At first glance, to see this show downgraded from the Ritz down the road to the sizably smaller Academy 2 might set off some alarm bells. In truth, it’s all fine. In the short interim between doors opening and the show’s start, there’s a constant stream of bodies spilling into the room, something that shouldn’t be discounted for Four Year Strong. They’ve been around for years with a lot of that time spent among the vanguard of modern pop-punk and easycore, and the expected knock taken by analysis paralysis—a very different album for them in its embrace of full-on hardcore and quasi-industrial sounds—hasn’t seen them keel over entirely. If it had, there wouldn’t be a level of enthusiasm that’s still clear and accounted for. A small dip is not DEFCON 1, no matter what an age of discourse might say where everything must fall into a binary of smash or flop.
And even then, analysis paralysis still ends up growing into a great album. Again, the general air of keenness would suggest that’s not a controversial assumption, as even both supports are met with a similar warmth. Shoreline—making their Manchester debut, though stressing that they have played in Stockport before (“Does anyone know Stockport? Like The Blossoms?”)—are the furthest removed from tonight’s headliners, but never feel high and dry from it. Their take on 2000s pop-punk is definitely cleaner, though not to where it’s drowning in its own engineering. It’s actually a solid update of that easycore sound, particularly as Hansol Seung’s voice travels a lot further and picks up more body than on record. It’s their tenacity that gets them the furthest, manifesting in this spry, jumpy, punchy presence that, as Seung’s speaking on the inclusivity of his local Münster punk scene would suggest, wears its down-to-earth strengths and presence proudly.
As for Koyo, they’re here to rep Long Island hardcore, and do so with a considerable amount of swag. Frontman Joey Chiaramonte comes with an embossed Monster Energy vest; not to be outdone, bassist Stephen Spanos sports a t-shirt adorned with the poster for John Cena’s The Marine. Just…phenomenal stuff. Oh yeah, there’s also music being played as well—emo and pop-punk where the hardcore ties are firm and noticeable, even just through Chiaramonte seeming perfectly at home on the sliver of stage space deigned to tonight’s openers. In a set that seems to rush by ridiculously quickly, there’s enough of a hardcore thump to really crank things up to the next notch, and inciting the first pit of the night is nothing to grumble about, either. Even if Koyo seem itching to do away with a barrier entirely and embrace that early-2010s state of mind to the max, they’re still doing plenty to impress.
But when the frantic pounding of Darude’s Sandstorm serves its usual purpose of tried-and-true (if slightly worn out) entrance music, everyone is ready to see Four Year Strong. …well, ‘see’ is a relative term, in this case. For some reason, they’ve chosen to cloak themselves in the lowest light possible, to where they’re basically silhouettes from even the front rows. A couple of ground-level rigs at the very back of the stage are the only sources of illumination, and it leads to some weird tonal shifts that it doesn’t seem like the band have accounted for. Their older pop-punk material suffers the most, generally by demanding a bigger, brighter stage that just isn’t afforded to it. To put it another way, It Must Really Suck To Be Four Year Strong Right Now doesn’t feel the most comfortable brightened by a urine-yellow hue.
The aim, presumably, is to forge an imperious, implacable atmosphere better fitting to their newer material and its greater representation in the set. It’s also likely why Alan Day and Dan O’Connor are more stone-faced throughout. On the whole, though, it’s not exactly out of character for Four Year Strong. They’re heavier and carry themselves in a more mature stance than what ‘pop-punk’ often alludes to, and you absolutely feel the impact of that. Both aftermath/afterthought and bad habit are titanic pieces of opening material, vicious and grinding with blinding flashes of white light during the former’s breakdown to feel even more imposing. Not an iota of the size of these songs is lost, either. Special mention should go to the band’s rhythm section—Joe Weiss’ consistently churns out the lowest of low-ends, and Jake Massucco’s drums have moments of transcendent punishment like on Heroes Get Remembered, Legends Never Die.
Honestly, when you get past the state of visual impairment, Four Year Strong offer very little to complain about. Their pop-punk material continues to tower like no one’s business; Get Out Of My Head’s fat, grinding riff and the consistent meteorite-drops of Go Down In History are truly the pinnacle of what this genre can achieve at its best. As for newer stuff, it never ceases to impress how well it not only translates live, but is also reciprocated. The grunts on bad habit already seem destined for chest-beating crowd favouritism, and daddy of mine’s slab-dragging weight yields such an intense rush. At its best—i.e. the Turnstile-esque throwdown of uncooked, though not limited to that—Four Year Strong are almost completely revitalised. The sole instance of respite from the walloping comes on maybe it’s me’s more rubbery pop-rock, and that still carries the same freshness and verve. When you add it all together, you’re left with the picture of a band who, musically, have been leaping from strength to strength at a ludicrous height, and are sure-footed enough to ensure their balance is unparalleled. It’s just excellent, plain and simple.
Words by Luke Nuttall
