It’s for this reason that the depth of Supersonic 2026’s lineup is so ineffable. This year’s performers exist not within genre but within some hazy universe of their own making. Acceptance is a central pillar of Supersonic and this extends to the music, however arcane; Thorn Wych’s experiments with homemade instruments, Lucifer Sky’s brutal soundscapes of noise, etc. Folk remains ever-present too, as ØXN and Milkweed draw two of the weekend’s most attentive audiences.

Similarly evident is Supersonic’s penchant for the type of heavy music that thrives within counter-cultural spaces. “Supersonic recommends wearing earplugs to all shows” says a sign near the bar at the festival’s main venue, The Crossing. As the weekend progresses, one thing is clear. This is extremely sage advice.

Words: Ben Williams  //  Photos: Supersonic – Joe Singh, Robert Barrett & Sam Frank Wood

Saturday

Greet

Greet consists of little more than harmonium and voice. Masterminded by Yorkshire’s Matthew Broadley, it is in principle a minimalistic project. The result, however, is akin to the maximalism of the undulating Yorkshire Dales. Alongside a free-standing setup of harmonium and microphone, Broadley plays the instrument like a pair of bellows, breathing life into each fiery pulse of the harmonium’s stoic chords. These dense textures neatly sit underneath Broadley’s voice, at once both gentle and valiant. Crafted as folk songs, the compositions themselves have more in common with the sombre ambience of genres like doom metal and drone, as instrument and voice blend into the room, becoming one with the building itself.

Bong II

Original Bong members Dawn Terry and Mike Smith reunite alongside Smote’s Daniel Foggin to present the inaugural performance of Bong II, an exciting continuation of the longstanding drone metal project. It begins with a roaring eight minutes of noise, with Foggin, back to audience and guitar pointed firmly towards amplifier, handling his instrument like an ancient relic. Smith’s drums, once they eventually begin, build to a pummelling of seismic crunches that produce visible wobbles from the precariously placed surrounding microphones. Terry meanwhile adds melodic depth through both bass and vocals. The latter is far from lyrical, and instead adds an additional texture to the already multi-layered performance. Between the three musicians is a remarkable telepathy too, as tempos are pushed, pulled and twisted across a 45-minute display of rib-cage rattling vibration.

Traidora

Traidora are an anti-fascist queer punk band led by Eva Leblanc, a Venezuelan-born trans-woman currently living in the UK. Performing tonight alongside Charley (guitar) and Maeve (drums) as a three-piece, although the exact personnel of musicians vary between performances, the scale of the occasion has not escaped Traidora. “You can usually see us in the basement of a stinky-ass pub” says Charley. The band however remain unbothered by the venue’s size as they power through a 30-minute performance of gnashing punk energy. Leblanc’s conversational tone between songs adds context to Traidora, a project that celebrates queerness in a way that aligns to Supersonic Festival’s continued support of queercore music. It’s a rapid half-an-hour of effervescence that viscerally entertains as much as it culturally matters, perhaps now more than ever.

Sunday

Guttersnipe

Leeds’ Guttersnipe is a curious prospect. The duo, consisting of Urocerus Gigas (guitar/keyboard) and Tipula Confusa (drums), face each other on stage as they unleash a cocktail of noise rock, their flailing profiles partly obscured by their equally flailing hair. Tipula Confusa’s drumming style is jazzy, sticks falling into a mic’d up drum kit that is itself heavily distorted. It adds an industrial edge that blends well with Urocerus Gigas’ frenetic guitar playing. What’s most remarkable about Guttersnipe however is the duo’s ability to conjure a variety of sounds, seemingly from thin air. The music at times slows to a grungy sludge, and at others accelerates to something of chiptune free-for-all. With both members singing into microphones that are fed through enough processing units to make their between-song stage patter sound like the clangers (to their own admission), the duo’s endearing chemistry only adds to the thrill of each noisy digression.

