But 2019’s career-best record, ‘Interrobang’, could have given them a shot in the arm. People who’d never cared were paying attention, and those of us who had been paying attention for almost 20 years were pleasantly surprised to hear the band let rip with the kind of metallic riffs virtuoso guitarist Jack O’Shea is never more than seconds away from peeling off his fretboard. The end result was an invigorated sounding band, writing vital and relevant music for the first time in over a decade.

But then of course, 2020 happened. And like countless other bands sitting on a career-reviving record, Bayside were relegated to waiting until they could get back out on the road. By which time the moment had passed.

But instead of flogging a dying horse, Bayside headed back into the studio and between 2022 and 2024 we’ve had no fewer than two EPs and two singles. The ‘Red’ EP indulged their no-frills pop-punk sound, the kind found on ‘Shudder’, ‘Cult’, and ‘Vacancy’. The ‘Blue’ EP hinted at a return to the frantic riffs and almost metalcore influence of ‘Interrobang’ – even including an appearance by Ice Nine Kills on standout track ‘How to Ruin Everything’. 

Expectations were high for ‘There Are Worse Things Than Being Alive’. Whether or not they’ve been met depends on whether you’re willing to judge it as an album, or as a compilation album with a few extra tracks thrown in for good measure. Because here’s the thing – while it’s been sequinned as well as it can be, and feels like an album, ‘There Are Worse Things Than Being Alive’ is every Bayside song you’ve already heard for the last two years, with a handful of new songs thrown into justify the ‘album’ label.

And here’s the other thing; it’s still really good. Sure, it’s not as coherent as an album written-and-recorded as such – how could it ever have been – but the pop-punk sounds are the ones that sound out of place and as usual, Bayside are at their best wearing their heavier tendencies on their sleeves and then pressing those sleeves directly into your face. 

Opener ‘Devils’ goes harder than any alleged pop-punk song has any right to; single ‘Castaway’ fits in nicely and bridges the gap to the first run of EP songs. The momentum keeps up until two-year-old song ‘Strangest Faces’ pops up and sounds far better than it ever did as part of an EP.

Bayside have been a band for longer than some of the people reading this have been alive. They have, broadly speaking, three distinct modes but this – melodic songs that are catchy to the point of infuriation, effortlessly melded with the speed riffs and guitar solos that Sum 41’s most recent album is desperate to foist on you. But the difference is, this isn’t Bayside doing a bit; it’s who they are.

Yes, it would have been great to get an album full of new songs. But people aren’t buying albums anymore and frankly it’s a miracle Bayside are visiting Europe this Summer, so I guess the new model works. 

As an album, this will be better the less you’ve heard of it already. But as a collection of songs from one of the most underrated bands on the planet, it’s going to be on rotation all summer long. Now get out there and go see them lest they don’t return for another 7 years.

ROB BARBOUR

Well for starters, the 200 people crammed into The Lexington in London tonight for a gig that sold out in a second. That’s not a turn of phrase – over 1,000 people tried to buy tickets in the time it took to refresh the Dice FM app. Taking place on a balmy late-Spring evening, the show is a warm-up (in every sense of the phrase) for Slam Dunk Festival and could be described as “intimate” in the same way as repeated unwanted advances from a colleague might be considered “romantic”; technically accurate but lacking some critical information.

First up are Norwich quartet SUDS. Recently signed to Big Scary Monsters and riding a minor wave of hype off the back of their warmly-received ‘In The Undergrowth’ EP, SUDS are an even more exciting prospect live than on record. They somehow blend midwest emo/math riffs with shoegaze indie, and Mae Cater is in possession of a voice forged in a collision between Pool Kids’ Christine Goodwyne and Kiwi pop Queen Lorde, with the stage presence of Danielle Haim. 

The curiosity of a half-full room quickly transforms into a crowd of new fans and the glee of witnessing the band’s obvious joy is matched only by their masterstroke of selling scented candles as merch. One note, though – the name “bandles” was RIGHT there. 

