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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As they say, the rest is history.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ALBUMS

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


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


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

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

THE PLAYLIST

This month's playlist includes : 

MY NEW FAVOURITE ARTIST

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

I have always been big on covers. I suppose this love derivates from the years I spent watching the French editions of American Idol and Fame Academy. Even now that these programmes are not as popular as they used to be, my love of artists putting their personal twist on another artist's song has remained, strong as ever, and it is in no way surprising that many of my favourite bands have found their way into my musical journey thanks to the way they have performed another singer's number. As my love for alternative music grew deeper, Fame Academy and American Idol have been replaced by the Punk Goes compilation, a series of albums created by Fearless Records, which principle is to have various bands covering songs of different genres (pop, classic rock, crunk) or eras. 

In 2014, Punk Goes 90s, vol 2 was released, and Natalie Imbruglia's iconic Torn was performed by a band I had never heard of before, Hands Like Houses. As I liked the original (should I really use the term original here, as Natalie Imbruglia's version of Torn was a cover as well?), I decided to listen to it, and the rest is history. It didn't take me long to jump headfirst in the Australians' universe, and in the spring of 2014, I fell in love with a beautiful record called Unimagine.

For a reason I wouldn't be able to explain (I suppose some things are beyond words, which is ironic considering I am attempting at putting words on one of my favourite records of all time), from the start, I knew Hands Like Houses were more than just a band, and Unimagine more than a record. It goes beyond the impact they would have on my life. It goes beyond the fact that a mere two weeks after starting to listen to their music, I would go see them in a different country. It goes beyond the fact that I have seen them live fifteen times. It goes beyond the fact that I knew I would love this record forever - so far, three years down the line, I haven't been proven wrong and I still feel the same way when I spin these songs. For a reason I can't put words on, I grasped quite quickly that Hands Like Houses were more than just a band, that they came attached with a universe and with a voice of their own. They aren't a band you just passively listen to, I felt - once again, this is not something I could explain. It's just something I felt.

The first time I listened to Unimagine, I didn't play the first track first. I picked the one song which title I liked the most, which is a fairly stupid decision on my part. Nowadays, I wouldn't ever think of doing it, but back in the day, it seemed like a reasonable way to go about things. This song turned out to be Oceandust, an absolutely gorgeous ballad with a stripped-back melody, which allows you to focus on Trenton Woodley's incredible voice and the power of his words. Everything about Oceandust is delicate and intricate, just like lace. The guitar riff isn't unnecessary loud, isn't loud for the sake of being loud, and even the short gang vocals are soft, almost whispered. What matters most in Oceandust, I've always felt, is the message. 

I couldn't exactly tell where I was in life in 2014, this year is cloudy to say the least. In hindsight, I think I was at a crossroads. I was starting to feel better about myself in general, I was starting to feel the depression retreat, and even if it sounds like a minor event, even my favourite band at the time breaking up probably meant that an era was ending and a new one was starting. Even though I have next to no clue where I was in life three years ago, I know for a fact that Oceandust encapsulates the way I have always felt about my future, and the way I still feel about what comes next every time a new wave of depression comes crashing.

"I don't want to pretend that I'm stronger for it all, I don't want to pretend that the sadness is gone, 'cause I wanna know that I'm steady on my feet. I don't want to pretend so peace will be real to me" 

This is the exact way I feel about most things in life, but very largely about depression (even though, back then, I think I was scared of calling it what it was and still is). Even though I have never been a person who wants to fully detail (online or in real life) the way she feels, I never want to lie about it either, as if lying about it, minimising it, meant that when I started feeling better, it wouldn't be real, it would be yet another trick of my brain. 

Three years later, I believe that I should have listened to Unimagine from the first song to the last, but I think it was important, at the time, to know that I was getting into a band whose words describe the way I feel about Life with a capital L so perfectly, so accurately. 

The second song that stuck with me is The House You Built. I may be a lyrics person, one of those who hold on to words like rocks that stop me from getting lost at sea, but the first reason The House You Built stood out was that, quite simply put, I liked the beat. I liked the intro, the drums that make you want to tap your toes, and I liked how light and catchy it is. Once again, Trenton's vocals made the difference. In Oceandust, I could just sit back and think they were incredible, think his voice capable of hitting high notes. When it comes to The House You Built, the only word that comes to mind is light, airy, as if the voice floated just above the strong melody. Then, of course, as the lyrics person I am through and through, the lyrics person I have always been and will always be, I realised the words hit home. 

I couldn't tell you how I found out this was a song about family, but I did. I know I didn't read about Unimagine for a long time, so it couldn't have been through reading an interview given by the band. It just seemed obvious, at the time, that The House You Built told the story of a family, and, as someone who has never had the picture perfect family or a fairytale upbringing, I unconsciously decided to keep every song about family close to my heart, as if they were a little family of their own, here to say the words my own didn't, or couldn't say. Apart from its topic, the main reason why I love The House You Built so much is because it's an incredibly positive and hopeful song. I know there are many songs about positivity and hope in the world ; just like love, it is one of the most widely discussed topics in music. The House You Built stayed with me because it is a narrative. It has an evolution. You go from "Don't look down even though they're looking down on you" to "Don't look down, because there's no one looking down on you". You go from "he is losing ground" to "she is gaining ground". The song becomes more and more hopeful as it goes, more encouraging. This feeling is only enhanced by the bridge.

