Let’s start with the big single; ‘This Land’ is a huge slab of riffs that explodes with strutting menace on the western instrumentals and chucks in eminently flammable choruses. It’s only half the story of the album though. While there’s atmospheric, Led Zep flair throughout, especially on single ‘The Juice’ which practically pours out the spirit of Jimmy Page in every chord, there’s a lot more lurking round every corner. Des Rocs prides himself on originality, and there’s a mercurial melting-pot of influences which he’s blended together on this record. ‘The Riders of Red Hook (Legends Never Die)’ is one piano fantasy away from being a Muse hit, and the fuzz of ‘The King’ combined with Rocs’ falsetto makes for a Courtney Barnes meets Freddie Mercury moment. If it’s stadium filling and bombastic, you can bet that Rocs has been filling his stereo with it. 

That said, there’s more than a few personal moments where Rocs pulls back the rock star veil for a second and exposes something raw. While ‘The More She Wants’ does tread the well-worn power ballad path, Rocs’ trembling voice and delicacy on the gentle guitar makes it a window into the man behind the rock star image. Similarly, ‘Supernaturalize’ feels genuinely hopeful and optimistic; its a song for getting ready to face your day with a spring in your step, and that’s not be underestimated. It’s the closer, ‘The Way’, that really kicks you in between the riffs as it blasts with self-confidence and promise of success to come. There’s a lot of style on ‘To Hell And Back’, but there’s also the substance to support it.

For sheer entertainment value on a record, ‘To Hell And Back’ is up there, especially if you want a classic rock sound with a modern update and you want your riffs turned up to eleven. There’s a few moments of soul-searching, and of course we love to see our rock stars baring their innermost pain for our entertainment, but that’s not what we’re here for. Des Rocs is making massive, exciting, stadium-busting rock music with ambitions that reach to the sky, and we’re into it. Whether it’s on the planet Kairos or here on Earth, there’s always going to be room for a sound that’s this exciting.

KATE ALLVEY

While not vastly different from some of the band’s previous work, their tenth album – ‘in grief or in hope’ – does lean liberally into the abstract. While BIG|BRAVE do remain within the ballpark of folk-tinged drone music, there aren’t many riffs here. Previous releases, such as 2024’s magnificent ‘A Chaos Of Flowers’, were undeniably experimental. But the music was consistently underpinned by easily identifiable riffs. While there are some riffs on ‘in grief or in hope’, they do not constitute the album’s defining features.

The band don’t play their instruments on ‘in grief or in hope’; they interact with them. It’s a lofty claim, but one that’s evidenced by the album’s credits, which list every musician as “playing” the amplifier. Take note of this: a tool used to make an instrument louder is now the instrument itself. The result; noise. And, for the most part, it’s actually rather beautiful.

Take ‘what may be the kindest way to leave’, the album’s opener and, at just over 7-minutes, its scene-setter. The piece is built around a distorted soundscape that is suspended in motion; quivering underneath its own weight. It possesses a quiet heftiness. To this end, BIG|BRAVE have tamed noise. Despite the constant threat that it will escape them, ‘in grief or in hope’ remains remarkably controlled under their watchful stewardship.

Their skilful compositional approaches lead also to the hazy soundscapes that underscore ‘holding tongue’, as the gentle ringing of strings swell with each dizzying release. It adds a protean quality to proceedings; equally pleasant on the ear as it is difficult to predict.

The counterpart to all this is Robin Wattie’s voice. The noise of the album is all-consuming, but Wattie ensures everything remains grounded. Her vocals are intimate. Whether distantly obscured behind growing instrumental swirls in ‘the ineptitude for mutual discernment’ or upfront and wounded during ‘a shape of shame’ – her performances here are frequently breathtaking.

The sound of Wattie’s vocals is further enhanced by the content of her lyrics. Grief and hope are the album’s underlying emotions, but the expressing of these emotions is impressionistic – there aren’t many lyrics across the album in general. This is a mixed blessing. While there are occasions when the brevity of Wattie’s words reads like an indecipherable extract from ‘Finnegans Wake’, BIG|BRAVE do frequently produce fractions of sentences that are themselves pure poetry. Simple phrases become elevated by Wattie’s expressive voice: “I am tested while you get to walk away” from ‘verdure’, for example, is suitably chilling.