Monoxide Brothers

The pleasingly DIY Monoxide Brothers – made up of Emily Doyle and Sophie Hack – stand before their setup of electronics with a sense of pride. It looks like a collection of findings that an EDM-obsessed magpie has gathered. This motley assemblage is the powerhouse behind Monoxide Brothers’ surprisingly catchy but nonetheless heavy electro-leanings. Above this sits Hack’s vocals. Her lyrics traverse songs about trans rights and female body autonomy, consistently delivered with a sly and cutting matter-of-fact sardonicism. Doyle’s supporting role is one of controlled chaos, as she battles, mostly successfully, to keep each looped electronic pulse under control. They’re backed by a tapestry of live coded visuals courtesy of collaborator Rose Davies. Protean shapes of psychedelia create colourful swirls as code sprawls across the screen, adding a techno-futuristic flair.

Microplastics

Microplastics’ debut performance is one of Supersonic 2026’s most hotly discussed bookings. Jennifer Walton, 96 back and aya are each known predominantly as solo artists. Now united, they unleash a whirlpool that intersects black metal, hardcore and techno with seldom paralleled creativity. With 96 back’s frantic electronics remaining centre stage throughout, the remaining two members swap sides and instruments (guitar and drums) during what aya calls “switcheroo time”. It offers ample opportunity for some friendly bickering about which ear aya is slightly deaf in (the right apparently) and why Walton’s glasses are falling apart (aya accidentally punched her in the face earlier this evening). Following an incendiary opening run, ‘Kick Stupid’ brings a moodier energy that’s haunted by the ghosts of stoner rock, while a cover of ‘It Eats Itself’ from Walton’s debut album ‘Daughters’ is aptly melancholy. It all sums to a breathtaking premiere as the trio deliver the performance of the weekend.

Ameretat

Formed by S and K but performing as a five-piece, Ameretat are a punk band who seriously know how to riff. They’re also likely the fastest band to perform at Supersonic 2026, but much is hidden amongst the velocity. With both core members contributing vocals – each deploying vastly contrasting registers (Blood Brothers, anyone?) – S and K are a complementary pairing. Both can roar like they’ve eaten barbed wire for breakfast too. They are also children of the Iranian diaspora, and the sounds of Iranian music permeate Ameretat’s sound palette. Away from the music lies the reality of the band’s friends and family, living in Iran during what has in the past few months become an increasingly unsafe environment. The band retell a harrowing story of the fatality of a loved one, while imploring everyone: “Don’t talk over people when they’re telling you their experiences.” It’s one of several moments of Supersonic 2026 where the bleak realities that exist outside the festival’s perimeter are acknowledged with candid honestly.

Prostitute

“I’ve come to dance”, deadpans Prostitute frontman Moe. “So, let’s dance.” He means it too. As Detroit’s Prostitute bully their way through the experimental post-punk of their debut album ‘Attempted Martyr’, Moe’s body is transformed into a vessel through which every musical impulse the band produce is electrically passed. The band are tight, fearfully quick in dexterity and aloof in presentation. The music is aggressive too, but having come here to dance, there’s also a spritely energy to Prostitute’s toe-tappers. Between songs, Moe pauses. Staring at the audience and saying nothing, his eye contact is eerily intense. This is post-punk at its most volatile; frighteningly unpredictable. Throughout a lean 45-minutes, he consumes multiple bottles of water. This presumably provides the strength required to lift his keyboard over his shoulder as he departs the stage in what looks like a bid to become something of a post-punk Rick Wakeman. Far from ostentatious, it’s a striking image and a fitting ending to Supersonic 2026; few could draw the festival to a close quite this brazenly.

As Supersonic Festival’s Artistic Director Lisa Meyer says: “We are living through dark, volatile times shaped by war, violence, and the erosion of freedoms, alongside the ongoing struggle for bodily autonomy, trans rights, and basic dignity. These realities are not separate from this space. They are part of why coming together like this really matters.” Supersonic Festival is therefore both a meditation on and an escape from a hostile planet. It remains one of the only true independent festivals. Local artists run workshops throughout the day, a local brewery keeps the bar stocked, and a core audience of independent music-lovers keep the festival alive. It is for these reasons that an overwhelming sense of possibility emanates. Supersonic is unafraid to confront difficult topics. But in doing so, one leaves with more hope than when they arrived.

BEN WILLIAMS

Shields are not a new band. They folded back in 2018 after the tragic loss of their founding guitarist George Christie. This means that ‘Death & Connection’ is more than a comeback record. After seven years away, it’s a chance to process that loss. Indeed, it’s an album defined and haunted by it. In many ways, it is a lot.