"Hey Mr Beaten Down, you found your heart again in the hope you built your house around. You gave your little light, you gave your little light a brand new start". 

I have never quite figured out where the first sentence ended and the second started, where "in the hope you built your house around" fits, and both versions of it work perfectly, in my opinion. I could spend hours trying to explain what these words mean to me, the place they have in my life and in my brain, and I would only fail, or blurt out something cheesier than anything I have ever said before. I will just settle by saying those two sentences, wherever they start and wherever they finish, are some of the most wonderfully written sentences I have ever heard.

If reading about the songwriting process or the topics addressed hadn't been necessary to figure out The House You Built and Oceandust, even just the basic concept behind them, I found myself in need of a little help to understand Developments. The album's opening track quickly became one of my favourites thanks to how unusually catchy it is. I can't picture myself dancing around to it while I am making lunch, yet I can still describe it as catchy, thanks to how present the keyboard is, especially at the beginning. The shift from the delicate notes of the keyboard to the guitars that become stronger and heavier as the song progresses is what makes it unique, and the explosion of the drums after the bridge makes it an ideal, perfect album opener. For a long time, I was content letting Developments be one of these songs that would not attract the Lyrics Person™ in me again (believe me, getting emotionally attached to words becomes a lot to handle, after a while), until I registered one specific sentence in the chorus : "It's darkest before the light". 

As soon as those words had seeped into my brain, they were everything I was looking for and waiting for in the song, they became my favourite part, and when I was struggling with every day life, they became a motto. It's dark right now, but it will be better. You feel like things have never been worse, but it just means that it will get better eventually, because it's darkest before the light. Once again, I could spend hours trying to explain the breath of fresh air this sentence has been, and once again, I would only be cheesy and corny. 

I ended up reading about the meaning behind Developments, and what I found out was extremely interesting.

 "Developments is based around the idea of a photographic darkroom - it takes darkness and careful treatment to develop an image. In the same way I feel like dark times, and the patience and optimism to see them through, are the only way we can retain memories and learn from our experiences. For me it's a justification of difficult times as perspective to better understand and appreciate our present as part of a whole." 

Over the years, the horribly impatient person I have always been had to learn patience, had to learn that good things come to those who know how to wait, had to learn that waiting and the passing of time don't mean wasting your time, had to learn that, just like Rome, happiness and contentment don't build themselves in a day, and they need a lot of nurturing and care, just as much as time. I had to learn that waves of depression and high anxiety would not leave me in the blink of an eye, they would take their time leaving the shore and retreating back into the ocean, I could not wish them away, and impatience was never going to make things better. If anything, being impatient could only make things worse and more frustrating for me. Those were two of the most important lessons I have ever had to learn in life, and having such a stunning, positive song by my side was the icing on the cake. (Or an extended hand to lead the way)

Those three songs, those three universes, those three moments (Oceandust, The House You Built and Developments) are what turned the wonderful, unique album I spent weeks listening to on repeat when I first discovered it into one of my favourite records of all time. They are what cemented it into my life, what transformed what could have been a fleeting phase into something solid. Of course, there are many other reasons why Unimagine is so high on the list of my favourite records. I could try and list many more reasons, and we would still be here tomorrow.
There is the concept behind the music video for A Tale of Outer Suburbia. 

There is Shapeshifters, one of the most poetic love songs I have ever listened to in my entire life, and yet the word "love" is never used once. 

There is how A Fire on a Hill soars. 

There is how I cannot decide of its genre, because putting a genre to it, forcing it into a box would take some of its best aspects away, never mind the genre I would pick. 

There is the way my heart bursts when I hear No Parallels, especially live.

I think, though, that the most incredible thing about this album, what makes it as unique as I believe it is, is that I keep discovering things when I listen to it, I keep noticing details, a string of words here, a connexion between two songs there. It's been three years, and I keep trying to figure many of its different aspects out. It gives me the feeling that I could spend my life digging and still, I would never know everything there is to know about it, which is why I think of it as a world of its own. We will never know everything about the earth, and I will never know everything about Unimagine. I could write about it again in six months', a year's, ten years' time, and the result would be entirely different. This album is more than just a collection of unclassifiable songs, it's a journey. It's a journey every time I listen to it, a collection of feelings and of moments in time, of frames of mind and of words, of places I have been and places where I imagine being, a journey that feels like coming home, a journey that doesn't need a specific or ideal weather, season, place, environment or time of day. It's a journey I will never get tired of making, it's a journey I will never get to the end of, and I am absolutely, entirely content with that. 

Alongside key changes, dogs, goat's cheese and the entire Harry Potter franchise, Download Festival is one of my favourite things in the world. I have been five years in a row, now, I have worked there three times, and when the company I used to work with lost Download, I couldn't bring myself not to go. I shifted things around, went back to the arena ticket and hotel of my first edition, and here I went, traipsing around Donington Park to hear some great live music.

Let me tell you, first and foremost, that I am a very distraught regular Download goer - it has not rained at all. I stood in the boiling hot sunshine on a Friday afternoon, chatting with Holly, realising it was past 3pm on the Friday at Download Festival, Donington Park, England, and the apocalypse hadn't struck yet. It spat down a little on the Saturday (for good measure, I suppose), but that was it. I am still confused. My wellies are pristine. I didn't even need to wear them. I could have spent the weekend in trainers and got away with it.
What happened.

