‘Punk Ruins’ is also a learning experience for fans of the supergroup’s four members. Lyxzén’s testing out a new vocal style slightly akin to Howlin’ Pelle-meets-Billie-Joe-Armstrong, and while we can hear the Bad Religion, Minor Threat and Rocket From The Crypt DNA in there, Fake Names are channelling the joy of pop punk all the way. That’s not to say they aren’t taking themselves seriously; the title track, with all its “waiting for redemption” feels like a confession from someone who’s just on the verge of ditching the day job and diving straight into the full time punk rock lifestyle, with blistering solos from Baker and a singalong chorus – and it’s as deadpan as we’d expect. There’s a distinctive garage bounce that betrays just how much Fake Names are loving their experience, and even when they’re thinking back on when they got “caught in the landslide” on ‘Cover The Distance’ amid other similarly anguished lyrics, it’s always presented with a wry grin and a touch of flair on the solos. ‘What I Tell Myself’ is just happy beach punk made for good times, and that’s what we gain from listening to ‘Punk Ruins’: we get to share in the experience of taking a pause of doing what feels natural. 

If we’re talking about progression, ‘Punk Ruins’ feels like the point at which Fake Names have switched their train to a different set of tracks. Of course there’s still the popping abruptness that we associate with their sound on songs like opener ‘Until Normal’, but that’s been varnished with an easy gloss throughout the album as a whole. Take ‘Beautiful Scars’, a tune which could easily have emerged from the studio as an old school rager. The melodic shifts and sweetness make it so much more palatable, and their new direction seems like an expression of a group who’re happy about where they’ve found themselves in their lives. Darkness lurks on some songs like ‘If You Could See Me Today’, but it’s always tempered with an atmosphere of self-assurance and the softness of personal clarity. This might alienate folk who read the CV from the band members and think they’re in for a rough ride of growl and thrash, or even those who’ve been following the Fake Names journey from the sidelines, but if you’re in the position to begrudge these guys the freedom to make a slightly more light-hearted pop record, then you’re even more slightly missing the point of Fake Names. 

Lie back on a hillside and watch the sun set, or blast some tunes with mates you’ve known for decades. ‘Punk Ruins’ works perfectly in either scenario, as long as you’re as happy in your situation as Lyxzén and Co are. Fake Names are so pleasingly predictable, as new records are like trying to meet your crowd for a drink: it happens when everyone’s got time, and they’re in the same place, and the vibe is right. We have to make the time to appreciate this little slice of punk rock sunshine and let the riffs take us wherever they may please, because in uncertain musical times, getting back to your roots with the music that matters is the best feeling in the world. That’s the Fake Names ethos, after all. 

KATE ALLVEY

“Is this all that’s left of me?” asks Amy Schmalkuche on opener ‘Roses’, and as a first taste of the neo-teenage regret and hope that we love about the modern emo take, it’s a stunner. Like Roses have taken their influences and run with them. As we’re flung into ‘Nowhere’, the realisation hits; ‘After It Ends’ is the female response to all the whiney pop-punk protagonists who have no idea why their girlfriends left them. Like Roses embody the girl who’s absolutely aware why these fictional losers are mooning over them, and they have an articulate, no-bullshit response to anyone living in romantic nostalgia. ‘Swallow’ is the ultimate kickback to that pointless reminiscence, the musical version of the moment of revelation that your ex really wasn’t all that. Of course, we’ve had loads of acts who can take on that role and use their experience to bring something original to the emo scene, but Like Roses feel like the flip side to the coin that we never looked at in detail. The strength that emanates from ‘Buried’, as well as their we’re-doing-Blink-But-Better energy brings that missing piece to the established sound. 

Would we have a pop punk record without the pre-requisite semi-acoustic weepy number? Of course not. ‘Light’ is a real tear-jerker. Without a tender number to provide the other side of their ferocity, ‘After It Ends’ would be lacking that certain something, and ‘Light’s crashing finale feels so essential when it kicks in. While every broken love song is somewhat serious, advance single ‘Wrist’ has to be the conversation starter, somehow managing to discuss relationship abuse without resorting to cliche or maudlin triggering. Lyrically, focusing on how someone realises they’re “looking stupid” when they’re out of a bad relationship and dropping in a touch of warmth for the good times is a great move and adds a new dimension to a familiar theme. 