With respect to SUDS, this is Spanish Love Songs’ night. The densely-packed crowd is charged with excitement as they take the stage after such a prolonged absence. “We’re back!” says frontman Dylan Slocum, looking lean and – dare we say it – cool as fuck. But this isn’t the same band who left the stage of Kentish Town Forum after supporting The Menzingers in February 2020. Dressed entirely in black – perhaps for the benefit of the professional video cameras capturing the show – it’s not just their image that’s sharper and more coherent. 

Immediately launching into ‘Routine Pain’, the opening track from Pure Noise début ‘Brave Faces Everyone’ and, frankly, one of the best opening tracks of the last ten years, Spanish Love Songs tear through the album’s opening triumvirate, as well as ‘Optimisim (As A Radical Life Choice)’ and ‘Kick’ before Dylan says another word. He doesn’t need to – the band are playing out of their skins tonight and the music says more than a rote line about “the best crowd on the tour” ever could. 

Drummer Ruben Duarte – always the band’s secret weapon – rains down hellfire on his kit as if percussion itself were facing an existential threat. Locked in with Trevor Dietrich’s masterfully melodic bass parts, the rhythm section has never sounded better. But any show is all about the songs, and between ‘Schmaltz’ and the aforementioned follow-up (rough-around-the-edges début ‘Giant Sings The Blues’ can now be considered non-canon), Spanish Love Songs have a two-album catalogue that sounds like a Greatest Hits set. 

‘Haunted’ and ‘Lifers’ from upcoming fourth album ‘No Joy’ already sound like classics, the former seeing Dylan put down his guitar to throw rock star shapes behind the mic stand and the latter featuring the kind of infuriatingly catchy guitar/synth combo riff from guitarist Kyle McAuley and fiercely underrated keyboardist Meredith van Wort that’s becoming the band’s signature sound.

The band play like they’ve been looking forward to this night even more than the crowd and are completely in sync, dominating the stage with a confidence one might not reasonably expect from an act whose most memorable hooks include such gems as “I want to breathe without pacing/I don’t want to be depressed” and “Don’t you know you were born to die poor, man?” 

But if there were any doubt that these hymns to millennial nihilism have found their audience, it’s blown away by crowd singalongs that often threaten to drown out the musicians themselves. Every song, every line, every word echoed back to a notoriously humble band who might finally be realising how much they mean to people.

Ending the set on a one-two punch of ‘Losers’ and ‘Brave Faces’ heartbreaking, life-affirming title track, there are no encores tonight – only the triumphant return of the most exciting rock band your colleagues and parents have never heard of. Welcome back, friends. We’ve missed you.

ROB BARBOUR

Somehow, it’s been twelve years since the ‘Tr00 pop punk’ movement went fully mainstream with the release of both ‘Under Soil & Dirt’ by The Story So Far and ‘Suburbia, I’ve Given You All And Now I’m Nothing’ by The Wonder Years. In that time, there’s been entire careers and bodies of work directly influenced by those bands and the scenes from which they exploded.

With the concurrent emergence of the midwest emo scene, we’re now well over a decade into pop-punk’s re-reinvention as an earnest and – whisper it – serious art form, played not by sophomoric bros enamoured of scatalogical humour but by dorky outcasts who can really play their instruments. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, and we now have bands like Mom Jeans looking back even further, reviving the more basic,  pop-forward punk that bands like TSSF and The Wonder Years were reacting against.

The counter-point to this more 90s-infused pop punk is a wave of bands looking back to the 2010s and once again taking the genre seriously; and with their third album, ‘Why Would I Watch’, Michigan’s Hot Mulligan make a convincing case for leading this vanguard.

Hot Mulligan have been threatening to become the most important band in pop-punk since 2018’s ‘Pilot’ but where that debut and its follow-up ‘You’ll Be Fine’ saw the band merely wearing their influences on their sleeves, this latest effort finally sees them coalesce into an individual sound. That’s not to say that this sounds markedly different from their first two records, but it is far more coherent.