FRIDAY

The Friday was a bit of a shambles, as it took me two hours to reach the inside of the arena and, to this day, I still struggle to understand why it took such a long time. No one searched my bag. No member of staff knew where to direct me. I didn't know the right queue for arena passes, which is why I ended up stuck between a barrier and a truck whilst Northlane were, without a doubt, tearing the main stage apart. I could still hear the vocals from where I shouldn't have been standing, and let me tell you one thing - Marcus Bridge sounds like a dream in any given circumstance. I can't believe how stellar Solar sounded from so far away.

The weekend properly started on the Firestone Stage at 2:30pm with one of my favourite bands, and the undeniable best band of the weekend : Four Year Strong. I attended both their sets (they also played the Avalanche stage later on in the day), fully expecting the Firestone one to be acoustic, and was pleasantly surprised by the full band, songs from Rise or Die Trying, and a moshpit started by people sporting dashing red hats. There are no existing words to describe how utterly and consistently brilliant Four Year Strong are when on a stage. They pick up their instruments, they start playing, and they make you want to jump, shout, mosh, break things or anything else that crosses your mind - in other words, they make you want to get involved. No other band makes me feel that way. Their set on the Avalanche stage gave me the same feeling - a feeling of belonging to something bigger than myself. Getting to hear On a Saturday live after such a long time was an added bonus, the icing on the cake. 

Hardcore outfit Code Orange is, in many people's opinions, the best thing since sliced bread. Many publications have already picked them as their band of the weekend, their third album Forever has been collectively praised and will surely end up in many an album of the year list come December. I wanted to see things for myself. I suppose I just don't get what they're about. They sound alright, if I'm honest and fair. I just couldn't stand it anymore after the vocalist (who also happens to be the drummer) shouted "This isn't for fucking pussies" twice during the first five minutes of their set. It didn't seem to be for me either.

Three days after their appearances in support of Good Charlotte, in Paris, I caught Issues and State Champs again. It was an absolute pleasure seeing Issues in their element, and in an environment they rightfully deserve, a place in which they strive : in front of a crowd full of their fans. The first time I had seen them live, back at Reading Festival, in 2014, I had been stunned by the audience's involvement, and I had failed at seeing it happen again since then. Download righted the wrongs. Issues are the greatest band in the world when they have the greatest crowd in the world.

State Champs did have a great crowd, too, and it didn't take me a long time to abandon the safe side of things to throw myself in the heart of the action. By the time the band burst into 2015's Shape Up, I was crawling on top of people's heads and having the time of my life. State Champs keep imposing themselves as one of my favourite pop-punk bands at the moment, and seeing them live is always a pleasure.

I then headed to the Zippo Encore Stage for Good Charlotte. Singing along to beloved tunes and realising I still know the words to every single one of them will never, ever get old. Dancing to Riot Girl and Girls & Boys, remembering how great an album The Chronicles of Life and Death was, and reminiscing as frontman Joel Madden says we have all grown up together will never get old. Hearing the same Joel Madden, one of my teenage heroes, say that Architects are one of his favourite bands at the moment brought a tear to my eye. My favourite bands of yesteryear are all coming back, and I couldn't be happier about it.

Speaking of favourite bands of yesteryear coming back, I stuck around to watch Sum 41. My original plan was to watch half of it and head to the main stage, but I got so into their performance and loved it so much I couldn't bring myself to leave before the end. Sum 41 have been to hell and back and have overcome a lot, and, of course, frontman Deryck Whibley will mention it, will show how grateful he is for his fans and for the chance he has to be playing again. What I see on that stage is a band who, despite the struggles and the awful moments they have been through, sounds youthful and energetic. Their performance is solid yet emotional, and it would be fair to say they have schooled many of the bands appearing on the festival across the weekend. Sum 41 is the band I wasn't expecting to blow my mind when I set foot in Donington Park. I came for the nostalgia, stayed to have a dance to Fat Lip and In Too Deep, and left madly impressed.

Despite the change of plans, I managed to catch almost an hour of System Of A Down afterwards, and I will classify it as things I am just not sure I fully understand. I can vouch for the fact that frontman Serj Tankian has one of the most wonderful and unique voices I have ever heard in my life, and I was taken aback by the notes he can reach more than once. I was surprised to see I knew more songs than I thought I did (even though I let myself down because I clearly do not know the words to Toxicity), and it would be unfair of me to say it was a bad set. I was largely underwhelmed and, in my books, it lacked something. Was it pyro, was it grandeur, I couldn't tell. It lacked something to fully blow my mind.

SATURDAY

The second day of the festival was smoother, and I made it perfectly on time to catch the first band I wanted to watch, Swedish outfit Normandie. I had discovered them as support on Yellowcard's farewell tour (too soon), and I leapt at the chance of seeing them again. They were still excellent the second time around, and Philip Strand's vocals are very impressive. I can't think of a better way to start my day.

Speaking of bands with impressive vocals, say hello to Irish duo Greywind. I first heard them when they opened for Moose Blood last year, saw them play a lovely acoustic set with Farro in November and, back in January, I fell head over heels in love with their début album, Afterthoughts. A little over a year down the line, the fan of the pair I have become is impressed by the quality of their live show. Download was only the twentieth show of their career, and it showed they had mastered the art of sounding like they had done it their whole lives while retaining something youthful and truly enthusiastic in their energy. Next time they find themselves are Donington Park, they are going to need either a bigger stage or a longer slot. They're already too brilliant for a 12pm set in a tent.

