn't like that in every other country in the world blew my mind. You mean to tell me that some other places celebrate women in different genres? Invite women on the radio and they play instruments, and they are relatable, and don't have to fit into a certain category? You must be lying.
Except it's a real-life thing that's happening in Australia.

I understand it was a long-winded, roundabout way of getting to a list of music made by Australian women I have been enjoying a lot in 2020.

Before I get into the heart of things, I will go back to my first love when it comes to music made by Australian women: The Veronicas. Identical twins Jess and Lisa Origliasso, originating from Brisbane, have entered my life in circumstances I don't remember when I was seventeen. I remember downloading their debut album The Secret Life Of... and playing it every morning on my way to school on my old MP3 player, thinking this was the real deal. I had found IT! Girls in a pop-rock band! Girls playing the guitar! Girls in a rock band that wasn't fictional! Something to fill the pop-punk Avril Lavigne-shaped hole in my heart! 
(I wasn't a big fan of The Best Damn Thing at the time and I couldn't relate to pink-haired Avril anymore, I was seventeen and life was a struggle, leave me alone.)
It's been a disgusting amount of years since I was seventeen, but I still love every minute of The Secret Life Of..., and I still know it all off by heart. Even though I had no clue they were Australian at the time, they were my introduction to what I would like to call The Badass Women Of Australia. A part of me freaked out a little (a lot) when I saw them on a big screen in the train station in Brisbane. Live music is but a distant memory, but I would LOVE to see them live someday. According to hearsay, they had a wall of death going on at Good Things Festival in late 2019. How sick is that? 
(Side note: Good Things Festival had Parkway Drive and The Veronicas on the same lineup, and I have rarely heard of any festival which catered to every part of my personality like that.)