BIG|BRAVE’s purposefully, and mostly successfully, vague approach to lyrics neatly centres on the album’s core themes, but they are perhaps best explored on ‘skin ripper’. “The truth of grief lies in what is left of hope” is a lyric that effectively summarises what ‘in grief or in hope’ stands for. It is a lyric that invites meditation. Is hope the antidote to grief, or is grief itself so painful precisely because it thwarts all hope? By adopting an ambiguity to their lyrics, BIG|BRAVE allow us as listeners to ask these questions. As if to emulate this, ‘skin ripper’ is then bolstered further by a shrewd approach to tempo, whereby rhythmic undulations ebb and flow between the conflicting yet strangely intertwined dual emotions.

This all then culminates with the album’s closing title track, which bluntly asks: “when does one feel the most/is it in grief or is it in hope.” It is apropos that only this far into the album do BIG|BRAVE fully form such a manifesto. The album subsequently becomes a live self-led journey that aims to uncover the complexities of these feelings. Heaving crushes of distortion accompany this resolution as a solution is finally reached.

And then… the album ends. Abruptly, and with no fanfare, it simply finishes. It’s an unusual finale that is, intentionally perhaps, underwhelming. But having traversed mountains of distortion and an even heavier emotional foundation, such a unanimous conclusion is, while odd, strangely satisfying. And strangely hopeful too.

BEN WILLIAMS

“Don’t give up, don’t let it bury you,” implores Kellin Quinn as the gritty title track opens the album, twisting from empty chords into screaming, flammable choruses ripe with optimism amid the chaos. The cry for comfort extends into ‘Forever/Always’, a surprisingly tender track from Sirens but one which  beams with a love for the human connection. If anything, that’s what ‘An Ending In Itself’ is all about: the joy of finding solidarity in the people around you. ‘God In My Head’ feels like a rush of realisation that you can always rely on yourself, albeit with atmospheric layered drop-downs to add a touch of spookiness, and ‘Need You Here’ feels destined to become a metalled’s wedding song this summer with its gorgeous blend of solos and romantic chemistry. However, it’s ‘Left On Repeat’ which brings the most vulnerable moment on the album, one that reaches out to us and invites us to share the connection which Sleeping With Sirens celebrate.

There’s been a magnetic shift in Sleeping With Sirens’ sound since 2022’s ‘Complete Collapse’; the heaviness on tracks like ‘Paralyzed’ feels so much more dense than we remember, and the pop opening to ‘House of Matches’ feels like something that could be from a chart-topping crooner. The moments where the band manage to compress those two sides into one, such as the atmospheric singalong future classic ‘Waiting For You’, are the points where ‘An Ending In Itself’ truly shines.

‘PTSD’, probably the heaviest track we’re dealing with, is gorgeously venting, but immediately followed with the moody, slow crashing of ‘Looking Back At Me’. Both sides that we experience are brilliant, of course, but both offer different paths to the future for Sleeping With Sirens. Is this a clue that we’re sliding towards an emotional pop sound, or that they’ll throw all caution to the wind and pack their next record with deep and intensive chug? At this point, all speculation is irrelevant as we’re barely letting ‘An Ending In Itself’ sink in, but with the sound we love splitting into intriguing shards, anything could be possible. 

‘An Ending In Itself’ represents that rare beast of a record that will delight the fanbase and pull in new fans thanks to the universal comfort that slamming it out with a bunch of strangers can bring. There’s enough heaviness lurking in there to keep us satisfied, but the lightness makes it accessible for the newcomers. It might just be the album that propels them even further into the stratosphere, or it might be a crossroads to a new era now their three-album saga has reached its conclusion. We’re left with more questions, but we have to trust the process. After all, if Sleeping With Sirens keep making albums of this quality, the answers will reveal themselves in no time.