Setting things off on a divisive foot, the album opens with a spoken-word passage explicitly about death. Titled ‘This Is Not A Dream’, it’s mildly derivative, but clearly heart on sleeve. Then, out of nowhere, it throws a guttural C-Bomb that jars at odds with the piece’s tone, followed by Garth Marenghi styled synths. There’s no doubting its sincerity yet its delivery feels well meaning but slightly askew. Thankfully, things become significantly more interesting throughout the rest of the record. Rather than settle into a rhythm, the band continues to swing for absolutely every single fence. There is a frankly glorious lack of restraint, seeing the band either smash it directly out of the park, or miss wildly. It is, putting it mildly, an experience.

At their most straightforward, ‘Abuser’ is as nasty and vicious as its title suggests. Lasting just over a minute, it’s a ripping slice of deathcore, all spitting, snarling and swearing. Similarly, ‘Wolfskin’ is a nasty, scrappy song that uses a harsh guitar tone to grip you like a set of claws, then proceeds to drag you through its short runtime. However, the band’s real gift is their restless creativity. Every other song seems to consist of two or more conflicting ideas, not all of which are compatible. This pays off handsomely when it works, but that isn’t always the case.

Returning members, vocalist Joe Edwards and guitarist Samuel Kubrick Finney, are joined by the rhythm section of Alastair Wain (drums) and Krishan Pujara (bass). This change is vital to the sound, and not just for the massive grooves underscoring songs like ‘Lacerate‘ or ‘Abuser’ either. It provides a bed for the vocals on ‘Womb’, and the complex tug-of-war underpinning ‘Red & Green’ just wouldn’t work if the drums didn’t lurch and loll in such an off-kilter way.

One of the record’s strangest elements is Edwards’ mixture of vocal styles. The clean singing on ‘Parasites’ and ‘Womb’ or the rabid spitting and snarling on ‘Abuser’ show that he’s versatile. It can be extremely engaging – even his speaking voice offers a lot – it’s shame there wasn’t a stronger guiding hand. Untethered from genre, and without a clear sense of direction, it’s not hard to see why some of the big swings miss.

Nothing about the record feels safe, at all. Rarely does more than a minute pass without something strange and unforeseen rupturing its fabric. ‘Red & Green’ plays in the same sandbox as early Bring Me The Horizon, mixing twisting guitar parts with a heartfelt chorus, before throwing in a spoken-word passage for good measure. ‘Parasite’ ruptures its runtime with a distinctly gnarly whammy guitar solo. This, in its own way, captures the swirl of emotion that accompanies loss at the expense of coherence. This also appears to be how they end up with the uncompromising genius of a song like ‘Kill’, which makes a staggeringly odd series of choices that result in a deathcore track that sandwiches a swaggering impersonation of The Streets between its huge choruses. It’s bold, engaging and truly inspired, proving that even the wildest swings can hit a home run.

For all the inspiration in the middle, the record’s closing moments are as rocky as its opening. The title track is hampered by weak production values. Sounding like it was recorded in a funfair, it falls far short of its grand ambition. The closing ballad ‘Miss Me’ suffers a similar fate. Built around a mixture of raw honesty and confession, it expands into grandiosity.

Like the introduction, you don’t doubt its honesty or sincerity, but the taste is questionable. Sitting in an awkward space between intimate and epic, it sometimes misses the mark, lingering without providing the catharsis it’s clearly intending to represent. To quote the famous essayist Susan Sontag; ‘The work tells all’. It’s a confused mixture of emotions that are too tightly wound.

Shields should be congratulated for reuniting and making something so strange and distinctive. The opener aside, there is a lot to like about their comeback record. For better or worse, it makes some extremely strong choices that lead to polarising results. ‘Death & Connection’ is an intense and unwelcoming fever dream.

IAN KENWORTHY

“This is kinda like a celebration, forward slash see you later,” remarks frontman Colin Doran. Perhaps it’s the intimidatingly mostly seated hall, or the first half of the show loaded with deep cuts and later songs that doesn’t click with the crowd immediately, that cast a shadow over proceedings. From the back of the stalls the stage set looks like a dolls house, created to spark imagination, and that’s exactly what their music does. The frontman’s downcast reflection is swept away by the glowing open to ‘Glorious Sunrise’ with guitars and harmonies that rotate like planets in motion. As Doran makes his announcement, someone throws a beer across the hall, a tiny moment of rebellion. The minimalism in Hundred Reasons’ clattering distortion on ‘Slow Learner’ makes for an absorbing polaroid, and when Doran finally lets out a full scream amid the heartbeat-like bass tones of ‘This Mess’, it’s a glorious moment.