It’s impossible to avoid comparisons to The Wonder Years, particularly when vocalist Tades Sanville indulges his inner flannel-shirt-tugging sad lad side. But this time around he does so just as often as he unleashes the larynx-shredding scream which has become Hot Mulligan’s calling card, creating a balance and sonic identity often missing from their earlier releases.

The band’s songwriting has matured to the point that Chris Freeman and Ryan Malicsi’s midwest-emo fretwork theatrics now wrap themselves seamlessly around the pop-punk frame of the songs themselves. It’s all powered by drummer Brandon Blakely, a turbo-charged machine oscillating between double-time skate-punk beats, tumbling pop -rock fills and, something missing from too many contemporary punk bands: groove. Listen to his deployment of all three on stand-out track ‘And I Smoke’, or his subtle accompaniment to the lush, balladesque intro of ‘This Song Is Called It’s Called What It’s Called”.

No, your brain wasn’t playing tricks on you with that previous sentence; part of Hot Mulligan’s shameless curation of all things emo includes a penchant for self-consciously irreverent and unwieldy song titles. They’re fantastic tracks but we’re going to be somewhat embarrassed recommending ‘John “The Rock” Cena, Can You Smell What The Undertaker’ and particularly ‘Cock Party 2 (Better Than The First)’. Come on now.

The whole enterprise is granted a layer of polish by returning producer Brett Romnes, whose impressive CV includes work with elder pop punk statesmen like The Movielife’s Vinnie Caruana and Bayside’s Anthony Raneri. This slicker, more radio-friendly sound might put off more casual listeners more interested in the band’s rawer side but it does what any good production should do: serves the songs.

Hot Mulligan clearly have their sights set on the big time and with a winning combination of Tr00 grit, bubblegum harmonies and Sanville’s unique voice, come December ‘Why Would I Watch’ is going to be in the conversation as one of the best pop-punk albums of the year. It also answers its own titular question: Why would you watch? Because it’s damn good, that’s why.

ROB BARBOUR

There’s a bounce to their performance which matches Mandell’s violently amenable stage presence, and his harmonies with drummer Phoebe Cross are genuinely lush. Their cover of Grimes’ ‘California’ might be a misstep, but we can forgive a lot for a band who so proudly show off their own branded, monogrammed towels. And good songs, obviously.

Muncie Girls are cool as fuck. Bassist/Vocalist Lande Hekt emanates understated charisma, and while the trio’s monochrome appearance – dressed head to toe in black and sporting choir gown-clean white Fenders – might be their token acquiescence to theatrics, it’s an effective one. Bounding straight into a triumphant ‘Learn In School’, their punk songs dressed as indie rock were designed to be consumed in claustrophic venues like this.

There’s an honesty to Muncie Girls that invites you to root for them. It’s in Hekt’s note-perfect yet unpolished vocals, almost identical to her speaking voice; in the childlike energy of guitarist Dean McMullen; in the way drummer Luke Ellis beats his kit like it’s just said something horrible about his mum. They’re also very good musicians – Hekt and Ellis in particular are a formidable rhythm section, something that’s occasionally masked by the deliberately muted production on debut album ‘From Caplan to Belsize’, but which explodes into clarity on stage tonight.

It’s remarkable how far they’ve come even since this year’s festival season. They’re more comfortable on stage, they’re tighter, and their best songs, like the haunting ‘Social Side’ and the loathing-yet-celebratory ‘Respect’ demand your attention. While this isn’t one of those triumphant coming-of-age shows for which The Underworld is renowned – it’s undersold, resulting in the contrarian but inevitable lack of movement that occurs when the crowd has just a little too much space – Muncie Girls are received tonight with the kind of warmth reserved for well-kept secrets, and deservedly so.

ROB BARBOUR

The debate over which of JEW’s astonishing, genre-defining 1999-2004 triple album run of Clarity, Bleed American and Futures is ‘best’ has been done to death and isn’t worth retreading here. Besides, the answer is obviously Clarity. But Jimmy Eat World are at a point in their careers now where previous staples are having to make way for the new material they’re actually promoting and, while we know there’s little uglier in the world of rock music fandom than naked entitlement, the lack of undeniable anthems like ‘Blister’, ‘Futures’ and ‘The Authority Song’ rankles a little.