Perhaps the biggest strength of Like Roses’ debut is their sense of moving forward. Sure, the majority of the record deals with loss and the breakdown of relationships, but there’s a tangible sense of compassion for all parties involved and a warmth towards the past selves embroiled in the remembered drama. “I hope one day you get everything you wanted, but for now could you stay a little longer?” Schmalkuche pleads on ‘Happier’, but there’s no one who’s cold and broken in the pictures she creates. We’re all adults here, and Like Roses have grown up to make music beyond the lovelorn stereotypes of their influences. Who they’ll become once ‘After It Ends’ is undoubtedly given the seal of approval by the fans who’ll immerse themselves in the Like Roses sound remains to be discovered, but we’ve got a corker of a freshman record to get to grips with before then.

KATE ALLVEY

Half the tracks are well known to the growing Unpeople fandom already. We open with the deceptively cute ‘Clouds’ that disintegrates into heavy optimism of the distinctly Britpop variety, and ‘Friends’ – the song for everyone who’s been fed the line about being better off as mates by a crush and knows the sensation of having to grit your teeth as you reply – grates with screamed frustration. There’s no pastoral idyll in ‘The Garden’, but there is a wheelbarrow full of sarcasm and grunge power, and ‘Blueprints’, the “ballad track” with accompanying adorable video, is a moment of blue skies and unchained euphoria. As a primer, the songs we already love as singles serve as a great primer to the Unpeople sound; universally appealing, with grit and joy to reach out across the dividing lines of genre. 

The other fifty percent of ‘We Are Unpeople’ cements what we’ve already realised. These guys are doing something seriously interesting and original, and a song like ‘Swallow’, which swerves between singalong anthem, scream fest and snarky chanter, shows exactly why they’ve got so big so quickly. ‘Bottle It’ might be the most quintessential track on the album though, the one you’ll play people to persuade them to get on the bandwagon. It channels the grunge undercurrent that runs through this whole release into moments of bitter harmony and ferocious loveliness, and that particular flow reaches it’s crest on ‘Haunted’, with its bass boost and punk-ish tendencies. We have to love a slightly unhinged vision on a record, and that’s what Unpeople bring to the table so incredibly well. Call it retrospective hindsight if you want, but there’s so much of their future tour buddies Don Broco in the mix on ‘Look Up’, haunting the lyrics and melody with their brash ultra-realism, but also their sense of triumph. That’s the quality that makes closer ‘As You Were’ such a winner; we feel like we’ve made it along with Unpeople, and lets slip that they’ve only just begun their musical quest.

‘We Are Unpeople’ contains multitudes, not just of vibrant and original musical ideas, but also of pathways and intentions. As a debut and the culmination of two years of touring, single releases and buildup, ‘We Are Unpeople’ is a brilliant opening statement that cements Unpeople in the much coveted and elusive niche of “One To Watch”. It also presents so many options and avenues which they could explore down the line, as it feels certain at this point that they’re going to be sticking around. Will they lean into the rage, float through the grunge-scapes or sweep us away with the dreamy vocal icing sugar that they add to every tune? It’s too soon to tell, but right now: we’ve got one hell of a first record to play on repeat.

KATE ALLVEY

Those camped at the front for the best proximity to Shomo zealously guard their spots for Silverstein. Provocative and resolute, the Canadians spark their own gunpowder with ‘Smashed Into Pieces’, packed with laser focused optimism amid the crashing distortion. ‘The Altar’, their “heaviest song” casts as much of a pit as we can manage without leaving our spots and booms between vocalist swaps and screamed out fists up glory, and ‘The Afterglow’  bounces with zest for life before they tap into their grunge depths for ‘My Heroine’. ‘Stress’ is the real emotional connector as we’re pitting though the wait for the mighty Beartooth.

With resounding chug from the bass and a ripped crop top, Shomo delivers a visceral unburdening on opener ‘Pure Ecstasy’. Beartooth are in their rage-pop era now, vicious and subversive with their sweetness and bile. “We’re gonna play a lot of old stuff tonight, is that cool?’ He asks rhetorically as darkness descends for ‘Hated’. We’re here for the fiery depths of the Beartooth back catalogue and the outsider songs that held us when we needed them, and it’s the return visit to this chapter in their career that really grips us.

