This is Hot Milk’s biggest show to date, a phrase that seems to get dragged into the light with ever-increasing frequency. They’ve been growing exponentially since day dot, and a plateau doesn’t look likely any time soon. And when this is all going down on home turf, it makes Hot Milk feel all the more important. This is a band who’ve grown from pop-rock upstarts to a veritable alt-metal powerhouse without missing a beat, consistently flying the flag among the cream of the UK’s rock crop. With another stellar year on the books and Corporation P.O.P. being the next significant step in an unbroken chain of them, it feels too right to end their 2025 back in Manchester to a heroes’ welcome. The fact that so many are willing to flock to the O2 Victoria Warehouse for them—a venue famously despised by everyone who’s ever visited it—speaks volumes on its own.
Silly Goose’s Jackson Foster is also clearly delighted to be here, though that could partially be because his band’s first UK visit has them playing in spaces that aren’t car parks and fast food restaurants. Nevertheless, there’s no half-arsing on Foster’s part. His stance as ‘Fred Durst impressionist meets hardcore kid’ covers decent ground, not to mention how his clutch of vocal styles—rapping, full-on screaming and acerbic singing—all hit the spot. That all competes with the natural one-notedness of an up-and-coming nu-metal band, and the fact that the X-factor of their guerilla gigging stateside is lost in a more ‘standard’ venue. But even so, it’s hard to dislike Silly Goose. Charisma and a beefy-as-all tone can save a lot, and Foster recording a video to send to his mum as proof he’s not wasting his life is the kind of touch that makes you want to root for them all the more.
For someone who’s pretty far past that at this stage, though, look no further than Cassyette. She, too, wears her enthusiasm proudly, and the arena-rocker’s posture she carries suggests that there’s something here. It just never shows up, though. Some atrocious sound in the venue doesn’t help, but the backing-track bass ends up swallowing all else on its own, leaving this supposedly transgressive alt-metal with some unavoidably dull edges. None of these mid-tempo, mid-hype songs warrant the number of calls for pits that Cassyette gives. Even the pair of new ones, Oops and Boyfriend, are anchored in this tamped-back pop-rock with no vibrancy to speak of. And it’s not like any of this is new for a Cassyette live set; frequently, they’ll be grasping at a height that they only get close to reaching in their mind. Tonight, that’s no different. You might only need tweaks to make this a potent performance, but they add up something horrid.
Above all, it wants to be what Hot Milk are already nailing, and have done for ages. Granted, when your metal-morphosis has no teething problems whatsoever, it’s to be expected that you’d continue to do great. Such is the case here, where the harsh, industrial atmosphere and police sirens prove wonderfully evocative before the band have even arrived. When they are here with the concrete lockstep of Hell Is On The Way—accompanied by erratic spotlights to pierce the low, sickly backlight—there’s an oppressive mood a world away from the Are You Feeling Alive? days. Hot Milk have been in this ecosystem for a while now, but rarely has it felt this impactful. Maybe it’s the freedom of a headline show, opposed to a festival set; maybe it’s just yet another round of natural tuning up. Either way, they’re on flying form.
The fact that this is their newest big homecoming could also play a part. You rarely consider that with bands who’ve got an international reach, but with the urbanised, distinctly British grit that’s coated Hot Milk’s sound as of late, they’ve not severed their roots yet. From it comes a moment of real sincerity from Han Mee, visibly getting choked up when talking about how grateful she is for her father being there. Even if it’s caught by one her now-standard quips (“I don’t wanna get too soppy ‘cos my period’s ending and that’s my excuse”), its impact remains. Indeed, you get the impression that this is A Moment for Hot Milk on the whole, with expectations to live up to.
It’s likely why they’re the heaviest they’ve ever been, with Swallow This’ cinderblock riff and a bass hit on I JUST WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I’M DEAD that could easily crack a less-firm sternum. Jim Shaw’s screams, too, have really been allowed to stretch their legs. They’re now an integral part of the Hot Milk canon, so much so that Sympathy Symphony, where he’s at the head of the stage, claw-handing like he’s fronting Lorna Shore or something, is far from the anomaly it would’ve been a few years ago. In fact, there’s no heavier element to Hot Milk today that can be called anything but a roaring success. They’ve ran so far with this that pop-rock might as well not be here, outside the very peripheries. The oldest song they do is Candy Coated Lie$, and even that’s been retooled into its so-called ‘Nightmare Version’—unrecognisably darker and dropped-down, with its atmosphere looming low and insidious.
And yet, never is there a dourness or a dropped mood at any point. Mee’s aforementioned display of gratitude is a one-off for vulnerability; more often, she’s got a bandolier of jibes locked and loaded for pit-ready purposes, almost hardcore in essence. “When this kicks in, I wanna see brains on the floor” is reliable; “I wanna see clit in the fookin’ pit” couldn’t have come from anyone else. The spirit of pop-rock hasn’t been entirely exorcised, either, at least not as far as choruses are concerned. With Corporation P.O.P., Hot Milk’s cavalcade of hooks has ballooned in size once more, with Insubordinate Ingerland and Asphyxiate as big, new tentpoles, and Chase The Dragon acting as a fittingly beastly closer. Add them onto the existing towers of BLOODSTREAM and Glass Spiders, and it’s clear how stacked this catalogue has now become.
By the end of it, if you’re not a true believer in Hot Milk…well, you probably weren’t here, then. Their exponential rise has always been the result of advantageous output and hard work, and the fruits of that labour that they’re producing now are the sweetest yet. With a beaming smile painted on Mee’s face during Glass Spiders, that really seals it all. Not only are Hot Milk popular, but they’re popular in ways that are worthwhile, and having that translate with nary a hitch is what’s put them so high on British rock’s pecking order. If they keep this up, expect their next ‘biggest show to date’ to arrive at breakneck speed.
Words by Luke Nuttall