On the other hand: many bands never write a single song as good as any one of those; imagine being so good that you can afford to ditch all three. They’re binned, of course, to make room for tracks from Integrity Blues. And the results are broadly positive: ‘That’s Not Me’ is confirmed as a bona fide anthem, and is likely to remain in the set for many years to come. Ditto ‘Get Right’, tonight’s opening song and one whose pounding, swaggering riffs impress all over again when played live. We’re still not convinced about ‘Pass The Baby’ as a song, but that triple-guitar Rage Against The Machine conclusion absolutely slays when it’s being hammered out in front of you.

Rarely showy on record, JEW consistently provide perfect examples of playing for the song and as a result their musicianship never ceases to impress. Particularly frontman Jim Adkins, who’s evolved into something of a guitar hero. And while we’re sure he’s said something similar to every city on this tour, there’s something about Adkins’ adorable stage presence which renders his assertion about the quality of London’s crowds sincere, rather than cloying.

On reflection, bitching about a Jimmy Eat World setlist is like throwing a tantrum because your 1934 Chateau Lafite Rothschild isn’t at perfect room temperature. Especially on a night when we get an airing of ‘No Sensitivity’, a reminder that even the songs they reject from their albums would be hit singles for many other acts. Quite simply one of the best bands we have. Cherish them.

Nostalgia is a hell of a drug. 

Actually, let’s take a step back. It would be churlish to criticise a bill headlined by Alien Ant Farm performing their 2001 breakout album, ‘ANThology’, in full for being backward-looking or overtly nostalgic. Sub 89 (capacity: 600) is almost sold out tonight, and it’s the promise of a blast of 00s rock club retrospective that’s drawn the crowd. So let’s assess the evening on its own terms.

First up: Sumo Cyco. The Canadian quartet are a remarkably suitable choice for this bill, and not just because the three members of the band who aren’t sapphire-haired vocalist Skye Sweetnam all look like they were recruited from the crowd at a gig during the very specific 18-month period between 2000 and 2001 when Alien Ant Farm and Hed(p.e) were last relevant. Their brand of punky, downtuned nu-metal riffage would have been right at home during that same period. Sweetnam has real star power, though, and a commanding stage presence. Her energy, combined with the band’s obvious enthusiasm, makes for an entertaining set even if the songs themselves are largely forgettable. It’s not big, it’s not clever, but it is a lot of fun.

Back to Hed(p.e.), then. Despite the MTV2 success of their single, ‘Bartender’, they never quite took off in the UK in the same way as man of their nu-metal peers. And unlike Alien Ant Farm, who got unfairly lumped in with that scene thanks to their close ties to Papa Roach, Hed(p.e.) were a nu-metal band. They had a DJ until just a few years ago, and Jahred’s always been more of a rapper than a singer. And, look: we’re not about to defend the concept of Hed(p.e.)- in their early days, Jahred wrote some of the dumbest lyrics to emerge from an already dumb genre. Their back catalogue is littered with mindless aggression and misogyny and the ‘political’ leanings of their more recent material carry the intellectual weight of a malnourished feather, adding up to little more than “9/11 WAS AN INSIDE JOB. P.S. LEGALISE WEED”.

But in terms of pure performance, they make tonight their own. The band are incredibly tight, Jahred is a consummate showman and has the crowd – many of whom had never even heard of Hed(p.e.) before tonight – are won over by the energy and razor-sharp riffs emanating from the stage. Obnoxious? Absolutely. But undeniably impressive. 

All of which leaves Alien Ant Farm with a surprisingly hard act to follow. And if they’d been playing a regular set, including material from ANThology’s underrated follow-up, ‘TruANT’ and perhaps even a couple of songs from last year’s passable comeback, ’Always and Forever’, they might have fared better.

