It also sets a new challenge for a bands like Rancid, The Skints and The Bronx, who’s music fits so perfectly with the intimate confines of a smaller venue. In the case of the headliner, by now well into their third decade without including time spent in Operation Ivy, it is a sound synonymous with sweat and bounce. In the large chamber that is Wembley Arena, there was always a risk that the chance of seeing the whites of Tim Armstrong’s eyes would be lost. Thankfully, for all three bands, the energy never fades – these are three acts still capable of pulling you in even in the echoes of the Arena, who still haven’t quite figured out how to make guitar music work in the space. Walking into the hall, we were suddenly taken back to 2004, to one of the (first) final blink-182 shows – the ambient guitar noise flickering from this wall to that wall. It was the same almost nineteen years later – but then Wembley Arena has fallen well down the priority for bands touring the UK, and perhaps this may kickstart a resurgence and possibly some investment in new equipment.

By now, The Bronx are elder-statesmen of American punk rock, taking their influences and reproducing a real vitality and energy as they continue what always appears to be a relentless touring schedule. Frontman Matt Caughthran is electric, pulling the crowd in, lighting up the room. On ‘White Shadow’, the band bring a tightness reserved only for bands at the peak of their powers. The Bronx return to the UK later on this year to play far smaller spaces like the New Cross Inn and The Joiners, and it’s a reflection of their ability as a live act that you can be sure they’ll be just as home there as in the cavernous settings of Wembley Arena.

The same can be said for The Skints who deliver a blistering run through all things punk-adjacent, carrying the crowd as they wait for the main event. This is a band who do not seem daunted by the size of the crowd. It does make you wonder if, in another musical landscape, a UK band such as these might find themselves more regularly on stages these sizes. Much like The Bronx, their next London date will find them at Dingwalls.

When Rancid finally take the stage, you’re instantly reminded why this is a band that figures in the same breath as the great legends of punk rock. Although at points there were attempts to picture Rancid in the same conversation as Green Day, they’re far closer to The Ramones than they are to Reel Big Fish. Rancid recorded one of the all-time great punk albums in ‘…And Out Come The Wolves’ and this is a set that draws heavily from that timeless classic. However, they’re not a band who rest on their laurels.

Opening with ‘Tomorrow Never Comes’ from the new album of the same name, the standard and level of songwriting is still there. The song bleeds seamlessly into ‘Roots Radicals’, which from the opening notes throws the crowd into a full singalong that doesn’t really let up until the very end. On bass, Matt Freeman is captivating. The iconic solo on ‘Maxwell Murder’ still floors you and the energy is unrelenting. Approaching this show, it was easy to forget just how many hits Rancid produced over the years, with some even being left off (this reviewer was slightly disappointed not to hear ‘Red Hot Moon’).

There is space for Indestructible’s ‘Fall Back Down’ which elicits a great sing along from the, by this point, rather inebriated crowd. And on closer ‘Ruby Soho’, the band showed that you don’t need a lot of pageantry to put on a great headlining show in a big ol’ stadium. All you need are classic songs and a crowd on your side. And in this case, Rancid certainly had both.

ALEX SARYCHKIN

Opener ‘Wicca Phase Springs Eternal’ sees McIlwee spilt the track into three, each part reflecting his purpose – to run far into the vortex of sound, to push what is simplistically known as ‘emo-rap’ into something more complex. Hidden somewhere in the back of the mix, McIlwee sings “Come on, come on, come on, let me in, let me in, let me in”, throwing back (not for the first time) to ‘Slow Come On’, from Tigers Jaw’s ‘Charmer’, his final appearance with the band that made his name. It’s a clever touch – a further chapter in the world building that has been taking place since the early Bandcamp releases of ‘#HELLVERSION’. This is music in the era of TV Easter Eggs, callbacks, reappearing characters and cross-text references. It’s not too crass to imply that the WPEU (Wicca Phase Extended Universe) is as important to fans as the music itself. It adds another layer to the engagement – the constant hope of a callback to a lyrical phrase maintains the connection with the past, and the past is a constant theme in Wicca’s music.

