LIVE REVIEW + PHOTOS: Thirty Seconds To Mars – AO Arena, Manchester – 07/06/2024

Wow, Thirty Seconds To Mars have really fallen off, huh? They had a woeful last album, for a start, which is inexplicably played in full on the sound system at doors, as if to subconsciously implant the idea that it’s anything close to good. They’ve also had to reschedule this tour around Jared Leto’s filming commitments, though with no huge furore around it and the rumoured difficulty in shifting tickets, maybe there’s more to that. Add on some…shall we say, ‘open secrets’ about Leto that have been alleged for years, and you’d think this would be pretty difficult to rescue.

But the truth is, it’s all more layered than that. For one, it’s not like Thirty Seconds To Mars is the reliant breadwinner in the Leto family, considering its frontman is now a (somewhat inexplicable) genuine Hollywood superstar. They can probably afford to take some kind of loss now. At the same time, even that doesn’t seem like a reality now, though. By the time they’re due on, the arena has filled out heavily, and with an older crowd that can indeed catch you off guard. It’s probably where the palpable prickle of dedication in the air comes from—the ex-emos that probably fell for A Beautiful Lie back in the day, and have stuck around for Leto’s cult (heh…) of personality. You can mock all you like, but there’s evidently plenty who’d buck expectations and, indeed, proclaim themselves proudly as fans.

There’s also the matter of the support bill to contend with, and how it feels like a conscious effort on Thirty Seconds To Mars’ part to not be overshadowed. That’s fair enough, but bringing over the leagues-ahead US undercard of KennyHoopla, Poppy and fucking AFI (!) probably would’ve contributed to a modicum of early hype. Next to them, Jagwar Twin is…well, just kind of shit. Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but compared to three worldies, another mugging proponent of ‘genreless’ riff-rock / indie-pop / Yungblud-isms is a few flights of stairs down, let alone a step. If there’s enough charisma to keep it lively, it’s all too easy for Jagwar Twin to tip into the obnoxiousness that’s a blight on this type of music. The first glance of him is when he’s stood in a spotlight with a lit cigarette, the intended embodiment of the rockstar archetype that he just can’t pay off. In a set designed to be all highlights, precious little sticks or feels impactful, or in the case of Bad Feeling (Oompa Loompa), actively works against him. If a call of “Who thinks it’s gonna be the best night of their life?” is to be heeded, it won’t be because of Jagwar Twin.

Thankfully, when it’s actually morbin’ time, things pick up a lot. For one, the countdown from 100 till arrival (that stops at 30, naturally) seems to wind up some much-needed hype, and Jared and Shannon Leto making their way to the stage through the crowd with Closer To The Edge as their entrance music is the right amount of self-indulgence for this band specifically to kick proceedings off with. Obviously, a Thirty Seconds To Mars show is not a restrained affair, nor are there any compunctions about overloading the thing with flash and spectacle. This is as big a softball as arena shows get, but it almost wholly works. Add together the lights, the graphics, the fire, the confetti cannons, and the fact that decent percentage of your material is “whoa-oh”s, and the bases are practically covered from the start.

Of course, that’s not to discount the allure of Jared Leto himself, which probably accounts for just as much on its own. Obviously the pomposity is on full display, as he monopolises the stage’s catwalk to drink in the adulation for him and him alone. And that’s likely not an accident when he’s designed as the focal point—Shannon might get some stage space for his drums, but their accompanying musicians are largely consigned to the shadows of the back corner; this is meant to be The Jared Leto Show. And, like, you do get it. He’s still an infuriatingly handsome man, but more to the point, he’s well aware that the attention is his to conquer. With the flare held at the end of Hurricane, he’s only drawing it in more. And while he’s far from the greatest singer and certainly can’t hit the screams or high notes anymore (just look at how Attack palms off its harsher moments on the crowd to fill in), you can’t deny the aura of superstar is around him. The reason that Stay—previously a loose Live Lounge cover of a Rihanna song—goes down as thunderously as it does seems be squarely because of how much Leto gyrates and threatens to take off his jacket.

And, look—it’s very easy to look at all of this with nuclear-grade derision. It’s been a long time since Thirty Seconds To Mars have been ‘reputable’ on a traditional metric, and they don’t really help themselves. But when you’ve been on the monumental downswing that they have recently, any opportunity to take flight feels like a worthwhile one. Especially in their case, you really just have to press the right buttons; for a band who’ve basically only ever been good at singles, a winning setlist falls out impossibly easy. And when you aren’t reliant on genre-breaking nous or effect, you can simply go for the throat with Kings And Queens or Walk On Water or The Kill to maximum avail. When the eruption of confetti goes off on This Is War, it fits among a number of would-be climaxes that are the bread and butter of the Thirty Seconds To Mars live experience.

Now, to poke a bit of a hole in all this, Seasons is a noticeable dud with its twee acoustics and limp synth pads, really only solidifying how disposable most of that last album was. At least Stuck can pull it back during the encore, arguably the most animalistic in sound and force that this set gets. What’s surprising is how little micromanagement feels present; for such a high-profile act—fronted by an even higher-profile guy—you’d half expect the stiff, stock beats to play out in rote succession. But, no—there’s clearly intent and joy at being here on Thirty Seconds To Mars’ part. Call out a stock arena-rock template if you want, but that’s no more the band’s fault as the medium as a whole. If it weren’t, they wouldn’t still bring on throngs of audience members to stand onstage for Closer To The Edge, intended as a hokey ‘fans-and-band-as-one’ message, but still more fun than you’d otherwise expect from Thirty Seconds To Mars in 2024. So, the big question—have Thirty Seconds To Mars fallen off? Not nearly as much as some might think, or hope.

Words by Luke Nuttall

Photos by Faye Roberts (Instagram)