KATE ALLVEY

Obviously we love the first single, ‘Punching The Flowers’. It’s laden with taut riffs, regret, pretty little seconds of guitar flair and a whole lot of bitterness – in short, all the things we love about Death Cab. ‘Pep Talk’ is the highlight of the record though, a painfully vulnerable sunlit morning of a song that begs for help while realising that the strongest help will come from within. The combination of grief and the realisations which come afterward are woven into every second of ‘I Built You A Tower’, which makes for a sometimes painful but always powerful listen. 

The duet of title tracks which bookend the album feel like a summary of Death Cab past and future colliding to create this present record. ‘I Built You A Tower (a)’ is dreamy and wistful, a chiming evocation of placing a crush on a pedestal, but then the rose-tinted glasses are snatched away for the sinister, post-punk ‘(b)’ take on the same lyrics. The haters might say that putting two versions of the same song on a record is just rockstar laziness, but putting a pair of Jekyll and Hyde love songs nearly back to back is something of a revelation. It sums up the bipolar nature of ‘I Built You A Tower’ so well – absolutely savage shred followed by the quietest coffee shop melancholia – and it’s a delight.

On the quiet end of the spectrum, we’ve got the hopeful solitude of ‘Stone Over Water’ or the eerily apologetic ‘Full Of Stars’, both of which would stand proud on a purely intimate and acoustic record. Then, for fans of razor-sharp darkness, we’re given ‘How Heavenly A State’ and the groaning electronica that highlights ‘Riptides’. Sometimes a song can even delve into both moods at once, like ‘Envy The Birds’ which wheels in and out of whips synth clouds and mountainous drum drops like its namesake, or the deceptively mellow ‘The Flavour of Metal’ which showcases harsh chords and childhood nostalgia. There really is a Death Cab For Cutie for everyone within ‘I Built You A Tower’, and a particular heartstring that each song will pluck. 

By the end of this, their eleventh album, you’ll feel like you know Death Cab better than even, and, more importantly, you will know yourself in greater depth. Two plus decades making emotionally resonant rock gives you a certain layer of expertise and there’s never even a second of ‘I Built You A Tower’ that makes you think that they’re resting on their laurels. The masterful sound of a band reaching into their own personal and musical past, albeit with one eye focused on where the future might take them, makes for one hell of a listen.

KATE ALLVEY

From the moment opening face-melter ‘One By One’ unleashes its fury, ‘Armour Of Angels’ is an unrelenting assault of ferocity and show-stopping musical technicality. The guitar work by Jak Madden and Sam Baker is heartstopping throughout the entire album, as intricate and tightly played chugging riffs are interspersed with effective sprinkles of harmonics and death metal like squealing solos, as heard on the ripping brutality of ‘Suffer Me’ and the melodically rich ‘Blood Atonement’. The band’s first album since signing to Roadrunner Records, ‘Armour Of Angels’ is notable for hearing Guilt Trip’s nu-metal influences peak through too, like on the Korn-esque spooky cleans of ‘Veins’ and the raging, groove-ridden ‘Resurrected’, which features a guest spot from Sonny Sandoval, frontman for genre veterans P.O.D. These touches only serve to enhance the band’s sound, lending them their own unique identity, standing out in what can often feel like a crowded field. 

As well as a stronger focus on technical playing this time around, ‘Armour Of Angels’ also finds vocalist Jay Valentine venturing further out of his comfort zone, with more clean singing featured here than on any other Guilt Trip release. Always a divisive decision, the use of cleans only serves to lend the album a richer emotional palate, like on the catchy single ‘Dirt’ and the aforementioned experimental stylings of ‘Veins’. These are used sparingly and effectively, whilst his harsh shouts sound more commanding than ever before. Noteworthy too is the faultless work by drummer Tom Aimson and bassist Lily Kilcoyne, who hold down the low-end with flawless efficiency, demonstrated on the infectious grooves of ‘No Love Lost’, ‘Burn’ and epic closer ‘The Banner Of Heaven’. 

The production on ‘Armour Of Angels’ is a highlight too; crisp and clean without feeling sterile, everything shines a touch brighter than it did on 2023’s ‘Severance’, doing so without losing any of the band’s raw energy or hardcore integrity.

So whilst ‘Armour Of Angels’ doesn’t necessarily rewrite the band’s sound, it certainly sees them elevate it to jaw dropping new heights and delivers the strongest, most mature and technically proficient set of songs Guilt Trip have released to date. Very much all killer no filler, be prepared to see ‘Armour Of Angels’ on many 2026 Album Of The Year lists.