From the opener, the album moves itself through shades of sounds. ‘Moving Without Movement’, the album’s first single, is a highlight who’s musical influence seems rooted in the 1980’s. The soft-washed synths that soar over the chorus wouldn’t be out of place on a New Order record; another band who’s history followed them throughout their career. On ‘It’s Getting Dark’, McIlwee strips away the palette, and sits alone on the track with just an acoustic guitar. This is how we’ve often been fed early versions of songs in his career – sat on a park bench as traffic passes by, or alone on stage before a small and reverent crowd. It’s as good as the very best off of ‘Raw and Declawed’, the 2017 acoustic EP that reminded fans that when he wanted to, he could still make it make sense on the guitar alone.

Less can be said for ‘Mystery I’m Tied To You’, where an attempt at similar intimacy, alongside Zola Jesus, falls vocally flat. The album rises when it pushes itself sonically. On the bouncing ‘One Silhouette’, the emotion stands front and centre, whilst the kicks power through. It’s dance music for those who don’t wish to be seen – a club anthem for the coping.

If the albums that Wicca Phase calls albums are meant to stand out in his discography as something separate from the regular stream of music he releases in between, then ‘Wicca Phase Springs Eternal’ should be seen as the time it all came together. You have here twelve songs, clearly placed in a certain order, designed to carry the listener through the various experiences of the Wicca Phase fan. They are simultaneously in the back of the club, blacked out, screaming Wicca Phase, whilst at home alone with their cats looking mournfully from the window. The album cover features McIlwee on an imposing horse, staring down from the camera lens, into the ground below. For generations, horses have carried man from town to town. On his self-titled record, McIlwee carries you through his personal vision of what his music can be – he and the horse have become one, and we ride delicately upon its back.

ALEX SARYCHKIN

First on, however, is grandson, the project of Canadian singer Jordan Benjamin. On show is a rather uninspired mix of rock and hip-hop, the rhythms and beats occupying that radio-friendly, palatable sound that, to casual listeners, evokes a certain grit. Single ‘Riptide’ is an energetic number that pulses but never quite soars. Towards the end, ‘Stick Up’ gets a notional headbang from the metal-conscious crowd, but the closing riffs are merely a pastiche of all that has come before. It’s a curious appointment as far as openers go – Deftones have always pushed themselves towards reinvention – compare White Pony with Koi No Yokan – and yet here, in support, are an act that embody the concept of generic. grandson will no doubt continue his rise and you can bet he’ll be back headlining the Forum.

By the time the lights dim and Deftones take to the stage, there is barely space to breathe. The high vibrato of synthesisers rattle and ‘Genesis’, from 2020’s Ohms, kick in. Deftones are loud – even at the very top of the Forum, each kick drum is a battering ram. Despite Stephen Carpenter’s absence on account of a reluctance to travel outside of the US, the guitars fill the space in a way that can only be described as cascading. What follows is two hours of masters displaying their craft. The setlist draws from across their legendary discography, kneeling largely on Diamond Eyes, an album that saw Deftones lean heavily into their shoegaze influences without sacrificing the heaviness that fans of Around the Fur and Adrenaline initially took to. There is time here old fan favourites – ‘Knife Party’ draws one of the evenings largest singalongs. By the encore, those still able to stand are met with the fierce hits of ‘Lotion’ and ‘7 Words’, two songs that leave little time to take stock of what is coming. It must be said that The Forum is like a furnace on Monday night with Moreno himself acknowledging the heat and, down in the pit, conscious security providing water. 

Post-pandemic audiences are being much scrutinised at the minute. Artists, returning to touring, have noted a change in temperament – some even going as far to call this out directly. From where your author stands, it’s clear that talking at inopportune moments has certainly gathered pace since venues reopened and it’s unfortunate seeing one fan, who could have paid anything upwards of £150 for a ticket, taking the chorus of ‘My Own Summer (Shove It)’ far too seriously and subsequently seeing his night have an early end. The excitement of shows, particularly small and exclusive ones like this, is clearly creating almost a frenzied behaviour. Whether this is here to stay remains to be seen. 

