For Parkway Drive, this has unquestionably been a long time coming. Not just this run in particular, now an ever-common bounce-back after being put on hold for the best part of three years, but where they fully graduate into a truly big deal. This is not their first arena show, by any means (itâs technically not even their first arena tour in the UK), but theyâre finally at the stage where they can properly fill the profile out. Now with three albums of material that have sculpted their past metalcore into a lethal, king-size beatdown fitting of this environment, it certainly makes sense to roll it out here. As does the fact that, from the off, the arena fills out pretty fast; Parkway Drive are one of modern metalâs most lauded live acts, after all, and theyâve only brought two others meeting the same description in tow.
Well, perhaps thatâs a bit preemptive for Lorna Shore, but theyâre going to get there. Even if the voracity of online hype doesnât seem to translate one-to-one, this is still very impressive, a showcase that, particularly in Will Ramos as the clear focal point planted at the end of the stageâs walkway, cuts a considerable figure of superstars in the making. With Ramos especially, theyâve already got a frontman that not only has magnetism, but brings the enormity that this incarnation of Lorna Shore is founded on, a henâs-teeth occurrence of a deathcore band actually equipped to handle an arena show.
Thereâs nothing about the heaviness that feels diluted, coming most heartily in the pit-of-the-stomach depths of Sun//Eaterâs low end of Into The Earthâs final breakdown; similarly, Ramosâ screams undergo approximately no degradation in a flawless live translation. Unfortunately the same canât be said for Lorna Shoreâs more ornate elements, not helped in the first place by being piped in amid a sound system thatâs hardly the kindest to bands this extreme anyway. As impractical as it would beâdoubly so as an opening act with only half an hour to play withâwith a live orchestra, this would be one of modern metalâs great live experiences. Thatâs still years off from happening, but the fact the idea feels plausible already is a testament to the ripples of potential that Lorna Shore are so profusely exhibiting already. The buzz is not for nothing, yâknow.
Itâs almost enough to feel a bit sorry for While She Sleeps at first, a band who donât seem to inspire the same fervour as they once did, sandwiched between established heavy-hitters and metalâs more incandescent prodigal sons. Though then you remember that While She Sleepsâ live presence and consistency have frequently vaulted over any fleeting hype cycles, and when Sleeps Society heralds exactly that on an arena scale, any trepidation quickly withers away. In fact, letâs go a step even furtherâthis is the environment that While She Sleeps should be hitting on their own now, because itâs by far the most impressive showcase of their arsenal theyâve pulled out in a long time.
Itâs compounded by the fact that they donât bear the hallmarks of a âtypicalâ arena band, and that never discounts them. The punk attitude is still alive and well when Taylor is jumping into the crowd, and thereâs an easy transition that their more gnarled style of metal undergoes. Other than some of the cleaner guitars being mixed a bit too loudly and sharply, this is set where everything falls into place practically flawlessly, where songs like Anti-Social or The Guilty Party drop thick and fast with genuine weight and vigour. Itâs actually somewhat astonishing how this band continues to ramp things up as basically just a regular occurrence, and how it doesnât go unnoticed. This is a close to a hometown show as they have on this runââOpen up a circle pit for my fucking mother,â Taylor declares at one pointâwith a crowd thatâs more than game to indulge in that, in what feels the latest grand moment for a band whoâve come to be known for subtly racking them up. Hell, on a cursory look, youâd almost mistake this for their own headline show; thatâs the level that While She Sleeps find themselves at now.
The âalmostâ is a necessary concession to make though, because theyâre followed by Parkway Drive, and if thereâs one band in the contemporary metal space whoâll display such an immense determination to not have their thunder stolen, it would be them. Their reputation isnât for nothing, and theyâve clearly pulled out all the stops to live up to that feel of the titanic arena-metal bands theyâre now right on the edge of joining. Itâs visually arresting, for a start; before even a note is played, the metal spikes strewn across the stage foster that big, imposing feel, as do the hoodie-clad torchbearers that herald the exacerbating factor of a band who are all presence and power. Sure, the columns of pyro on opener Glitch leave a mark, but not more than Winston McCall himself. For the most part, heâs at the end of the stageâs walkway, clad in a white vest and cargos that, at an angle, cuts a figure not dissimilar from that iconic Freddie Mercury image at LiveAid. Coincidental or not, itâs apt for the scale that Parkway Drive are exploring now.
Itâs the most obvious upside to where their brawnier, classic-leaning metal approach has taken them, in what effortlessly transforms what some might view as a more âlimitedâ palette into proper arena-ready magic. Thereâs still some love offered to the classicsâthe volume of reaction to âThis is an old oneâ before Carrion speaks volumes, as does the notably different energy shift with how multiple circle pits form for Karmaâbut they primarily stick to the last three albums for the bulk of the set, and feel supremely strong for doing so. The enormity of Vice Grip or Ground Zero or any number of other songs speaks for itself, bolstered by the cleanest of lead-work from Jeff Ling that perfectly encapsulates the sweep theyâve tapped into so resolutely. When heâs raised on an elevating platform at the walkwayâs end for Darker Stillâs solo, in true hair-metal fashion, it feels duly earned.
That further reinforces the role of showmanship that this current incarnation of Parkway Drive feels even more dedicated to than usual. They know how to put on a spectacle befitting of the venue their in, not just through the pyro but bringing onboard a string quartet for Shadow Boxing and Darker Still, as well as a handful of costume changes for McCall for good measure. The latter song encapsulates the upper limit of this Parkway Drive better than anything else, a shamelessly slow-burning, layered ballad thatâs almost exclusive to this version of them, complete with acoustic touches and the live strings to round off how arresting and cinematic it is. It feels fresh and interesting, a flair for the dramatic and a grasp of showmanship that metal bands might otherwise scoff at, only to miss out on how clearly elevating they can be.
Itâs not one or the other either, where heft is sacrificed as a means of proctoring style. There are definite peaks and troughs as far as intensity goes, but it never tapers off or feels like Parkway Drive are straying too far from what makes them special. At the end of the day, theyâre still playing music that isnât reasonably embraced in the mainstream in the UKâs biggest indoor arena, and to have that knowledge buoyed by breakdowns as lethal as that on Bottom Feeder, or a flame-laden, oppressively heavy atmosphere on Crushed. Rounding off with Wild Eyes, it becomes abundantly clear how far Parkway Drive have come, how theyâre nothing close to the spent force their detractors might proclaim, and how legitimately unstoppable they now feel. Viva the underdogs; viva Parkway Drive.
Words by Luke Nuttall