I caught the end of the unclassifiable Creeper, another band on the list of acts I just don't seem to understand. I will tell you, without a doubt, that they are good. They are undeniably great. I'm just not sure it's for me. It would be foolish of me to deny their talent, still.

Back at the Avalanche tent for St Albans' very own Trash Boat. Here's another band I wasn't expecting to blow my mind the way they did. I started listening to their music when they opened for The Wonder Years in February, and in the light of what I have seen at Download, I feel like I have missed out over the past couple of years. Trash Boat are undoubtedly a pop-punk band, and their slightly hardcore edge is what makes them as interesting as they are - alongside how chaotic their live shows are. It's only 1pm and the tent is full to the brim with people crowdsurfing and echoing every word. Having As It Is' frontman Patty Walters featuring on one of their songs made for a great surprise and turned out to be what dreams are made of, as his vocals and Tobi Duncan's got along like a house on fire. As time passes, I will probably still feel like an idiot about the times when I wasn't on board and I will probably try to overcompensate, so let's say that what matters is that I am now here for the long haul, right? (See you in September)

Next stop is the Zippo Encore Stage for pirate metal band Alestorm - because yes, this is a thing, and it's not even ironic. What else do you need to know? None of it makes sense, "yo ho ho" is a real-life part of their lyrics, and their backdrop consisted in a picture of a duck coming out of a banana. Download was made for bands that make no sense and leave you with a story to tell your mates come Monday, I suppose. (They drew such a big crowd for a Saturdat at 1pm, though, I'll have to give them that)

After I am done yo-ho-ho-ing all over the place, I come back down to the Avalanche Stage for The One Hundred. The Saturday edition of the stage was a collection of bands I discovered as support acts who now made a point in taking my breath away all by themselves. When frontman Jacob Field turned up on stage looking like an extra in an eighties movie, complete with mullet, dashing yellow shorts and Hawaiian shirt, I wondered if this was the same band I had seen destroy the Trabendo alongside Crossfaith. They started playing, and there was no mistake. Such a sound and such energy is too much, too big, too bold for a small tent like this. The One Hundred are a band made for the main stages. 

I was nothing short of heartbroken when Austin Carlile had to leave Of Mice & Men due to his life threatening illness, and I was so upset I wasn't even sure I wanted to see them live again. Then, Unbreakable came along, and I found myself curious to see what the now four piece would sound and be like on a stage. I was very, very impressed. Aaron Pauley has become the frontman, assuming the talking to the crowd position with grace, but mostly taking on the full vocalist job - he now does both cleans and screams. Just like Taylor said mid-set, how come someone with the voice of an angel can scream like this, and I can't think of any other sentence that would sum the new and improved Of Mice & Men better. They now showcase a lot of promise, a frontman with hidden talent, tunes for days and an improved stage presence. I'm not sure I want to hear Second & Sebring live ever again, still, but, you know. I suppose I'll be more than okay seeing them live again. I'm not going anywhere.

Back at the Avalanche stage to catch Brighton pop-punks As It Is, who have drawn a surprisingly (but pleasingly) large crowd, considering they were the least heavy band on the line up. It shouldn't work at Download Festival, and yet, it does. The band's sound finds its place, frontman Patty Walters' energy working wonders everywhere As It Is go. I might have found myself in tears during either Pretty Little Distance (which is, as the cool kids say, a true bop) or Dialtones. The first time I saw As It Is, they were playing an overheated pub in Birmingham, and if you had told me that three years later, they would bring a really, really big crowd underneath a tent at Download Festival of all places, I wouldn't have believed it.

After a quick detour by the Dogtooth to catch Scotland's finest, The LaFontaines, and then by the main stage to briefly see Pierce The Veil (I sadly had to leave before they played King for a Day), I went back to the Avalanche stage to watch the end of Knuckle Puck. I hadn't seen them since they supported State Champs, back in September 2015, and tunes like Evergreen or Untitled felt like coming home. I saw frontman Joe Taylor get up close and personal with the crowd, and the only thought that popped in my brain was, I'm home. Singing along to Pretense, which happens to be my friend Marie's favourite Knuckle Puck song, brought back lots of happy memories from that 2015 tour. Saturday was a grey day, but Knuckle Puck brough a little bit of sunshine with them, if only just for a short while.

I stayed near the Avalanche stage to watch Crown The Empire. I never know where I am standing with the Texans. The first two times I saw them, they were excellent, and turned the casual attendee I was into someone who wanted to know, see and hear more. Then, I saw them at their first Download appearance, in 2015, and left disappointed as the sound was terrible (especially in ex-vocalist David Escamilla's microphone) and there was no band cohesion to be seen. Since then, the now four piece have more or less gracefully parted ways with guitarist Benn 'Suede' Vogelman and said ex-vocalist David Escamilla, and have released Retrograde, a really good third full-length, which took them miles away from the sound they were known for. Their Download 2017 performance sounded excellent, frontman Andrew 'Andy Leo' Velasquez was on fire, and this time, I could see the band cohesion and unity I had liked back then. They have changed styles, whether it is with their appearances (Velasquez is wearing a classy pinstripe suit and bass player Hayden Tree sports a shiny silver jacket, which feels in accordance with the new album's general aesthetic) or their sound, but everything, every era merges together just nicely, and the Americans stood out as one of the strongest performances I have watched during the weekend. I now want a headline tour for Retrograde, pretty please?