For those in attendance at the Forum, seeing Deftones in such an intimate setting felt a true privilege. Chino Moreno, who’s voice soars during ‘Digital Bath’, cuts an interesting figure in a music scene that seems to rely ever increasingly on the past. Deftones are now, in many ways, elder statesmen of this scene, their atmospheric sound lends itself perfectly to the hazy, sample wave of Soundcloud rappers. ‘Sextape’, recently sampled by Smrtdeath and Wicca Phase Springs Eternal, plays out more like a high school final dance, the crowd swaying and eyes meeting. Moments later, ‘Diamond Eyes’ has limbs, elbows, eyeballs, fists, knees all rolling into one in the pit. It’s the rough and the smooth together as one – beauty and violence entwined. 

Could it be another thirteen years until London audiences get to see Deftones in such cramped conditions? What position will they hold in the hierarchy of rock then? Having successfully dragged themselves from the graveyard of nu-metal, will they enjoy a newer shelf life as something separate entirely? Needless to say, when the fans left the venue, their faces were beaming. That likely is all you need to know.

ALEX SARYCHKIN

’40 oz. to Fresno’ opens with ‘Souvenir’. Driven by a mesmeric synth linen, lead-singer Barry Johnson showcases his vocal range, reminding us that his ‘obsession’ is ‘not important now’. And yet that is always what has drawn fans to Joyce Manor – an obsession with creating pop-punk that looks backwards as well as forwards. ‘Souvenir’ is every bit Motion City Soundtrack as it is Jawbreaker – the perfect conflation of the novel and the familiar. At three minutes, it’s the record’s longest track and yet it seems to skip by before ending abruptly. This is well trodden territory for the band who are reluctant to outstay their welcome and yet leave fans wishing that their songs were around that little bit longer.

On album standout ‘NBTSA’, this feeling couldn’t be more apparent. It’s a one-two punch, there one second and then gone the next. We never do find out the secret that means Johnson will ‘…never be the same again.’ He keeps us guessing, wondering, pondering for just over a minute and then we’re returned to the dark. In the 1970s, The Ramones were infamous for their ‘40 songs in 30 minutes’. It’s fair to say that at their current level, Joyce Manor could push that to fifty or sixty.

As we slip into ‘Reason to Believe’, we start to see the influence of Tony Thaxton, of Motion City Soundtrack fame, who sits behind the kit on the album. After the chaos of ‘NBTSA’, this is a moment of space, with jangling guitars that float across the mix. In the background, choral vocals provide ambience and we see that deep down, Joyce Manor really are after the ‘perfect’ pop song. On ‘You’re Not Famous Anymore’, we hear the story of the downfall of a ‘child star’, who ends up working in a ‘grocery store’. Perhaps this is a common occurrence in their hometown of California, but the jibes seem somewhat cold, and it’s a rare moment of malice on a record that otherwise celebrates difference. A song of observation is followed quickly by one of introspection. ‘Don’t Try’ explores the feelings of distance that all of us feel, even when we’re near to those that we care for. In a middle eight that bounces quickly back into the chorus, Johnson refuses to make us wait for the pay off. ‘I missed you so much today,’ he sings.

The final third of ’40 oz. to Fresno’ begins with what is sure to soon be a fan favourite. ‘Gotta Let It Go’ once more tackles self-doubt with a riff that’ll leave guitarists everywhere wondering why they didn’t come up with something so simple yet so hard-hitting. The half-time bounce is a welcome change in direction, providing a sense of contrast to the record’s faster numbers. On ‘Dance With Me’, the band take a leaf out of the Johnny Marr school of jangling indie-rock; with the absurd imagery of bunnies in baskets, it feels like a fever dream. Great songwriters take risks. They don’t take themselves too seriously. Joyce Manor have always had that playful streak – it’s part of what makes them so endearing.

Concluding tracks ‘Did You Ever Know’ and ‘Secret Sisters’ take listeners to well trodden territory – heartfelt numbers about leaving nothing behind and not feeling the same way you used to. They are feelings we can all relate to and Joyce Manor are masters at opening the window to sing to the world. The universal themes on ’40 oz. to Fresno’ make it easy for any listener to relate to, and this is part of their exceptional charm. It’s a record of joy and pain which, like the songs themselves, are often short-lived but endlessly repeatable.

ALEX SARYCHKIN

It does not bear to dwell on what came next but April 2021 came and went and no glorious sounds spilled out of guitar amps. A new date in January was announced. Calendars were hastily crossed out and new marks made – this time in pencil. 