When they shift gear to the more optimistic new material, the risk pays off. Yes, of course we love the miserable numbers about self-loathing, but ‘Beautiful Again’ releases a certain intoxicating magic. They might have changed the packaging but it’s still them, and they’ve still got us under their thumb. Crowd surfers gaze up, euphoric, at the frontman’s a Capella treat. As we cheer, he clasps his hand over his mouth, overwhelmed by our support. “My favourite thing is to write songs that helps me navigate this life and figure out who the fuck I actually am,” he says, his voice cracking. ‘Free’ is harsher and gentler all at once, rich in anguish and joy and release, and we experience his new vocal style to its fullest.

From ‘Eyes Closed’ onwards, it’s continuous anthem moments tonight. ‘Riptides’ has become our song, not the bands, and each chorus blossoms. ‘The Lines’, “for the old school Beartooth fans” proves their fire is still there, burning as strong through the grit and passion they salt each line with. The biggest revelation of the night is the closer, ‘Might Love Myself’. For the first time, Shomo sings it like he really believes the words he’s written, grinning and making the whole room brighter, and that’s the kind of infectious joy that etches itself into our collective memories.

It’s a privilege to see the vocalist this genuinely happy, and now he’s able to share in our glee at seeing Beartooth return to the capital. 

KATE ALLVEY

One of the evening’s many idiosyncrasies – and we’re not including the fact that Troxy insist on keeping half the house lights on – is the fact that ‘I Built You A Tower’ doesn’t feature that heavily in their setlist. ‘Riptides’ makes for an elegantly lo-fi ease in to the evening, and the catchy moodiness of ‘Punching Flowers’  reveals the darkness that was lurking in the background of their latest releases, but ‘I Built You A Tower (a)’ shows exactly why they’re not solely focusing on the new record. With its swift, candy floss-light bridges, it fits satisfyingly in between the dismissed omens of ‘Black Sun’ and the nostalgic crash of ‘Company Calls’s like a Jenga block. That’s the whole point of tonight: we’re celebrating the coming together of the puzzle pieces that Death Cab For Cutie have been crafting for decades.

“We don’t have hits, but we do have classics,” jokes frontman Ben Gibbard, and these are the songs where the magic lies. Acoustic, with each note like a candle lit in memory, ‘I Will Follow You Into The Dark’, is breathtaking. “How do you guys feel about audience participation?” he giggles halfway through, but the song’s spell never breaks and as we chorus, the warmth of familiarity and friendships that cross oceans sweep over us. Each bitter line of ‘Pep Talk’ feels like its preserved in amber as we sway and reverently hum along, and the tender storytelling of ‘Stone Over Water’ weaves and flows through disaster and rebuilding. The devotion in the air during ‘Soul Meets Body’ is tangibly magnetic, and carries so much individual meaning to so many in the crowd. As a band, they’re incredibly aware of themselves and how each single chord shift can affect us, and they carry that weight like its a privilege. When they dip a toe into improvisation, such as the post punk breakdown that boosts ‘Grapevine Fires’, they do so with glee, like they’re presenting us with a treat as much as they are revealing an ambitious and experimental side to themselves which we rarely see on record. 

When Death Cab go happy, they do so with style and aplomb. The squeals of excitement that accompany ‘Cath…’ make for a fairground atmosphere that complements the rock angle they accentuate live, and ‘Crooked Teeth’ sparkles with festival revival energy. ‘Here To Forever’ is all vibrancy and dynamism on the home stretch, elastic hope and dreams stretched taut that we bounce along. This is a show with so many moments where you want to break the illusion for a second, to look around the room and really focus on the band, just to preserve each memory in your mind to carry it with you like a photograph in your wallet. The upbeat songs fly past, but carry just as much emotional resonance as the songs of longing and despair, and it’s testament to how much Death Cab For Cutie refuse to be pigeonholed as “that band that writes sad songs”.

Tonight flows quickly, and Death Cab For Cutie manage to stack up decades of songs with no distractions from their mission to present the best of themselves in the order that they’ve possibly been building to since day one. Most of the crowd will be back tomorrow for their second show, but there’s a beauty in knowing that you can only experience an arrangement of songs laden with emotion that glow like molten gold once. Maybe tonight isn’t unique, but a band like Death Cab For Cutie who can inspire so much faith and love across wastelands of emotion surely must be.