I bought myself an early dinner and walked to the Zippo Encore Stage to listen to a bit of Max and Iggor Cavalera returning to Roots. I know this is not the kind of thing anyone expects me to be into, this is not even the kind of thing I am expecting myself to be into. My brother absolutely adores Sepultura's classic Roots, and I have grown up with the nineties record by proxy. Checking out its original musicians attempting at playing it in full (the set was cut short) was natural for me. Dare I say I was myself returning to roots or is this one too obvious and corny? Let's just settle on this was very good, and I wasn't disappointed. (I was, though, the youngest person in the crowd, for a change)

Back at the Avalanche for hardcore heroes Every Time I Die. (I know, the stage was dubbed the "Fresh Blood Stage" and ETID have eight albums out and a nineteen year career under their belt). The festival being quieter than usually, I find myself on the barrier quite easily, and it turns out to be the perfect spot to have my face melted off by the band's heavy sound and hard-hitting performance. The Americans have quickly become one of my favourite bands to see thanks to their extremely catchy yet heavy sound, and their frontman Keith Buckley's huge charisma. (Seriously, the man has to be one of the most ridiculously charismatic men in the scene, and maybe the world). The band's hardcore tunes unleash chaos in the crowd and Every Time I Die probably also win the award for most people going from one side of the barrier to the other. The two things that will mostly get Buckley's attention, though, are the guy dressed like Pikachu in the pit, and the "little dude" on his father's shoulders. That's what I like to hear.

The main stage is about to welcome Ocala, Florida's very own A Day To Remember, and while I try to find myself a nice spot on the left, I notice that they have very easily drawn one of the biggest crowds of the weekend, and certainly the biggest crowd of the day. No one else in this scene and in the world has such a collection of catchy, iconic hits, and there isn't a track that isn't welcome by perfectly loud singalongs and crowd action. I had to leave before the end because I'm that kind of The Story So Far fan, but from what I saw, it was a triumph for A Day To Remember, and headlining festivals is the next logical step for the Floridians. 

Let me tell you one thing : I was so excited to see The Story So Far that I genuinely annoyed myself to no end. First, I made myself leave during A Day To Remember (who have been one of my favourite bands for the past eight years) as both sets were overlapping and I refused to miss even a split second of the Californians' performance. Second, I pretty much bought a weekend ticket just to see them. Maybe that one is a bit of a stretch as I loved the line-up as a whole, but the fact that it was their only European date of the summer was a major influence in my decision. Of course, I made my way to the front, and then to the pit. By the time personal favourite Nerve came on, I was angrily shouting that "I can't pass through Indio without feeling indigo" while being carried over the barrier. (I have the remains of a bruise to prove it). On stage, the Americans deliver an impressive performance without doing much - with The Story So Far, less is more in a brilliant way. If you want to watch a band who is going to make jokes, or who is going to make you crouch down, and then jump, you're in the wrong tent. Frontman Parker Cannon doesn't really talk that much - he just claps in between songs and smiles, seemingly delighted by the crowd's size and participation. Their angry, emotional pop-punk tracks are perfectly delivered, and their live rendition works wonders in making you realise just how emotionally charged they are. If I hadn't been too busy crowdsurfing, I would have been in tears at Nerve, and it would be a lie to say that anything out of the band's self-titled record doesn't make my heart skip a beat. 

It took me a while to understand The Story So Far, to see why their songs didn't need an expansive frontman to carry them, to get why they were more than the group of dudes angry finger-pointing at an empty field in the music video for Quicksand. I can now see the nuances, the feelings, the pain, the fact that the words are enough on their own, the utter frustration in the lyrics. I can now safely say that The Story So Far have become one of my favourite bands, that I am excited to see what they come up with in the future, and that there are so many reasons why they are one of the best bands in the scene at the moment, if only I could put words on why it is so.

Let's take it back to the summer of 2013, shall we. Me and my brother are on holiday in England, during the Reading & Leeds weekend. I am in our hotel room, on my laptop, and the festival highlights are playing on the television behind me. I hear a song I can't really recognise sang along by a large crowd, and when I turn around to watch, all I see are fireworks and people singing their hearts out, perched on other people's shoulders. I stop everything I am doing as I can't keep my eyes off the television. One day, I decide on the spot, I will see Biffy Clyro headline a festival, and I will be on someone's shoulders as they play Mountains. 

Four years later, I am in a field surrounded by friends, and Biffy Clyro are headlining the festival I am attending. They come on stage to the sound of 2016's Wolves of Winter, and there are no two ways around it : this song is still the breath of fresh air it was when I was down in the gutter, back in December. For the next hour and a half, the Scots will play a magnificent set, cleverly mixing ballads (God & Satan, Medicine, Many of Horror) and heavier tracks (Animal Style, Living Is a Problem Because Everything Dies, 57), a good way to please both fans and casual listeners. The screen effects are the same as they were during the arena tour, and yet they come alive in a different way at Download. Mostly, Biffy Clyro are a band who does the whole festival headline thing with heart and soul. They have worked their way up the stages and through the years, they more than deserved their spot under the stars, never mind what the naysayers might think. Who cares if they are not a metal band, or if they had the smallest crowd out of all the headliners? This is not what should define the quality of a band's performance. I am personally sick of festivals being headlined by bands who get the top spot just because they exist and just because they will draw a big crowd, no matter how they will sound like, no matter if they haven't done anything relevant in a decade/this century, whilst there are bands who work their asses off and don't get the big spot because the organisers are scared of shaking things up.