ADAM FIRTH

It’s a record that firmly feels like frontwoman Amy Lee went to therapy, came to terms with a lot of her negative experiences which occurred in her MTV darling era, and then decided to re-do the sound that characterised her peak fame but on her own terms. It’s the sound of second chances and taking on the world when you’re ready to do it, with more than a dash of heavy fuzz courtesy of roping in the producers behind BMTH. Will this be the record to convert those who aren’t already into Evanescence? Maybe not, but it’s a solid statement about not caring about that crowd anyway. 

“I don’t belong to you, so don’t tell me what to do.” If ever an opening line summed up a record, it’s the first salvo of ‘Beautiful Lie’. Feminine strength and the distorted, open beats which have characterised Evanescence’s recent sound are out in force, instantly reminding us that they aren’t here to mess around. In fact, if we’re judging by the first single, ‘Who Will You Follow’, Lee and co are out for karmic retribution against some unnamed oppressor and giving voice to the desire to win. The force of pulling yourself back up from a pit of your own making feels like the main inspiration behind this outing, and it’s satisfying on a truly cosmic level. 

Of course, it wouldn’t be an Evanescence album without a candle-lit piano ballad, and ‘Sanctuary’ drops two just to keep the average up. First up is the desperate ‘How Do I Heal’, tender and plaintive in its evocative heartbreak, but the more interesting is the second. ‘Forever Without You’ contains the rarest of all Evanescence emotions; acceptance. There’s no wailing, raging or hoping here, only a golden warmth and calm which flows through the entire song, and this sense of peace marks a new turn for the band after two decades. They’re finally at peace with the twists and turns of life in the spotlight, and it feels good for both us and them.

Ironically, the title track is the opposite of the contemplation on the ballads, despite the name. ‘Sanctuary’ is the vanguard of the updated side of the Evanescence sound that we’ve got on this album. Glitching, anguished and with only the lightest twinkle of piano, they’ve put everything they’ve got into guitars and poised, elegant rage. The serenity amid whirling emotions which has always characterised Evanescence has been turned up too, especially on tracks like ‘Tell Me When You’ve Had Enough’. What could easily have been teenage posing back in the day has now been distilled into graceful fury at its finest.

There’s a reason that Evanescence have survived this long, far beyond the expiration date that gets stamped onto superstars that earned their stripes in a specific time or era. Rather than retreat into nostalgia, they’ve taken a look back at what made them great in the first place and given it a spruce up with even more impassioned screams, more ballads and more fuzz in far higher doses. It’s one for the fans, sure, but it’s also a lesson for the rest of us on how to rise above the turmoil with rage in your heart and grace in your step. 

KATE ALLVEY

Converge are unlikely to be the first to be musically inspired by the hum, but their influence is informed less by the hum’s aesthetics than it is by the same bleakness experienced by The Listeners’ Claire. ‘Hum of Hurt’, Converge’s 12th studio album, reimagines the hum as what vocalist Jacob Bannon calls an “audible culmination of all the pain in the world”. The album is therefore, perhaps unsurprisingly, a disconsolate one.

The Massachusetts band has no aversion to melancholia. Their last album ‘Love Is Not Enough’ – released only a matter of months prior to ‘Hum of Hurt’ – was a gloomy experience, despite containing an underlying thread of hopefulness. But portents aside, the fact that Converge, a beloved band with over three decades of recording now behind them, has released two albums in the same year is enough to have heavy music fans positively salivating.

Bonus points are also awarded for how vastly different the two albums are. The metal leanings of ‘Love Is Not Enough’ are here substituted for what Bannon calls “emotional hardcore”. His vocals testify to this. In addition to the usual growls and screams, it is the pained yelps of his higher register that dominate. ‘Doom in Bloom’ epitomises this. It’s a riff-based and moodier side to Converge, but one that suits this album’s lyrical pessimism. Bannon ranges from displays of discontent (“Everything’s a shade of red/from the mirror to my hands/Staining everything I touch/as I reach for what is loved”) to outright misanthropy upon the declaration that doom is flowering and despair is all the rage.

