LIVE REVIEW + PHOTOS: State Champs – O2 Ritz, Manchester – 22/02/2025

It’s one of life’s unsung joys, the weekend pop-punk show. Tonight’s 10pm curfew is a blessing to these old bones, too, but the greatest stimulant will always be State Champs playing the kind of mid-sized show that they can dogwalk at this point. As far as consistent live presences in their genre goes, they’re right up there, to where you can almost excuse how their recorded output hasn’t followed suit as strictly. Last year’s self-titled outing wasn’t particularly a firestarter, but dependability counts for something. Even if we’re a long way away from the genre-defining halcyon days of The Finer Things, a clutch of solid pop-punk punchers to flesh out the live set a bit more is still something, right?

Well, thankfully, that does get addressed, though not before an undercard of acts that are far more popular than anticipated. Considering that Broadside have never had their full-blown moment in the sun, a good number of people have clearly stuck around for them. Hell, we’re a decade on from Coffee Talk giving them their sharpest uptick, and its resonance has clearly not dulled. You can kind of see why, too, as a sticking point of some barely-audible guitar is handily washed away by the gloss and bounce everywhere else. An excitable frontman like Oli Baxxter can suck away a lot of complaints, between a solid voice, heaps of personality in his little dance moves, and a charming array of quips and non sequiturs that land more often than not. Even in the sole moment of moodiness on The Raging Sea as the band’s old label Victory Records is called out, it’s not without some humour—“They own our first two albums; they own one of my socks!” The big, buoyant flashbang Foolish Believer feels like the exact right note to end on, to tie a bow around how much fun Broadside strive to be.

That’s not the end of Baxxter’s stage tenure, though, as he returns later on to join The Home Team on their song Somebody Else’s Face. Their own frontman Brian Butcher did the same for Broadside’s Cruel, with a vocal mix that could hardly be picked up and an exit that couldn’t have been swift enough. Perhaps that’s some foreshadowing for The Home Team’s own set, where early promise just doesn’t make it all the way there. It starts off strong, a bit heavier and groovier than a lot of pop-rock, with a strutting, hip-shaking Butcher clearly aware of his own magnetism. There’s even a smidge of choreography to dig into, as synchronised spins, kicks and simple dance steps from guitarist John Baran and bassist Ryne Olsen give more than a meagre support slot it usually allowed. But when that’s ripped asunder for early-2010s pop-punk on She’s Quiet and alt-metal on Hell, it all begins to peter out. (Maybe even earlier than that with the gloopier bass and slowed-down crawl of Slow Bloom.) From then on, it’s still well-received, but The Home Team lose some of that white-hot flair that was pushed entirely to the beginning. The closer Loud gets a bit of the way there—with the trap touches and R&B groove, they’re evidently having more fun themselves—but it’s a small concession, at best. Even if it’s never outright unlikable, it’s definitely lacking.

State Champs, on the other hand, have no such issues. They arrive, dive straight into Silver Cloud, and plough forth with the consummate demeanour of a band who’ve been doing this for a literal age. As a result, they’ve got the fewest shocks of noteworthy explosiveness (even if the attempts to fill those gaps are usurped by bassist Ryan Scott Graham’s sprightly, elasticated energy), but honestly, they’re fine regardless. They’ve got the pop-punk game on lock at this stage; Derek DiScanio strutting and two-stepping in his backwards cap is as fundamental as genre aesthetic distillations get. So for a pretty extensive set that covers each of their five albums by varying amounts, it’s carried more or less flawlessly.

To that end, the distribution of those songs isn’t exactly ideal, but it’s understandable. For the promotional tour of the self-titled album, it’s obviously going to be represented the most, and the likes of Clueless and The Constant sit perfectly flush with the rest. It ultimately makes for a deeper bench to work with on the live stage, and even if State Champs are far from the most variegated band around, more is always better. In any case, you’d struggle to find a song on this setlist that doesn’t hit in some way. Criminal is accompanied by flashing red lights and yellow spotlights, an unqualifiable throwback to the 2010s on vibe alone. A little later, All You Are Is History is subject to the first big spike in rowdiness, a trend that’s followed when the clock is wound back further for the one-two of Remedy and Elevated. That pair in particular still harbours such a classic feel, both in the sonic crunch of prime-cut State Champs, and in its standing within its genre when it first dropped over a decade ago. Ever since, there’s been no dip in live fervour.

They’ve reached the point in the performance life cycle where there’s not a single surprise or outside-the-box moment, but there’s irrepressible fun to make up for it. The only significant disappointments are a few misprized deep cuts it’d be nice to see again (RIP Simple Existence, it seems); otherwise, State Champs can cultivate a total blast with the best of ‘em. There’s some pleasingly nifty guitar work from Tyler Szalkowski on the medley of Perfect Score, Frozen and Fake It that’s fun to watch when he isn’t the most active member of the group. Later on, a bolt-from-the-blue turn from Slope’s vocalist to reprise his role on Save Face Story is the closest thing to a ‘surprise’ you’ll get, but it’s over so quickly, there’s really no time to drink it in. Not that that’s an issue; State Champs don’t need auxiliary help to cross the finish line with ample effort left over. That subsequently gets channelled into an encore of Everybody But You and Secrets to ring out this crew of pop-punk faves continuing to do what they do best. Would you expect anything less?

Words by Luke Nuttall

Photos by Will Robinson (Instagram)