On the 10th of June, 2017, I have seen Biffy Clyro headline a festival. Stingin' Belle, with all the fireworks, shot from both the stage and the sound tower, making me feel like I was surrounded by fireworks, was one of the happiest moments of my life. I kept looking at the sky, smiling like an idiot, grinning so much my jaw ached. I ended up on someone's shoulders during Sounds Like Balloons and Mountains - finally, I made it. Not many bands make me as utterly, completely, simply happy as Biffy Clyro do. 

SUNDAY

Sunday started in shambles again as I never made it to the arena on time for Wallflower - blame the bus, but please, don't forget to check out Wallflower. Take my word for that, I might have been absent, but they are excellent. 

My feet were in a lot of pain, so I decided to take it as easy as I could, limit the walking and standing up, and the first band I saw turned out to be Blood Youth, an hour and a half after my arrival. Born from the ashes of Climates, the band has been making waves thanks to their début record Beyond Repair, and thanks to the quality of their live show. I had never seen them before, and felt like I should check them out, now that I was given the occasion. As someone who didn't know a single song, and as someone who felt dizzy because of the painkillers she had taken, I throughly enjoyed myself. Make of that what you wish.

Next up for me is Fizzy Blood, on the Dogtooth stage. The tent is fairly packed, and the fivesome sound excellent, just funky and fuzzy enough for that time of the weekend. Fizzy Blood are a band whose catchy hooks make you want to dance around and shake it off. What more could you possibly want from life.

Back down at the Avalanche stage for Leeds trio Dinosaur Pile-Up. Dinosaur Pile-Up never disappoint live. From day one, I have been on board with their blend of alt-rock and grunge, and their strong Nirvana vibes. I have an endless, passionate love story with their single Eleven Eleven - it's the kind of song that I would want to listen to on repeat until "eleven" doesn't feel like a word anymore. 

The next band I watched, of course on the Avalanche Stage (which was my home for the weekend) is Touché Amoré. Touché Amoré are a very, VERY good live band. I knew a couple of their songs, I knew of them, but I had never seen them, and after my first live experience, I am sure of one thing : this isn't going to be the last. Their hardcore infused sound, and their very short but heavily emotional songs easily catch my attention, refuse to let go. Three minutes into their set and I find myself wishing I knew enough words to join in. The girl next to me knows every word, and she is shouting them louder than everyone else in the tent, louder than you would expect someone standing outside of the action to shout. She somehow makes my experience better.

There is a lot of action. When it comes to the Sunday, Touché Amoré are the clear winner for crowdsurfers and moshpits. This set is a triumph.

I want more.

I decide to rest a little bit, treat myself to some overpriced curly fries, and then, I stop at the main stage for Steel Panther. I am here out of sheer curiosity and nothing else. I have listened to one of their songs, once in a blue moon, I couldn't tell you why or how I came upon it, and come to think of it, I think it was a Christmas song. They were everything I expected them to be. They had terrible "I fucked your girlfriend" jokes (which get a bit old if you make them ten times in a row, but then again, Steel Panther are here for a good time, not a subtle time), and cheesy eighties hair metal songs. I have so many questions about them, but the main one is : are they going to be the first comedy band who gets to headline Download Festival? The question seems legitimate when you take into account the fact that there were more people watching them than Biffy Clyro, who were actually headlining. I don't know how I feel about it. I'm not sure I want them to get to headliner size.

I go back to the Avalanche size for Basement. They are one of the finest bands out there, because I feel like they do everything with a lot of heart, or maybe it's just my way of saying every song they play live makes me emotional. Their emo tunes are delivered perfectly, and they get the crowd going so easily. Frontman Andrew Fisher (and his adorable dance moves) has everyone wrapped around his little finger, to a point where he can get people starting a wall of death. Why not. This is Download, after all.

(Of course, I watched Moose Blood. Of course, I cried. Sue me)

I briefly head to the Zippo Encore Stage to catch a bit of Slayer, just so I can tell my brother I have seen Tom Araya in the flesh and in the impressive beard. To be entirely fair, even though I am more than a beginner when it comes to their music, Slayer are absolutely excellent live. Would it be too much of a horrible pun to say they slay? Because they do.

Finally, it's time for Aerosmith. It's not like anyone has another option anyway, because there is no one else playing that slot. I wouldn't be surprised if the four piece had been the ones to ask for it themselves, they seem fabulous enough to ask for that kind of privilege. I mean, they are Aerosmith on their last ever UK show - a fact they don't really remind anyone on stage, which seems odd to me - why not ask to be the only option for the eighty thousand people that attend the festival. 

I was expecting so much worse when it comes to Aerosmith. I have a history of old school bands sounding alright but nothing special (Black Sabbath) or just plain terrible (Deep Purple). Aerosmith were genuinely good. Good at what they did, and good at something I am not the right audience for, but entirely good. Everyone on stage sounds great, and it doesn't feel like they are showing off just to show the people in front of them they can still play, despite their age, despite the fact that they have been around since the seventies, as frontman and legend Steven Tyler reminds us. (It feels worse to hear "let's take this back to 1973" than it does to hear "let's take it back to 2002", and I wasn't even born in 1973)

Aerosmith have disappointed me in two ways, though. One, who on Earth designed the screen effects, and two, why wasn't there any pyro? If you are headlining Download Festival and it's your last ever show in the country, you better have some pyro and set one of your members on fire à la Rammstein, fly over the stage on a zip line like Beyoncé (or Kiss, if you want something more metalhead friendly), make me blind with the light of the fireworks as Kiss (again!) did back in 2015, be bloody spectacular. Having a megaphone covered in diamonds and an ocean of confetti isn't enough to render you spectacular. It makes you fabulous, though, which isn't too bad by my standards. I was strongly impressed by Tyler's outfit and general fabulousness. That's the kind of fabulous I aspire to be, someone come bedazzling everything I own with me.