So far, so safe. Then, an awkward, unscheduled pause while we murmur in the dark, waiting for a resolution. Hundred Reasons had teased including strings online  a couple of months ago, but when the live debut of ‘Done’ emerges from the darkness backed by a full string orchestra, the old electricity they conjured years ago is back. The entire floor of the hall erupts into a full jump as the strings take over the baseline to ‘I’ll Find You’, the fresh polish renewing the track to a full cheer. ‘Silver’, when it finally comes, is a legendary experience. Phones raised, we dance with the fullness that the song deserves, with crowd surfers hurling themselves across the floor, chanting out the melody. A couple hold each other, fists raised, just soaking it in. 

This song is the utter poignancy of the whole night in a nutshell: Hundred Reasons are, or rather were, still incredibly good. All the old songs needed was a fresh touch of sonic paint and they hit as hard as ever, creating new memory with the same ease that they did upon release. When Doran finally smiles and offers us a singalong to ‘Falter’, we clutch this song to our hearts. A group of balding friends circle and hug amid the confetti chords. ‘Remmus’ red glow translates into a small but intense pit, and with renewed, howling power they beam out invisibility, and ‘No Way Back’ captures the full stadium feeling that could have been. This contrast, the split between what should have happened at Hundred Reasons’ huge hometown show celebrating their highlights and what we got, lies at the heart of the experience. They should have been taking on arenas, throwing out post-hardcore magic. Instead, we have moments of glory that needle at us even as we party. “Guess we’ll say see you next time, but that’s not really the case now,” sighs Doran before the whole crowd springs to their feet for ‘If I Could’. A circle pit bubbles up, the spontaneous reaction to the vivid favourite played as brightly as we’ve ever heard it. 

Hundred Reasons could have made a Best Of compilation, or a strings album, or carried on playing smaller and smaller clubs. We have to respect the way they went out with the biggest bang that they could, even if the sheer quality of the show makes their decision that little bit more painful. On the other hand, they have split twice before and re-formed, each time with a new album and a sheepish apology for a long absence, so it’s entirely possible we might be back at the Royal Albert Hall in 2035 for a reunion show. Until then, this is a beautiful farewell, full of juxtapositions and thrash, to one of the era’s most under-appreciated bands. 

KATE ALLVEY

That’s not to say we’re short on bangers. In fact, it’s reasonable to say that every song has moments that exemplify the cathartic, landslide drops that we love from Sleep Token. Opener ‘Look To Windward’, with its repeated prayer to “halt this eclipse in me” slides from gentle, faltering touches to an avalanche of noise, making it a lovely little introduction to the whole experience. Early single ‘Caramel’, notching up forty million streams in advance of the new record’s release, is far more intriguing though. The closest to a pop love song that Sleep Token have done so far, with Vessel almost spitting bars, it drifts into euphoria and the promise of the slam on the bridge translating into pit magic when they take to Download next month. But always we return to these micro-narratives of love gained and lost: “I thought I got better but maybe I didn’t,” rasps Vessel through layers of regret. Autotune might be a cliche, but when it’s combined with these glacial drops, it just adds a little dash extra sorrow when it’s needed. How the line “go ahead, wrap your arms around me” can sound so hollow on ‘Emergence’ before the band slip into huge, crashing riffs (and a saxophone fadeout) is just another delicious mystery in their myth-making. 

While they might have accidentally revealed their human side underneath their capes and cowls, we’re here for the grandiosity, the sound you couldn’t imagine hearing anywhere smaller than a vast stadium. ‘Gethsemane’, spiritual successor to ‘Granite’, tells of the aftermath of a breakup and builds from a blossom-delicate and painfully relatable falsetto intro into sky-shattering riffs. It drags an almost gospel hope into the mud with gritty guitar and this is exactly the kind of epic scale that we expect from Vessel and co. The devotional turn and choral moments on ‘Infinite Baths’ could turn any space in to a cathedral devoted to their artistry, and the way that ‘Dangerous’ twists into an almost architectural scale, a building formed of music, is majestic. We expected nothing less, really, but it’s gratifying to know our faith was well founded.