Kate Allvey

Photo: Shervin Lainez

As an initial salvo, ‘Suffer’ set the bar high. It’s clear from the opening chords that they’re setting their sights a lot higher than before and manifesting their next big venue. This is a band ready to ‘Be Somebody’, and their opener feels like a Stonesy call to arms. There’s so much big riff energy sparking through this record, whether it’s turbo-charged earworm ‘Breaker’ or the so-simple-it-burns garage hooks of ‘Speed Demon’. We love this side of Harry Martinez’s vocals too; when she really gets to wail like there’s a smoke machine behind her and a big fan in front blowing her hair back. It’s when she gets her punk sneer on that we really get hooked. She can do a Johnny Rotten impression like no other (sorry, Frank Carter!) and when we get the full force of her condescension and snap on a track like ‘Born Too Loose’, the hype surrounding Split Dogs suddenly makes more sense. 

It’s the ultimate “complisult” to say “every song sounds the same.” That’s the sign of a band with a distinct sound, and we could all rattle off a list of bands who’ve made their mark by doing just that. Luckily, while yes, every single song does sound really similar, ‘Nice N’ Rough’ is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it release. Unless you’re really tracking each song, the whole thing speeds past like a flaming tourbus and you’re left with a distinct aural crater after it lands. We don’t really need to be focusing on the homogeneity of their sound, we just need to let the whole thing smack into us at force and enjoy the sensation. Think of it as a half hour experience rather than a tracklist to pour over: that’s the spirit that they’re channelling. In fact, they’ve captured the live experience so well, that we can see it as a show in the headphones that you can just lose yourself in and come out feeling awesome about yourself.

“Sparks are flying out, there’s gonna be a power out,” Martinez screams on closer ‘Power Out’, and that’s the perfect summary of ‘Nice N’ Rough’. It’s got so much power that it could practically blow up a stereo, and the lights are going to be switching off on anyone who doubted the flightpath that Split Dogs are zooming through. Turn ‘Nice N’ Rough’ up seriously loud and load yourself up with the feeling that you’re going to ‘Be Somebody’ by the end of an album that practically crackles with garage electricity.

Kate Allvey

It’s not exactly a surprise that a band who’ve cited Hannah Montana as an influence are all about the classic pop, and the naughties-nightclub energy has been turned up for ‘Loving And Losing’. What makes Honey Revenge so much more interesting is their adult take on the sound compared to both the original era and the current crop of Disney artists. Take ‘Sunday Scaries’: it’s the song for adults who remember the euphoria of a teenage night out, but now their attempts to party are hampered by remembering that the bins need to go out in the morning. It’s a song for real life and real people who still want a measured dose of nightclub escapism from a band who get it. ‘Poison Apple’ is a song inhabiting the demilitarised zone between Britney and Gaga, but with a presence which explains why the Warped Tour crowd have embraced Honey Revenge, and it’s their sincere love of the pop they’re making which makes them exciting. There’s no irony, but there is a whole lot of human understanding. 

The vulnerability which marked Honey Revenge’s debut is gone now, to be replaced with personal growth and an acknowledgement of progress. ‘Jealousy Monster’ twists between bitterness and strength in trying to overcome personal issues: it’s the flawed girl anthem for everyone who’s having to unpick their personality from their issues but wants to put the therapy struggle on hold to dance. It’s immediately followed by the almost P!nk style ‘Trust Issues’. And all of a sudden, Honey Revenge seem very human when dealing with the same baggage as the rest of us. It’s rare to find a band so incredibly self-aware, who mix artificial pop production with some intensely relatable confessions. ‘Sorry Much’, a track which exemplifies the Revenge in Honey Revenge, is the perfect example of this mix of the real and unreal, and they’re clearly flourishing in their role as pop-rock cyborgs. 

There are two songs here which are so different from the rest of the album, and both are different kinds of revelation. ‘Butterfly Effect’ surely hints at their next direction: there’s no confessional element, but the fantastical power anthem side to their sound is pushed to the front with a neo-disco-future energy. Are they going to build on their ability to make chords soar and synths escalate and switch to delivering festival gold that’ll pulse against a sunset in a field somewhere? Nothing is out of the question with Honey Revenge. The title track is the biggest surprise though. If anyone had “quiet, acoustic bereavement tribute” on their bingo card, then they’ve won a prize…and that prize is a devastating little song written in the wake of vocalist Devin Papadol’s grief at losing her father. It’s a window to an incredibly private moment for her, and closing out with a recording of her dad saying how proud he is of her is a gut-wrenching moment.

Honey Revenge have never been “just” a pop band. Their last record showed that pop was just the medium that they chose to carry some serious personal honesty, and now they’re in a different place emotionally, they’ve got even more to explore. ‘Loving And Losing’ is an album for dancing away your problems, while still processing them in the background, and it’s a genuine and vibrant listen.

Kate Allvey