More seriously, the singalong to I Don't Want to Miss a Thing was a dream. Say what you will about Aerosmith, but they brought THAT song into the world.

That's a wrap on Download for now, and I don't have a wishlist ready for 2018 yet. Maybe Bring Me The Horizon or Thirty Seconds to Mars, finally? It would be about time.

2017 has been a good year for a lot of things, so far. Music is one, definitely. Nostalgia is also high up on the list.

Tuesday night at the Bataclan held the fifteenth anniversary tour for Simple Plan's breakout album No Pads, No Helmets... Just Balls.

Wednesday night at the Bataclan saw Good Charlotte returning to the French capital after a hiatus and a six year long absence.

Supporting both bands were young acts that I hope, in fifteen to twenty years, are going to make us as nostalgic as we all were these two days. Imagine us all standing in the same room again, headlined by the likes of these once young bands, fondly remembering that one time we tried to open a moshpit and someone pushed me because they weren't having any of it, so I fell over and cut my hand, or that one time we showed off our terrible, yet glorious dance moves.

Milestones are going up the ladder at break neck speed. With just one EP out (Equal Measures), they have found themselves supporting With Confidence on their UK/Europe tour back in March, but also Mayday Parade across the USA - and now, they're on the road with Simple Plan. Their catchy pop-punk sound is efficient and their lyrics are great for a singalong (which we do when we get back up from the Moshpit Incident). Their music should be working wonders around the continent this summer, and it's easy to see why they're growing as fast as they are. 

(Prior to that, the band performed quite the extensive acoustic set for La Maison Acoustique and sounded lovely. They also are the only Mancunians who don't know the words to Wonderwall. Who knew such a thing was possible)

Mallory Knox aren't exactly new. In the UK, they have no problem selling out venues of the thousand capacity variety, they are set to headline 2000 Trees Festival in a couple of weeks, and their three albums (2013's Signals, 2014's Asymmetry and this year's Wired) have done pretty well and provided the other side of the Channel with a bunch of excellent, polished, straight up alt-rock tunes. On the old continent, though, it's a different story. They have only ever come over as a support act (notably for Finch, One OK Rock or Sleeping With Sirens), or for festivals, and are only just starting to make a name for themselves. In the Bataclan, you can tell that some people know who they are, and that the vast majority of the crowd is enjoying what they're hearing. I can't blame them. What we've all heard that night is of the outstanding kind, for Mallory Knox never fail at delivering brilliant peformances, urgent and precise all at once, with flawless sound and vocals each and every time.

Issues, coming straight from Atlanta, Georgia, aren't exactly newbies either. The band, who was born from the ashes of Woe, Is Me in 2012, have already released two albums (a self-titled in 2014 and Headspace last year). They don't make the trek to Europe often enough to anyone's taste, and their Bataclan appearance in support of Good Charlotte is actually their first time in France. There's nothing wrong you can say about their performance. Every single song is the catchiest little thing ever, and if we tried hard enough, Issues could probably end up in the charts. Frontman Tyler Carter is one of these people in our scene who has a stunning RnB voice and could be a pop star, but has somehow decided to stick to alternative music. Every track is delivered with an impressive perfection and precision, but it doesn't seem to work on the Bataclan crowd - I suppose the sound is just a little too different from Good Charlotte's, and it's not what the audience expect or want tonight. Their music sadly falls on deaf ears, and it's a shame considering how good their performance is. Oh, well. Their loss. I enjoyed my terrible singalong to Never Lose Your Flames and Mad at Myself. I really can't sing.

State Champs might be the youngest band on tonight's bill, but there is no doubt they will have made an impression on the French crowd. From the get go, their fans (and they are aplenty in the room) start bouncing up and down, and open up a moshpit in joyous harmony. (Harmony, though, can't be used to describe the attempts at crowdsurfing - it seems Good Charlotte's crowd aren't happy with people crawling on top of their heads). The words to their sunny pop punk tunes (notably Remedy, Elevated or All You Are Is History) are easily echoed around the room, and if you didn't know, you could almost think they were the headliners. On stage, the band is energetic and jumps about the place, spins around - who's more energetic, the band or the crowd, it's hard to tell. Their music is the closest to Good Charlotte's in sound, and it wouldn't be surprising if they had earned themselves a fair amount of new fans with that tour.

Sleeping With Sirens might have four albums out, and might be one of the biggest names in the scene, and yet, they have never been to France before. I suppose it's now easy to picture the crowd's high level of expectation and excitement when the Americans come on stage - most people have waited for this moment for years. I have an issue with Sleeping With Sirens - I just don't like the vocals. During their forty-something minute set, they play banger after banger, I know more lyrics than I care to admit, and I can objectively say that their songs are very good - I just can't shake off the fact that I don't like the vocals. Each to their own, right? Personal taste aside, the band's performance is solid, and frontman Kellin Quinn's beatboxing of the Mario Bros theme to keep the audience occupied while a technical issue was being resolved was a surprising addition to the set. (I enjoyed it more than I ever thought I would ever enjoy a beatbox version of the Mario Bros theme) I can't deny they are a good band. I suppose I'll just keep on liking the couple of songs I like (If You Can't Hang and Do It Now, Remember It Later), and stay fairly neutral about them.