‘Even In Arcadia’ feels like the moment that Sleep Token have consciously uncoupled themselves to the label of ‘rock band’, if they even wanted to adopt it.  It’s more an incredibly dark and far better plotted Bon Iver record, with synths, beats and ethereal piano punctuating light into the night sky. The aforementioned ‘Infinite Baths’ could easily fit into a Zeal And Ardor album if they added a few clanking chains and mentions of murder. It’s this blending of unlikely facets that makes us love Sleep Token, and if we want the crashing midnight moments, we have to also learn to love the pure pop samples that make up ‘Past Self’ or the xylophone innocence that signals the start of ‘Caramel’. Once the dust has settled, ’Even In Arcadia’ will only grow in strength with more listens. 

KATE ALLVEY

Right from the outset, with ‘Generation No Surrender’ and ‘Devil’, this album pushes boundaries lyrically and musically. This theme of resilience carries through much of the album, but what’s impressive is how Underoath balance that intensity with a surprising amount of subtlety. It’s a heavy album, sure. But ‘The Place After This One’ is not just an all-out assault; it’s a deeply emotional journey that reaches moments of vulnerability.

The first single ‘All The Love Is Gone’ is another stand-out moment on this record. With its slick production, it sounds like a perfect storm of everything Underoath does best. Atmospheric, intense, and completely immersive. The track builds steadily, with Aaron Gillespie’s clean vocals weaving through a sea of feedback and crushing guitar riffs, before diving into its anthemic chorus. ‘All The Love is Gone’ is proof, if proof were needed, that they can definitely still write a track that’ll stick in your head for days.

‘Loss’ is a heavy track, both musically and emotionally. The guttural scream of lines like “Now I’m stuck in this white-tiled hell, lining up in a straitjacket” is something that will stick with the listener long after the song finishes. This track manages to execute balancing heavy riffs with its dark and vulnerable subject matter – everything ends, and no matter how hard you try to negate it, “you’ll still be left with loss”. Though it’s dark and somber, it’s surprisingly infectious, with each listen uncovering new layers that make it stick in your head even more.

If there’s any criticism here, it’s that some of these moments feel like they’re almost too familiar. The band has mastered this aggressive sound, but when you’re given so much of it in quick succession, the energy starts to blur a bit.

The guest spot from Troy Sanders of Mastodon fame on ‘Vultures’ is a high point of the album, adding an extra layer of heaviness. As someone who is known for both his clean and harsh vocals, on this track Sanders’ offering is a melodic one, blending with Gillespie’s and creating a wall of sound that’s both gritty and raw. It’s one of those moments that hits harder because of the collaboration, reminding us how powerful a guest feature can be when it’s done right. 

‘Spinning In Place’ is another standout, stripping back the usual chaos (for the first half of the track, at least) for something a little more melodic and contemplative. It’s here that the band shows how comfortable they are with blending different textures. The track feels like it could’ve been pulled from their earlier records, but it also feels fresh, like the next step in their evolution. 

‘Teeth’ doubles down on UO’s reputation for genre-bending with a beat that is reminiscent of what can only be described as… UK Garage? It’s one that’ll have you double-taking and checking you’re listening to the right album until the screams come in around the 20 second mark. It’s weird, but it works – and does a stellar job of re-capturing the listener’s attention, had it gone elsewhere in previous tracks, before launching into a gorgeously aggressive breakdown exactly one minute in. ’Shame’, the track that directly follows it, is a real ear-worm, with a truly belt-able chorus.

The final stretch of the album, including ‘Cannibal’ and ‘Outsider,’ wraps things up with a mix of brutality and introspection. The former’s title says it all; it’s wild, unrelenting, and totally unapologetic. ‘Outsider,’ though, serves as a quieter, more atmospheric conclusion. It’s a slow burn, but it’s a perfect closer, wrapping up the album’s emotional journey with an air of mystery and leaving you with a lingering feeling of unease.

Ultimately, ‘The Place After This One’ is another bold chapter in Underoath’s storied career, proving once again that they’re not afraid to take risks or push boundaries. It’s heavy, emotional, and experimental in ways that will challenge listeners, but it’s also a clear statement that Underoath is not done breaking boundaries. They’ve delivered an album that is experimental, heavy as fuck, cathartic and darkly beautiful – the kind of record that stays with you long after the last note fades.

