By now, everyone knows how insanely reliable The Menzingers are. It’s effectively their brand, the everymen of alt-punk whose floor of quality always serves them so well. Even off the back of an album that saw them nestling into elder statesmen mode in Some Of It Was True, there’s nothing to suggest they’re even remotely on the back foot yet. A three-week tour across Europe and the UK speaks for itself, as does its reported success which—let’s face it—was never not a probability. Basically, a big-room show like this is such an easy lay-up for them; this is their level now, and they remain a phenomenal draw within it.
Though saying that, there’s the caveat of the supports, which is a discussion that the conglomerate of DIY scenes can occasionally face some difficulty with. At the best of times, it can feel as though the inroads for more up-and-coming acts tend to only travel in certain directions, and for certain distances. That seldom reveals itself more than with Gladie and Prince Daddy & The Hyena, sporting two distinct profiles within that conversation. For the former, it doesn’t helped that they’re marred early on by a snapped guitar string that forces some awkward patter spanning Oasis documentaries to Meet The Parents, and finally to a cursory remark about the crowd’s favourite Menzingers song. Otherwise, it’s all as uniformly pleasant as alt-punk-adjacent indie-rock often is, with little to wow as is the tandem regularity. As for Prince Daddy, there’s a bit more going on in their proficiency with grunge, indie and burly alt-punk, though the similarities and roteness gets accumulated further and further when they seem to play so many songs. It’s worth saying that both of these acts exude the warmth and approachability their scene fosters, though having it translate to something gripping is a much harder ask. The closest is Prince Daddy frontman’s Kory Gregory shrieking “Thank you!” in an uncomfortably loud way.
But naturally, The Menzingers have no such issues. Being held firm as stalwarts has given some form of immunity to oft-anticipated DIY fatigue, but the fact they’re just plain better isn’t to be ruled out either. An hour-and-a-half setlist shows how deep their bench of legitimate bangers goes, pulling from every era of their modern prominence with nary a loose thread to be found. The tone is set nice and early with Hope Is A Dangerous Little Thing beaming out its heartland charm that never goes away. These four unassuming guys—visually miles away from the paragon of punk dominance, and with no production gimmickry to fall back on—put all of their stock on charm and the magnitude of the music at hand, exactly as it should be.
At this point, The Menzingers’ enterprise is tweaked and tested to yield the best, most efficient possible performance. The speedy turnaround from song to song paints them in an especially good light when there’s never an obvious dud to be found, and there’s clearly an energy among the band to where keeping up isn’t a problem. For an act so often concerned with middle age and the ennui around it, they’re remarkably spry in overall demeanour, not so much flashy stage antics but in the way they carry themselves. Gregor Barnett and Tom May are mic’ed flawlessly with their respective hangdog charms uninhibited, but bassist Eric Keen also puts in a surprising amount of standout work, particularly with how great and full the low-end of There’s No Place In This World For Me sounds. The milder, clip-clopping pace they’ll settle into works entirely with their skillset, pouring out a combination of that aforementioned reliability with such endearing work that’s borderline bottomless. In fact, there’s rarely a moment you won’t find that.
There’s also the fact that The Menzingers are the band who’ll inspire the most fervent crowd reactions you’ll see. The scream-alongs of Lookers and America (You’re Freaking Me Out) will rarely be topped, nor will an impassioned belting of The Obituaries’ “I will fuck this up / I fucking know it,” the kind of etched-in-stone punk sentiment that’s up there with the best of ‘em. Especially for what seems to be a slightly older audience on average, there’s a confluence of factors between sound and theme and presentation that cranks everything up so high and so far. The Menzingers know exactly what they’re doing as ringmasters, too, and how the perennial, plastered gratitude on their faces works for them. They aren’t rockstars as much as dogged chancers for whom hard work pays off; they make their love of Manchester and the UK and simply touring overseas all too apparent. And that’s the magic of The Menzingers that always holds fast—being showy or bringing the pomp and circumstance just wouldn’t fit when this is who they are at the centre of it all. After The Party rings out the main set as triumphantly as humanly possible, as it always The Menzingers forte.
See? Pure reliability can still be as good as it gets.
Words by Luke Nuttall