But choosing to perform ‘ANThology’ in full presents the band with three problems, none of which they convincingly overcome: firstly, its best song, the band’s best song, and one of the best rock songs of the last twenty years, is ‘Movies’. And that’s Track 2. Secondly, there’s a real drop-off in quality after that second track, because ‘ANThology is not by any stretch a classic album. And thirdly, the band’s most famous song, a novelty cover of Michael Jackson’s ‘Smooth Criminal’, sits ostentatiously as the record’s penultimate track.

So the energising opening blast of ‘Courage’ and ‘Movies’ gives way to a creeping sense of boredom, as the room realises they don’t know this album as well as they perhaps thought. And while the band’s performance is fine – bassist Tim Peugh, who didn’t actually appear on ‘ANThology’, is a ball of energy and a particular delight to behold – something feels a little flat. ‘Attitude’ still sounds fantastic, and when the band finally drop ‘Smooth Criminal – smartly switched with the album’s final track, ‘Universe’, to avoid a surge of people leaving before the end – the room goes as bonkers as you might expect.

It’s not Alien Ant Farm’s fault. It’s the fundamental problem with album shows – they remove all sense of surprise from a live set and unless the album in question is genuinely flawless, they serve to remind us why some tracks never see the light of day. At the bar after the gig, the talk is almost exclusively about Hed(p.e.)’s set. They’re not for us, but it would be disingenuous to pretend a band weren’t great just because we think their ‘message’ is conspiracy-addled nonsense. It definitely is, though.

ROB BARBOUR

We’ve been waiting for new Ghost Cub material since we premiered their first tracks last Summer; Neil promises that ‘Bloom & Rot’  is the first track from an EP that’s coming soon. We’ll believe it when we see it…

Years of alcohol abuse had taken their toll on the musician and with the band itself down to just two members of its classic lineup, the outlook was bleak for both. So when news broke a year later, in mid-2015, that Whibley and the band were active again and had welcomed guitarist Dave Baksh – renowned for his unashamedly OTT, 80s-metal-influenced guitar playing – back into the fold, it was hard not to root for Sum 41’s success.

That image of Whibley, apparently on death’s door, reminded many people how much affection they’d once had for the Canadians; for the pop-punk band who not-so-secretly wanted to be Judas Priest. And it’s with that same optimism that anyone who enjoyed the band’s first few records – up to and including ‘Chuck’, on which their sound’s evolution from Green Day copyists to something resembling a singular identity was complete – will likely approach ’13 Voices’.

Explicitly influenced by the events leading up to its creation, the album’s sense of melodrama and lyrical obsession with death and destruction is unsurprising. But it’s no reinvention; despite opener ‘A Murder of Crows’ hinting at a newer and mid-tempo Sum 41, it’s soon back to business as usual, with ‘Goddamn I’m Dead Again’ and ‘Fake Your Own Death’ marrying Baksh’s blistering guitar work with Whibley’s undeniable ear for a catchy, fast-paced pop-punk banger.

Then something strange happens: ’Breaking the Chain’. Ostensibly the closest thing to a power-ballad we’re ever likely to get from Sum 41, it’s a bog-standard, 4/10 ‘anthem’ with a genuinely surprising (and fantastic) guitar break halfway through. For a minute or so, the song then transforms into an invigorating riff-punk track that evokes early-00s underachievers Rufio. We’re just getting excited when the song’s plodding, FM-rock chorus returns, along with its turgid synth-strings.

And that’s the fundamental problem with ’13 Voices’. Whibley is a great songwriter, but his experiences have understandably pushed him down an introspective path and imbued him with a desire to write ‘proper’ (read: boring) songs. The truly exciting moments on the album – and there are plenty: the aforementioned guitar break, the balls-out solo on ‘There Will Be Blood’, the chorus of the title track – come courtesy either of terrific guitar riffs, or Whibley being willing to embrace the snotty punk rock influences of his earlier material.

’13 Voices’ is a confused album. Its moments of stand-out brilliance are shrouded in what feels like a forced attempt to ‘grow up’ but as anyone who’s followed Sum 41 since their early days knows, they’re at their best when they gleefully embrace their bratty, guitar-swaddled, ‘fuck you’ origins. And there’s just enough of that on display here to make its overall absence all the more frustrating.

ROB BARBOUR