The following ‘It Only Gets Worse’ is equally devoid of optimism, as Bannon contemplates “Rising waters/drowning me/slitting my throat/writhing, as blood flows into the sea” – lovely stuff. It’s also a barnstormer, even by Converge’s untamed sonic standards. Where the opening ‘Slip the Noose’ has Converge walking a well-trodden, albeit typically ferocious path, it is the off-kilter jazz-like grooves that give ‘It Only Gets Worse’ a more impressive and altogether audacious swagger.

Like its predecessor, ‘Hum of Hurt’ is a relatively concise album that only narrowly breaches the 30-minute threshold. It’s a good job too, as there’s only so much existential dread one can take. On ‘Detonator’, the titular hum manifests as an amelodic chug that’s tantamount to a funeral march. Above this, Bannon is at his most self-destructive yet; “There is something that I must admit/giving up is starting to make sense”.

The following ‘It’s Not Up To Us’ breaks the grim tension by offering a welcome sense of hopefulness. “There is no end in sight/without the will to fight”, sings Bannon, and fight they do, as frenetic yet controlled drumming abounds. There is also the peculiar addition of guitar squeaks that sound borrowed from the realms of science-fiction. Converge aren’t known for sounding quirky, but it’s an endearing and – by contrast to the album’s wider lyrical themes – not unwelcome addition.

Similarly idiosyncratic is the dilatory riff that underpins ‘Dream Debris’, whose stop-start structure unfortunately does it few favours. It does feature some pleasingly groggy guitar tones and inherits a certain epicness, but at six-minutes in length– roughly 20% of the album – it does momentarily halt momentum.

The impetus nonetheless returns with the fierce title track. Bannon’s throaty roars are defiant on what is the album’s centrepiece. It’s heavy in all the usual ways, but its greatness lies in the band’s songwriting. Beneath the rawness of Converge are compositions that are as well-constructed as any smartly-written pop song. In a genre that relies all too often on brute-force, Converge stand out. Heavy music is rarely written this well.

It is important to state that while ‘Hum of Hurt’ is thematically indebted to humankind’s follies, it is not an indulgent album. As dreary as the music is, it’s never voyeuristic when approaching dark subject matter. It instead earnestly reflects an epoch that is itself maddening. As the finale ‘Nothing Is Over’ splinters to a dizzying conclusion, our maddening times are portrayed by distant voices that are twisted, otherworldly, and not dissimilar to the phenomenon of the hum itself. Like the album at large, it is an all-consuming meditation that Converge have neatly distilled into a half-hour balancing-act; the horrors of civilisation versus a belief that those horrors will one day weaken and ultimately disappear.

BEN WILLIAMS

Words: Kate Allvey // Photos: Paul Lyme, Penny Bennett

Call Me Amour

Glittery shirts and a whole lot of love for Call Me Amour kicks off the day, along with what must be the inaugural circle pit. It’s their first time playing any festival at all, and judging by the way ‘Bloom’ gently flowers into a chorus as pretty as its namesake, it won’t be their last. ‘Where’s The Chemistry?’ pulses with dark summer refreshment, and by emphasising the rock end of their sound, we’re fizzing from their Slam Dunk wake up call of a set.

Unpeople

Twiggy Ramirez grooves and summertime anthem energy? Yes please! Unpeople are joyful and heartfelt in their cross-genre rock appeal. ‘Going Numb’s grunge edges fade into indie screams as they take us on a voyage through their own sonic landscape through the dark recesses and sweeter rises of ‘Kangareuben’. They’re a dream of what the nineties scene could have led to had we taken different roads and a hopeful delight from start to finish. 

Cancer Bats

A shot of high-jumping adrenaline, Cancer Bats bring a invigorating and furious thunderstorm of raging punk and outside energy to the East field. It’s been two decades since they released ‘Birthing The Giant’ and they’re determined to celebrate with a set dominated by their debut; ‘Shillelagh’s prowling desert rage blasts with drum-driven intensity, led by an infinitely bouncing Liam Cormier. Their highly refined lack of polish makes for an absolute mid-afternoon kick.

