Ah, Beartooth—a band with a spotty catalogue and a live reputation that’s anything but. That’s why, especially in this back half of their career so far, it isn’t too useful to judge them squarely on recorded capacity. There’s a whole other dimension to them that’s routinely better, and people seem fully willing to buy that. Don’t be mistaken by the somewhat-patchy crowd; this is actually the first of two Manchester dates on this run, with tomorrow’s being totally sold out (and not on a Thursday night, which invariably counts for plenty). Add on the fact that these are basically arena-sized venues they’re taking on now, and the prowess of Beartooth continues to speak for itself, loud and proud. Among metalcore’s top cast, they’ve found what works for them and have leveraged it arguably better than anyone else.
First, though, are the evening’s ‘special guests’, a term that’s been stretched more and more threadbare by bills whose undercards feel profoundly normal. Like, okay—two more metalcore bands, on a level below the headliner; that’s ‘special’. After that last Beartooth album, they could’ve had HARDY here or something, to see how such a Frankensteined, genre-spliced lineup would land—now that would’ve been special.
Nevertheless, LANDMVRKS want to give off the idea that they’re more than just garden-variety openers. The way they’d build themselves up, you’d think they were treating this as their own headline show, even if the piecemeal output sticks a firm capper on that swiftly. They go in a multitude of directions (often in single songs), from metalcore, to nu-metal, to rapcore, to deathcore, and back to slick contempo-core without nearly as many clean resolutions. Obviously there’s a bloat there that seriously outstays its welcome by the end, but at least there’s enough good on show to count. Their leash is naturally longer, meaning that, presentation-wise, they aren’t locked in place like so many metalcore mannequins. There’s the tiniest bit of hardcore about them (see the synchronised air-punches on Blistering), while there’s a swagger imported directly from 2001 in frontman Florent Salfati (or ‘French Durst’, if you will). Add in some genuine, foundation-testing heaviness in places, and LANDMVRKS do have something going for them, by the end of it all.
Polaris, on the other hand, are much more traditionally accomplished in sound and stage presence. Apparently that mean we’re bring back synchronised headbangs if All In Vain is any indication; ditto for a frontman in Jamie Halls with no concern for potential neck breakages in how he’ll windmill his mane around. On the flipside, it’s also indicative of Halls being the only member blessed with the potential to significantly move across the stage, and deliver a staid, years-old metalcore script whenever pausing to address the crowd. But looking past that, what Polaris indicate the most is how no-nonsense metalcore can still land when you give it some teeth, and heft that can soar just as much as pummel. Despite a sound littered with familiarities, you’d never mistake them for some no-names. There’s road experience at practically every musical turn, with Polaris’ main goal of eking out literally every drop of might being incredibly noticeable. Thus, the crowd is a lot more uniformly enthused, expectedly so for a band looking to channel the metal masters in stage presence—a bit over-the-top, a bit more vicious—and wind up suitably grand and imposing. And with the oft-touted scene camaraderie coming to a head with Florent Salfati’s return on Hypermania, the effort behind Polaris’ meat-and-potatoes metalcore blazes through.
If you want to talk about ‘effort’, though, tonight’s headliners feel like the living, breathing embodiment of it. In a set heavily weighted towards their newest divisive album The Surface, Beartooth seem keen to show off evolution at every turn. It’s not their best body of work, by any stretch, but remember that initial point made? Onstage is where Beartooth’s mojo operates at full speed, and where even their most iffy work finds its feet in spectacular fashion. So with the blast of confetti at the start of The Surface and Caleb Shomo’s rockstar silhouette to overwrite younger hardcore scrappiness, the feel of a bigger, more confident Beartooth shines out. Even as the least heavy band on their own bill, you’d never confuse them for anything other than the main attraction.
Furthermore, you can tell this has been something built up to. In their guise of Beartooth, Arena-Rockers, there’s such an extreme, obvious comfort coming through, even if that does muscle out the way much of the intensity that’s always been Shomo’s best mode. But as an indication of Beartooth’s arc in general—of a band whose entire existence has been defined by demolishing mental holds and fighting their way upwards—a set that’s visually bright and saturated in colour is a breakthrough. And when songs like Doubt Me and Might Love Myself plunge into the radiance, it’s a newer brand of Beartooth’s usual catharis par excellence. They sound great at it, too; there’s no awkward clunk to fit into place. Even if Shomo is an inalienable lead, the band themselves are more than competent at matching his heights while remain tenacious and powerful in their own right. They’re left on their own for a snippet of The Last Riff, almost a vehicle to concentrate most of the remaining heaviness into a single swing.
That’s not to say that Beartooth have fully forgone what they once were; not by a long shot. Their older hardcore material mightn’t be as bountifully represented, but The Lines and Body Bag unmask the old snarl and gnash that’s still punching away. Devastation actually feels like a key moment in bridging Beartooth’s approaches, where there’s a notable shift in energy in something deeper and more primally volatile, but the colours and lasers around them still remain. When all of that is meshed with pyro and Shomo at the head of the stage brandishing a flamethrower, it’s almost peak Beartooth. Clearly there’s vision beyond just throwing a bone to older fans.
Having said that, you could argue that the set’s definitive moment is in its greatest lull, where Shomo takes to the B-stage at the back of the room, on his own with an acoustic guitar, for a more contemplative version of himself. Sure, the Mr. Brightside cover brings everyone onboard, but it’s to see a man so often and so famously ripped apart by his own neuroses and demons seem genuinely happy. He dedicates Look The Other Way to his wife, and shouts out House Of Protection as the newest band to solidify his love of live music. For Shomo, this all feels like a real breakthrough, removed from the pageantry of how its displayed by the full band, and given the opportunity to speak plainly. From the start, this has been Shomo’s outlet, and that remains true to this day. The only difference is, now, it’s for one of fulfillment and growth, and love for himself and those around him. As is the norm with Beartooth, seeing it live is where the connection is practically unbreakable.
Words by Luke Nuttall
Photos by Will Robinson (Instagram)