KATHRYN EDWARDS

There’s a lot more to NOAHFINNCE than his quick fire TikToks would suggest. Grinding, postmodern charisma pours from his diminutive frame as he opens with ‘I Know Better’. It’s not just the legacy pop punk chords of tracks like ‘3 Day Headache’, buoyed up with the glee of realised expectations and chantalongs that snap out like finger snaps, that elevate this show above the expected. The obvious bond that he has established with his fans evaporates into the atmosphere, infusing the Electric Ballroom with a glow of solidarity. “Bunch of weirdos in here,” he laughs before the simple but bold guitar chugging of ‘Weirdos’ refreshes the old theme of feeling like the odd one out in high school, taking the idea out of the abstract to bring joy to the strange and unusual in the crowd. There’s no pit yet, only spontaneous leaping to the sky.

“Anyone here got autism?” he asks to massive cheers. “I just released a music video about it,” he exclaims as he ties a school tie round his head. Within the lyrical twists and big basic riffs of ‘Pet With The Tism’ is a core of genuine reclamation of identity. A prefect with a pink taped burn book throws paper balls into the audience, and for all the panto shtick it seems he’s tapped into a real current of self-love among the crowd. His set, which he admits is “a bit of an autism sandwich,” tackles diagnostic downsides via the fatter riffs of ‘Alexithymia’ once he’s had fun with his theme. There’s a depth that begins to peek out from behind his sillier moments, from proto-Shikari synths on ‘Gibberish’ and vocals that Billie Joe Armstrong would have been proud of on ‘Life’s A Bit’.

Ironically, for an artist with so many in-jokes, NOAHFINNCE doesn’t mess around when it comes to cranking out as many songs as possible. “We’re reaching the emo part of the set,” he proclaims, and while ‘Tell Me You’re Okay’ isn’t complex, it’s a damn good little emo song. Flickering thunder pulses across the analogue televisions onstage, and ‘Subtitles’ continues to fuel the emotion. “Fandom” has to be the best adjective for most of the crowd; he quotes his own videos regularly, calling the ukulele the twink guitar (“The ukulele is cringe and gay, and we are both of those things, yes?” he asks with a gleam in his eye), and for those who are waiting to hear their hero say their favourite catchphrases, this must have been the highlight of the year. But what’s admirable about NOAHFINNCE is that, for all the fan service, he’s using his platform to make a positive change. ‘Asthma Attack’, gentle and heartwarming in a McFly mould, is dedicates to the “transgenders in the room,” and it’s hard not to be won over when he invites the crowd onstage with him for ‘Worms (In My Brain)’. His happiness fuels our own. 

Within the quotable exterior and fun with serious themes, NOAHFINNCE is a very talented pop-punker with greater substance than you’d expect. His music is more than sufficiently entertaining to guarantee a good night, but the sense of community which he has built up around himself, and the overwhelming joy emanating from a crowd who might not otherwise comfortably choose a punk rock show in Camden on a Wednesday night? That’s the real power of NOAHFINNCE. 

KATE ALLVEY

Releasing an advance single that’s a mighty eight minutes long is a power move. Releasing a second one that’s even longer is walking the line between genius and madness. Both ‘An Ocean of Strange Islands’ and ‘Perfume of the Timeless’ contain a fair amount of pit potential, but largely feel like miniature operas, each one with narratives rapidly and breathlessly conveyed by Floor Jansen. Nightwish have always been one of the most symphonic of the symphonic metal gang, and if you’re into that half of their sound then this will be your record of the year without a doubt. However, if you long for the simpler ‘Nemo’ era of Nightwish, or even think of them still as the same band, then ‘Yesterwynde’ is going to be your wakeup call. They’ve moved on, out of the conventional and into trying to ponder the complexities of the world via full orchestral arrangements.

That said, it’s not all vast machinations put to music. ‘The Day Of…’, the third single, feels brief in comparison at a mere four minutes, channelling an ominous energy with pleasantly eerie choral interludes. In between the epics there are yet more tracks which are still tied to this reality; ‘Spider Silk’ spirals through string-heavy and split vocal harmonising, and ‘The Weave’ contains enough shredding and killer drumming to make anyone happy. There’s a decent level of sound clash thrown into the mix to keep you on your toes along the way too. ‘Sway’ flows between Led Zep folkiness and almost Heilung levels of campfire primitive drumming, and, dare we say it, ‘The Children Of Ata’ is the closest to a classic, bombastic Nightwish track on this album. But at the edges of each song, there’s always a touch of otherworldly grandiosity.