Hawthorne Heights

“I’m not sure if Emo music is the right vibe, there’s blue skies everywhere,” frontman JT Woodruff apologises, but he’s wrong. Hawthorne Heights lure a packed crowd to the far corner of the field, and we sing out the melody to ‘Pens And Needles’ like our lives depended on it, barely recovered after the piercing honesty and stirring honesty of ‘We Are So Last Year’. A full wave transforms this corner into the most sincere pit of the weekend as Hawthorne Heights’ self-proclaimed “Emo throwback bangers” send us back to the happy places of our youth.

Zebrahead

Inflatable grim reapers, an onstage bar and the Team America soundtrack herald the arrival of Zebrahead, a band who have been stuck on the B-List for far too long. However, with punchy solos from the start and ska rhythms illuminating ‘We’re Not Alright’, that’s got to change. Ali Tabatabaee spits bars as crowd surfers flip forward on ‘Hello Tomorrow’ and ‘Rescue Me’ has reached full scream-it-out anthem status, the spectacle of the band obscured by the dust flung upwards by a roaring circle pit. Goldfinger join in for ‘The Perfect Crime’, a highlight of a set that’ll put Zebrahead back on the map. 

Trash Boat

“How the fuck did ten years go past so fast?” Tobi Duncan asks, and he’s determined to celebrate a decade of ‘Nothing I Write Can Change What You’ve Been Through’ ahead of their anniversary show this October. The smallest tent is packed with a fanbase fuelled by devotion, revelling in hearing a setlist that hasn’t seen the light of day in years. ‘Second Wind’s uplifting distortion gives way to the overflow of emotion that is ‘Catharsis’, and ‘Strangers’ feels like an emotional call to arms to send us back into the shocking brightness of the outside world.

Goldfinger

Can anything top ska punk in the sunshine? Goldfinger are just always reliably a good band to catch, and the way ‘Counting The Days’ echoes back across the field would melt the most icy and cynical heart. ‘Freaking Out A Bit’ wraps the jaded lyrics in brassy professionalism, and dropping in covers of NOFX and Metallica adds a jaunty humour to the afternoon. Previous years would have seen them on the corner stage in the ska-punk ghetto, but the decision to give Goldfinger room on the main stage lineup is undoubtedly an amazing move.

Boston Manor

There are two types of festival-goer: those that want the fun, and those that want the heaviness. For today’s crowd, the latter half have eschewed Goldfinger for the emotional earnestness of Boston Manor. With guitar lines like blades and an emotional urgency that demands you take notice, Boston Manor are proving to be the right choice for fans of the assertive, blunt and heavy. For those who opted to attend, ‘Laika’ acts as a reassurance that we were right to be here, as we stand strong in the packed out stage-front.

The Home Team

It’s The Home Team’s Slam Dunk debut and they’re bringing the party. ‘Brag’ grooves are a welcome respite from the heavier music with a focus on pure fun, their boyband energy extended to the most explosive and powerful rock conclusion. From the infinitely danceable ‘Overtime’ to the celebratory, grind-worthy ‘Loud’, each tune is more of a slap than the last, providing the festival feeling we’ve been craving.

Dashboard Confessional

The bustle of the day feels still as Dashboard Confessional present an oasis of semi-acoustic calm with ‘The Best Deceptions’, followed by the resonant universal truths of ‘The Sharp Hint of New Tears’. Of course, as Chris Carrabba explains, they “specialise in singing very sad songs,” but their set becomes a clearing full of joy in today’s forest of bands. 

The Menzingers

We’re hypnotically dragged across the field by the choppy strains of ‘I Don’t Wanna Be An Asshole Anymore’, the sound of The Menzingers unfiltered by sub-genre suffixes. They slide between the nihilistic optimism of ‘The Obituaries’ and the sly connection with the British crowd posed by ‘America (You’re Freaking Me Out)’, plus, of course, the Springsteen-esque realism of new song ‘Chance Encounters’ which gets its UK debut. As Greg Barnett’s roar grips our chests and sends hands aloft, we’re one again fortunate to have caught the Menzingers in their natural habitat.

