The theme of tonight, according to Dexter Holland, is ‘fuck yeah’. It’s the subject of many a protracted chant during The Offspring’s set, to where the spirit of the sentiment hangs in abundance. And for a band like The Offspring, it’s undoubtedly justified in the macro sense. Sure, if you zoom in on just the most recent stuff, you’ll find the typically spotty latter-day catalogue endemic among punk lifers. Holistically, though, they’re one of the most fundamental punk bands of the ‘90s and 2000s, without whom vast swathes of the genre as it stands today wouldn’t exist. Even if you didn’t like Supercharged last year, the timbre of enthusiasm around The Offspring justifies a full arena tour on its own. They’ve just announced an enormous Crystal Palace Park show for next summer, heading an astoundingly stacked punk bill; if that doesn’t gauge the level of draw that The Offspring continue to be, nothing will.
As far as an opener to match up, Simple Plan do feel like a good embodiment of the ‘fuck yeah’ mentality, even if they aren’t potty-mouthed enough to up and say it. Yes, the juvenillity and family-friendliness of their pop-punk has been an immovable sticking point for years, but let them cook something up for an hour and you’d have to be grump of the highest order to not at least crack a smile. A good, crisp sound and a packed-tight bevy of hits is really all they need in this situation, and it all goes down incredibly smoothly for it. In Pierre Bouvier, they’ve got a frontman who lives up to all the positive stereotypes about Canadians in how affable he is, almost enough to remove some dissonance from a song as on-the-nose as I’m Just A Kid being sung by a 46-year-old man.
The same is true of songs like Addicted and Welcome To My Life, etched into the modern pop-punk canon through sheer undeniability of scope. Intelligence or innovation couldn’t be of less importance in Simple Plan’s brew, not when they’ve got the means to turn even this support slot into their own show. Any seasonal inappropriateness of Summer Paradise in mid-November is quashed when beach balls are thrown out for the crowd to bat around. Similarly, having the canonical version of the What’s New, Scooby-Doo? theme is not only the ideal excuse to play it, but also to bring out a legion of participants to run about in Scooby-Doo onesies. All the while, there’s a buoyancy steeped in nostalgia that Simple Plan traffic in exclusively, reaching fever pitch in a rare burst of support-band confetti in the finale Perfect. As ‘not-punk’ as it is, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
In fact, you might even think this is Simple Plan’s show altogether, if it weren’t for the squadron of crew running onstage within about a minute to get everything reset. Clearly The Offspring are raring to go, with the ingenious idea of intermission entertainment as their buffer. It’s a wonder that no one else does this on an arena level; the UK is not too good for such Americanised practices in this setting. Just gawking at the Offspring-brand blimp flying around the venue would be enough, honestly. But there’s also just a base level of entertainment value to the celebrity lookalike cam, or the kiss cam, or a guy in a gorilla mask and battle vest firing T-shirts into the crowd. With the Sunday Night Football-ass announcer chiming in every so often, it’s presumably meant to feel like The Offspring’s own little halftime show, and it works damn well.
So with hype already sky-high, a walk-on track of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck sends it through the roof, and a hard-as-nails guitar tone to kick off Come Out And Play does its utmost to keep it up there. It’s as explosive a start as you could want from The Offspring, something which remains a surprisingly easy constant. This isn’t a band that seems to spark much furore in the wild anymore, and yet, here they are, on the form of their lives. Yeah, Dexter Holland’s voice has clearly slowed with age, but he’s giving it a great go. The same is true of guitarist Noodles, with whom Holland plays the Hoppus / DeLonge double-act of older-but-still-slightly-irreverent punk uncles. Even if their banter isn’t as sharp or spry as blink-182’s resident funnymen—I could swear they’ve done the bit about Holland being a pilot, owning a hot sauce company and having a PhD in molecular biology before—you’d never begrudge it. The band whose biggest hit is Pretty Fly (For A White Guy) have to maintain some amount of youthful levity, right?
In fact, you might as well call that the tandem theme to ‘fuck yeah’. In support of an album called Supercharged, how could it not be? And make no mistake, even for that newer material, The Offspring are supercharged. Looking Out For #1 really gets to stretch its legs live, thanks to some powered-up riffs and a more energetic showing from Holland unshackled from his guitar. The resemblance to You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid is still uncanny, but the right steps are appreciated. Thanks to it, there’s a unified level of quality that lets the energy rev and build to spectacular heights. Clad in some arena-rock tweaks, Hammerhead already sounds huge, and flanked by two inflatable, electric-blue skeletons crafts a true set piece from it. Even an extended run of partial covers and ever-dreaded arena-show drum solo land with bracing impact. Yes, the bane of sets like this even manages to work, such is the height of spirits to stop it feeling like overkill.
More than anything, you’re left to admire the effort that’s clearly been sunk into this. It’s genuine and tangible, worlds away from a hacked-out half-measure that older bands are wont to roll out. The fact there’s something as leftfield as a Hey Jude cover is a good barometer, no doubt. What’s more, that’s the culmination of something more, the firework in which Holland’s piano rendition of Gone Away builds to. He’s alone for the most part, with smoke rolling at his feet like he’s Elton John, and with the starry background, phone lights aplenty and the fountains of sparks for its full-band climax, it’s as close as The Offspring will come to a beautiful moment.
No less because this is a band whose mainstream profile comes from how willing they are to present as cartoon characters. Even for an audience far more likely to know that Conspiracy Of One turned 25 years old just the other day, the surge in excitability when the rubbery step of Hit That lands is palpable. When it morphs into the tougher (or as tough as any song with a Rob Schneider sample can be) Original Prankster, it’s not seamless but it’s close enough. That little mashup is the perfect aperitif for what comes later, as another round of beach balls are tossed out for a hyper-saturated Why Don’t You Get A Job? and, of course, Pretty Fly (For A White Guy). That latter song is coming up to 30 years old, yet remains such a cultural touchstone that people will still come to these shows dressed as Guy Cohen’s ‘Pretty Fly Guy’ character from the video. Actually, forget that; the band themselves have tube men wiggling around onstage moulded on his appearance. ‘Importance’ might be overstating things, but it’s a seminal piece of alt-rock history that’s re-enacted with flawless gusto.
By the end of it all—capped by another rock-hard duo of The Kid’s Aren’t Alright and Self Esteem—it’s borderline unbelievable what’s transpired. Regardless of what expectations were held when walking into the AO Arena, The Offspring soundly demolish every single one. What’s more, it’s not through a juicing of the nostalgia gland; on its own merits and as a performance at this level, it’s just excellent. If you’re a fan of The Offspring in 2025, there’s not a chance you could be disappointed with where they are as a live band. Between the scale, the songs, the willingness to throw themselves in and the level of enjoyment from on and off stage, it’s pure brilliance. In other words—The Offspring: fuck yeah!
Words by Luke Nuttall
