To most of those here tonight, RØRY is a very special artist. You can tell from how vigorously the entire emotional spectrum gets a workout—there’s laughter; there are tears; there’s adulation and euphoria at every turn. And while none of this is different than the day-to-day workings of any act in the stan pipeline, RØRY’s pull is more noteworthy. Hers is a predominantly older crowd, who likely feel more resonance towards a perspective skewed closer to their own. In pop-rock today, there’s quite literally no one in the same boat as RØRY, who started this phase of her career later than most, prevailing over multiple histories of addiction, familial trauma and mental health struggles, and reaching her highest peak despite an industry—and an inner voice—who’d tell her she’s ran out her clock. For an aging demographic, it’s one of the few musical success stories in recent memory that’s aspirational and reachable. It’s no wonder, then, that this tour has proven the roaring success it has, sold out practically across the board and building on what’s been a bit of a smash in Restoration. Even just a couple of months into the year, RØRY already feels like one of the most worthwhile personalities to break through among 2025’s alt scene.
And no doubt when Lake Malice release their debut full-length in the coming weeks, they’ll be ready to join her. As the by-far heaviest act tonight, they might be the hardest sell, but if there’s a band doing the rounds that couldn’t be more capable at sloughing off a mere ‘opener’ tag, it really is Lake Malice. For the level they’re at, they’re trying to forge a Bring Me The Horizon-esque vibe that’s legitimately impressive at how close they get. There’s an inimitability to both Alice Guala and Blake Cornwall that’s not at all dissimilar, only scaled back to where it’s viable for Cornwall to get amongst the conga line that forms during Mitsuko. Not much of that is lost in the music either, as sharp, digitised post-hardcore accents itself with a sweltering electro pulse on Scatterbrain, and some grinding alt-metal muscle on Nobody Wants To Be You for the clearest picture of their imminent greatness. The giddy entertainment value of some backbreaking metalcore smuggled into what’s ostensibly a pop-rock show is only the beginning of the appeal; from front to back, Lake Malice are airtight and razor-lined.
As December Falls, meanwhile, are…not quite that, though it speaks more to the mould of wider-genialising pop-rock and what that entails. That’s almost exclusively the bubbly energy of Beth Curtis and the shredder’s posture of Ande Hunter, and after the opener Ride when Curtis’ vocals are more than just a sliver of sound clamouring some oxygen, they’re fully in business. They’ve definitely become stronger onstage than previous outings—the by-the-books patter is still there, but nowhere near as overwhelming—and a lack of any loose folds or threads feels right for where they are at this stage. It’s indestructibly capable for pop-rock, especially in the closer Carousel that’s become their nailed-on hit. All the leanness and punch and heaps of enthusiasm definitely reap their rewards, even if As December Falls are yet to have that X-factor to bring the house down. Even if it’s hard to imagine them ever being the most interesting band around, there’s enough here to where they’ve certainly earned their stripes.
As for RØRY herself, you feel the difference immediately. The presence of a seasoned performer is apparent, where she begins about six feet in front of her band for a great, calamitous opening salvo on In The Bible. Next is if pain could talk, what would it say?, beginning with RØRY knelt at the head of the stage, spotlight blazing down over her to fully evoke a specific, theatrical generation of pop-rock. She fits into that era perfectly, as well. Baby Vendetta alone ticks all the right boxes—a gleeful flash of self-professed toxicity that RØRY asserts to have tried to stop playing, but it’s such a fan favourite that it’s stayed on the set regardless. If that’s not dyed-in-the-wool 2000s emo enough, there’s also a song with the canny title of My Chemical Romance that wears its big, sweeping waves of melodrama immaculately.
All of that on its own does a really solid job of establishing the basics of RØRY. She’s got a strident, malleable voice that’s the ideal vehicle for pop-rock sugar and hard rock slam, accompanied by a depth in musicianship that stacks the whole thing high above the nu-gen waterline. But there’s still more, arguably where the bulk of RØRY’s artistic persona—and especially its impact—lies. See, ‘melodrama’ would imply expression that’s more fanciful and heightened, and in hindsight, it mightn’t be the best word to use. Especially outside of the songs themselves, RØRY’s sincerity is, quite frankly, stunning. “That’ll be quite enough fun,” she says with puckish intent about a third of the way through, “it’s only devastating heartbreak from now on.” She’s not wrong, either. In recent memory, it’s hard to think of an artist whose candour of past struggles and their extension of hope to their crowd has seemed this real, with not a platitude amongst it.
It’s the moment before Jesus & John Lennon that’s the biggest gut-punch, where RØRY speaks on losing her mother almost half her lifetime ago, and encourages the crowd to raise their hands and celebrate their memories of lost loved ones. Described through the written word, there’s an element of mawkishness there, maybe even performativity, that can find it hard to land. When you’re there, though, and already close to a grieving period that’s fresh enough to be touched by this empathy and love and understanding, it just feels…special. There’s no other word for it. And there’s an honesty to how RØRY portrays herself; she’s sincere and worlds away from the faux-irony of her younger peers. Hell, the walls of cynicism are so far down that when she brings her partner onstage just for a hug, even the coldest, deadest hearts might twitch a little.
It’s exactly the sort of thing that RØRY represents—the light at the end of a tunnel of hardships that, no matter how long it is, does have an end. And for RØRY herself, it’s so obvious how there’s not a single second of this taken for granted, through either her plastered-on smile, or when her composure breaks and she begins to tear up at the end of The Atheist. It all pushes so far past superficial power into something exponentially more meaningful. And while the moments of artistic warmth and exuberance within that are nice—getting on the venue balcony for acoustic renditions of One Drink Away and the apology i’ll never receive; bringing out As December Falls’ Beth Curtis for My Funeral Song, or Amber Run’s Joe Keogh to sing his sampled hook on Hold On—it’s the very end that, naturally, ties everything together. After a set resplendent with heaviness, Sorry I’m Late is the celebratory explosion to end on the highest of high notes. Blossom is its darker coda, fittingly for a tenacious RØRY to fully show the extent of her journey, as both an artist and a person. Against every odd put in her wake, RØRY has emerged stronger, more righteous and more gripping by an almost unimaginable factor.
Words by Luke Nuttall
Photos by Maryleen Guevara (Instagram / Website)