The chaos of postponed shows will be familiar to anybody with a passing interest in live music. When the doors of Electric Brixton finally open to a ravenous crowd on a windy Saturday night in March 2022 – 20 months since the original announcement – there is a palpable sense of excitement. As the lights dim and the band appears on stage, the terror of the past two years disappear and what follows is two hours of perfection. Perhaps the extra time has provided the chance for more diligent practice, for more time together to recapture the rhythms of old. Whatever it was, it’s worked.

‘All the Rage’, from 2005’s ‘Hours’, opens a set also spanning 2003’s ‘Casually Dressed’ and ‘Deep in Conversation’ as well as 2007’s ‘Tales Don’t Tell Themselves’. It’s one for the fans that grew up with the band being inescapable. As the opener belts to a finish, it’s straight into ‘Juneau’, typically expected as a set closer, its place this early in the set is a clear indication that the band are confident in keeping the crowd’s attention. Bodies fly in every direction, the pent up anticipation reaching boiling point during ‘Streetcar’. Limbs combined, bodies blend into a large mass, heads crashed to the floor. This is a gig debauchery for those at the front – but what else could be expected when so many of those at the show thought this day might never come?

A brief moment of respite for those in among the chaos comes with the pivot to some of the more recent Funeral for a Friend songs, which despite their power, just don’t cut through quite as perfectly as ‘Rookie of the Year’ or ‘Monsters’. The band know their audience – they know what people come to see and experience. The mantra is clear: Give The Kids What They Want. No more dicking around with deep cuts (although a run through ‘The Art of American Football’ wouldn’t have gone amiss). 

When you’ve waited this long for something, it’s always going to pass in an instant. By the time the opening chords of the emotional ‘History’ play out, the crowd is spent – but there’s always a touch more energy for a final big chorus. It’s a moment of beautiful unity and a reminder of just how much people missed this when we couldn’t do it. I hope the next time the band announce a tour they don’t have to wait so long to get it off the ground. 

ALEX SARYCHKIN

Opener ‘Burning Heart’ sets the tone of the record – this is Dashboard as you remember them, with guitars that sit front and centre in the mix. It’s the ‘same damn burning heart’ that drove the choruses of ‘Again I Go Unnoticed’ all those years ago and Carrabba sounds as vital as ever. The longing remains, punctured with that trademark crackle in his voice. On ‘Here’s To Moving On’, acoustic guitars shimmer like 2004 never ended. Snapshots of suburban love affairs sprinkle themselves throughout with a chorus that asks for a campfire sing along. Dashboard Confessional have always been masters of capturing that feeling of nostalgic sadness. When the drums kick in on ‘The Better Of Me’ it’s a welcome surprise, echoing the full band versions of songs on the much loved ‘MTV Unplugged 2.0’.

Dashboard rely far too heavily on cliché on occasion, both lyrically and musically. You could fill a bargain CD rack with songs that reference the ‘Sunshine State’ and yet Carrabba squeezes enough feeling into these stereotypical subjects to escape falling too far into becoming a pastiche. It’s a rare lull on an otherwise soaring collection of songs that navigate heartbreak, age, depression and the chaos of modern life. When avoiding the temptation to sing the words you most expect, Carrabba is insightful about the anxieties of growing old. Wisdom accrued over years in the scene shines through with clarity.

We may never know how many old mp3 players sit collecting dust with ‘The Places You Have Come To Fear The Most’ on but the fact that after twenty-two years we are still seeing Dashboard Confessional make engaging and thoughtful albums is a testament to Carrabba’s drive. Forever the driving force behind the band, he is a constant in an ever-changing sea of bands that have come and gone over the years. ‘All The Truth That I Can Tell’ may not tread much in the way of new ground but it is trademark Dashboard Confessional, seamlessly fitting in an iconic discography.

It remains to be seen if this album will make an impact on new listeners in the way that ‘The Swiss Army Romance’ did in the year 2000, but this is definitely an album to be enjoyed by those who already have a relationship with the band. For them, it’s a chance to approach Dashboard Confessional with a fresh lens. The sound is still the same but the subject matter has changed. This is a modern Dashboard with a new set of songs ready to be sung at full volume in a sweaty room somewhere near you.

ALEX SARYCHKIN