Take closer ‘Lanternlight’, for instance. Ending a record with a slow and pretty ‘goodbye song’ is always a safe move, and the piano work and depth of reassurance in Jansen’s vocals has an undeniable beauty which will make eyeliner run down the cheeks of more than a few listeners. Along it’s way, the song becomes untethered, floating through solos, eerie bells, laments and different characters, becoming less a song and more of a soundtrack to a short film that we need to create within our heads. The band have been open about their attempts to create cinematic experiences for listeners, and this is very much an album you’ll be appreciating on your own, with your headphones on. 

As it turns out, ‘Yesterwynde’ conveniently will remain a studio-only experience. Nightwish are taking an ‘indefinite hiatus’ from touring, but unless they’d found a Stargate to a more orchestral planet, they probably wouldn’t have been able to capture the full experience on a mere earthbound stage anyway. They’ve surpassed the era where they chucked out ‘Over The Hills And Far Away’ as a fan-pleaser, and come out the other side with a desire to make something that stretches them. Perhaps that’s the enlightenment they were aiming for in creating an album that we need to sometimes puzzle through in order to fully appreciate, and you finish with answers to questions you didn’t realise you had. It’s an unexpected and challenging experience, but one that you have to respect.

‘Yesterwynde’ is an album that you can lose yourself in, and with any luck, you’ll come out the other side with an appreciation for what Nightwish have achieved with a record constructed on scale this monumental.

KATE ALLVEY

Opening with ‘Bad Guy’, it’s a meandering, bass heavy track that slowly builds to a crescendo of harmonies and powerhouse instrumentation. Frontperson Alexia Roditis’ vocals are distinctive, bouncing between lackadaisical and soaring, and set the scene nicely for the remainder of the record. If you’re familiar with Destroy Boys, you’ll be accustomed to their rhythmic prowess, and ‘Bad Guy’ sits into their discography with ease.

‘Beg For The Torture’ contains some subtle but well placed cowbell and call-and-response vocals from Roditis and guitarist Violet Mayugba in what’s possibly their most hardcore track to date. ‘Amor Divino’, meanwhile, leans into a more latin vibe; heavy with bossa nova verses and sung entirely in Spanish, both tracks show their comfortability with expanding their sound to touch new genres, as well as the safety they now feel in the skin. ‘Shadow (I’m Breaking Down)’ sees Roditis bouncing ably between Spanish and English without missing a beat, accompanied by dynamic rhythms and a seriously catchy chorus professing the Jungian theory of the Shadow Self.

‘Plucked’ and ‘Praying’ contain two of the biggest hooks in their respective choruses, and it’s something Destroy Boys have really nailed down in their last couple of releases – big, anthemic singalongs and dexterous, memorable vocal performances that float delicately in your ear canal like a gentle punt through Venice.

Although Destroy Boys have always been referred to as a “Feminist band,” likely to do with both the name and being female fronted, they cannot deny it’s a driving force to penultimate track ‘You Hear Yes’. Accompanied by Scowl’s Kat Moss and Mannequin Pussy’s Marisa Dabice, it’s a hugely important song about their experience of harassment from men – something that is still far too prevalent in 2024 – and a real fuck you to male entitlement.

Closer ‘Boyfeel’ is an open and honest look at Roditis’ evolving relationship with their own gender, and their struggle to conform. Taking seven years to perfect, it’s an unabashedly frank track with hard hitting lines, but a delicacy to the instrumentation that somehow dilutes and placates the inner rage. It’s the stand out of the album, and deserves repeated listens to fully ingest its message.

After touring with blink-182, Alkaline Trio and a whole host of others, and pushing out consistently punchy records, Destroy Boys shouldn’t be surprising anyone any more. ‘Funeral Soundtrack #4’ is the culmination of all their hardwork, resulting in an album that’s as expansive as it is forceful, as honest as it is cutthroat. Destroy Boys are reaching their peak, and there’s nothing that’ll slow them down.

ANDY JOICE