Simple Plan and Good Charlotte are bands that have made their way into my life at the same time, give or take a couple of months.
I was fifteen when I first heard the Canadians' Welcome to My Life in a car ad on television, and I was sixteen or seventeen when my friend Magali lent me her MP3 player for me to get new tunes. I found Good Charlotte's My Bloody Valentine in there and became hooked. The main point is - I was a teenager, and both bands shaped my formative years, exposing the emo in me to the world. (I don't think the world really needed it, but here we are)

Both tours have an air of nostalgia about them. Simple Plan are celebrating the fifteen year anniversary of their debut album, No Pads, No Helmets... Just Balls, and Good Charlotte are making a comeback after a four year hiatus. During the night, both bands will talk about taking it back to 2002, or 2007, telling us that we have all grown up together - ain't that the truth. Watching such iconic bands with my friends for the first time is special. We share stories. One is definitely going to cry to Perfect because it pulls on their heartstrings. One wants us to have a dance to My Alien for her because it's her favourite song. One has hoped to hear Grow Up live for the past ten, fifteen years. When it comes to Good Charlotte, one is excited to hear The Young and the Hopeless, more than any other song on the setlist. One is going to jam to Girls & Boys like there's no tomorrow. One remembers that I Just Wanna Live is the first song of theirs she's ever heard. All of us have stories related to those bands. They made us who we are, they most likely were our gateway into pop-punk, into alternative music in general, they propelled us into the scene we are a part of.


More than being important parts of who we are, Good Charlotte and Simple Plan are truly great live bands. It's been fifteen years, and Simple Plan still jump about on stage with an unmatched energy. The bands I listen to and watch live that display that much constant energy are very few. When you watch them, you watch a band who very, very obviously wanted to still be on a stage fifteen years after their first record, who probably still want to be on a stage fifteen years from now, if anyone will still have them. They still have the impertinent charm, the banter that made them the household name they are, they are still very true to what made them. They still have a knack at interacting with the crowd, a knack few other bands have - obviously, speaking French helps them greatly in France, and yet it's about more than the language. Getting people with posters on stage for a group picture is a nice, friendly touch, having drummer Chuck Comeau sing the end of a song, then stagedive while frontman Pierre Bouvier plays the drums is another brilliant moment, not hiding why bass player David Desrosiers is not on the tour is honest and very welcome. I have been listening to Simple Plan for twelve years, now, ever since I was a fifteen year old with no direction, no sense of style and no words to express my teenage angst. Catch me at whatever tour the Canadians will surely do in twelve years' time (and, hopefully before that). I'll still be here singing my little heart out.

Good Charlotte tell us they have been a band since 1996. When the date hangs in the air, we all look at each other, wondering what we were all doing back then, back in the day, how old we were. I was a six year old child whose musical world revolved around French boy bands and the Spice Girls, and it's mindblowing to think that in the meantime, somewhere in America, a band who would change my life was jamming their first ever tunes and trying to find their feet. Twenty one years later (gasp!), Good Charlotte are on a stage in Paris, and it seems that after the break, they are here to stay. No one mentions the hiatus, like it's a dirty word, but mostly like it never happened, like Good Charlotte never went anywhere. When you watch them on a stage, nothing has changed. Sure, they don't look the way they used to, they don't look like the pictures I used to see in magazines before I had any way of listening to them. Gone are the eyeliner and the raven black spikes bigger than my hands, but Good Charlotte, at heart, are still the same band. They're still the kids who had nothing, and somehow made it, a real American Dream story this scene doesn't seem to have anymore. It still shows, in a way. There is so much emotion in the way they perform. They are not a band who jumps around and spins until they are dizzy, they don't really tell jokes. They are all about the emotion, even during now alternative club night classic numbers such as The Anthem or Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Somehow, it feels like they still know what it feels like to be the outcast, to be the kid who gets picked last in gym class, to be the kid no one looks twice at. It something that never goes away, something you learn from and, in Good Charlotte's case, something that you turn into something beautiful. Thir live performance is nothing short of utterly beautiful, so heartfelt and real it hurts a little bit. Hold On will always pull on my heartstrings, will always throw me back to times when music was the sole thing I had. I still know what it feels like to be the kid who has nothing, to be the kid who is angsty enough to listen to My Bloody Valentine every Valentine's Day because she feels like no one will ever love her (I didn't know it was a song about murdering someone, sue me, I was sixteen and didn't speak English), to be the kid who had nothing but a couple of records and a whole lot of hope. I'm not anymore. I'm a grown woman who smiles when My Bloody Valentine comes on, who dances to The Anthem with a drink in hand and her best friends in tow, who jellyfishes in a moshpit to Dance Floor Anthem, I'm a grown woman with a lot of records, a lot of feelings, a lot of hope and a lot going on.





Those two nights watching the bands who made me the person I am today, and the bands who give me adventures with my friends were very special times for me. I suppose, every once in a while, the angsty teen I once was has to come out again to meet up with the emotional adult I have become, so they can have a dance together.