President

The masked and tuxedoed politicians continue their meteoric rise with a set marked by a lengthy power cut and an absolute wave of devotion from their fanbase. ‘Fearless’ is gritty and explosive, their crashing sound growing in strength with every show, and ‘Dionysus’ smashes beyond the inevitable comparisons to Sleep Token. With unfortunately limited time onstage, they make every second count with some of the most blistering tunes of the day.

Taking Back Sunday

Even vocalist Adam Lazzara is astounded by the love he received from the crowd as Taking Back Sunday weave sophistication into the setting sun over the West field. He shakes his head in disbelief as we take over vocals on their iconic ‘Cute Without The ‘E’’, but how can he be surprised when we’ve already been slamming to the slinky bass permeating ‘Miami’ and rejoicing to the crisp solos in ‘Error: Operator’? The instantly danceable emo hits Taking Back Sunday lay on us are always a winner.

Motion City Soundtrack

‘L.G. FUAD’ is like a firework going off on the Monster stage, a beacon for those of us still up for a party. Motion City Soundtrack know very well how to create fuzzy anthems, ‘My Favourite Accident’ cresting as a wave of positivity, the vibrant guitar keeping our spirits high. There’s no Patrick Stump guesting on ‘Particle Physics’, but who needs him when we’re buoyed aloft by MCS’ sweet and sour tunes to brighten the early evening?

Sublime

It’s Sublime’s first UK show, and with Jakob Nowell taking over his dad’s role on lead vocals we knew all along we were in for a historic treat. They pay homage to the past with the inflatable Lou Dogs onstage, but with an undoubtably modern reinvention; covering Fallen Idols’ ‘Prince Of Sin’ gives Nowell a chance to shine on rapid-fire vocals in a set that dips and weaves between classic South Beach skate punk, dub and stoner rock. ‘Until The Sun Explodes’ might be played extra fast but it’s just as tender, and ‘Santeria’ feels like the homecoming every MTV kid was waiting for.

Malevolence

Rowdy and with a rhythm to shake the earth, Malevolence’s Alex Taylor is ready for anything in his pseudo-bulletproof vest. ‘So Help Me God’ poses and burns, ferocious and compelling, calling forth a colossal circle pit from those who want their evening exceptionally heavy. Their set passes in an instant, the kind of half hour you can lose yourself in, each song a tribute to the power of maximum noise.

Knocked Loose

It feels inevitable that one day Knocked Loose would have festival closer status, and today they’re as glitching and complex as ever, and their sound works tremendously on a huge stage. ‘Don’t Reach For Me’ shocks and jars, a song for a band revelling in their own chaos, and silhouetted by bare lights, we’re confronted by a band who have reached the place that they wanted to be all along. The ‘real’ closers for those flitting between the heaviest bands, Knocked Loose propels themselves through endless raging bass to create a massive hardcore finale. 

Good Charlotte

The Brothers Madden and co are the star attraction at this year’s Slam Dunk with their first UK show in seven years and a setlist that’s crammed full of hits to spark waves of throwback fever. Even when they play their “emotional song”, ‘Hold On’, we’re swept up by their sound blasting into the night to the point that no one dare move to catch an early train home: we’re gripped by their retrospective, from the tightly-plotted ‘Riot Girl’ through to the galactic club energy of ‘The Chronicles of Life and Death’.

While they might be larger than life now, Good Charlotte have kept themselves firmly rooted in their teenage outsider perspective. ‘Rejects’’ dreamy harmonies keep the loner message light, and ‘Little Things’, dedicated to “every kid who ever got picked last in gym class”, slaps hard, the field a sea of glowing hands. “We’re going to turn this into a very 2001 Good Charlotte show right here,” declares Joel Madden, and reliving our teenage years is what we’re here for. We’re word perfect on ‘Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous’ – and we’ll ignore the irony considering the Maddens are married to Nicole Richie and Cameron Diaz when the live version of their hit is this good – and closing out with ‘The Anthem’ is an incredibly satisfying conclusion to our months of anticipation at seeing Good Charlotte live again. Okay, we won’t have too long to wait as they’re back in the UK in November, but as the fireworks send us on our way, we’ve got absolutely no complaints about our pop-punk favourites giving it their all. 

KATE ALLVEY