This is Hot Milkâs biggest show to date, a phrase that seems to get dragged into the light with ever-increasing frequency. Theyâve been growing exponentially since day dot, and a plateau doesnât 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 whoâve grown from pop-rock upstarts to a veritable alt-metal powerhouse without missing a beat, consistently flying the flag among the cream of the UKâs 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 heroesâ welcome. The fact that so many are willing to flock to the O2 Victoria Warehouse for themâa venue famously despised by everyone whoâs ever visited itâspeaks volumes on its own.
Silly Gooseâs Jackson Foster is also clearly delighted to be here, though that could partially be because his bandâs first UK visit has them playing in spaces that arenât car parks and fast food restaurants. Nevertheless, thereâs no half-arsing on Fosterâs part. His stance as âFred Durst impressionist meets hardcore kidâ covers decent ground, not to mention how his clutch of vocal stylesârapping, full-on screaming and acerbic singingâall 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 âstandardâ venue. But even so, itâs 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 heâs not wasting his life is the kind of touch that makes you want to root for them all the more.
For someone whoâs pretty far past that at this stage, though, look no further than Cassyette. She, too, wears her enthusiasm proudly, and the arena-rockerâs posture she carries suggests that thereâs something here. It just never shows up, though. Some atrocious sound in the venue doesnât 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 itâs not like any of this is new for a Cassyette live set; frequently, theyâll be grasping at a height that they only get close to reaching in their mind. Tonight, thatâs 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, itâs to be expected that youâd 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 Wayâaccompanied by erratic spotlights to pierce the low, sickly backlightâthereâs 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 itâs the freedom of a headline show, opposed to a festival set; maybe itâs just yet another round of natural tuning up. Either way, theyâre on flying form.
The fact that this is their newest big homecoming could also play a part. You rarely consider that with bands whoâve got an international reach, but with the urbanised, distinctly British grit thatâs coated Hot Milkâs sound as of late, theyâve 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 itâs caught by one her now-standard quips (âI donât wanna get too soppy âcos my periodâs ending and thatâs my excuseâ), 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.
Itâs likely why theyâre the heaviest theyâve ever been, with Swallow Thisâ cinderblock riff and a bass hit on I JUST WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN IâM DEAD that could easily crack a less-firm sternum. Jim Shawâs screams, too, have really been allowed to stretch their legs. Theyâre now an integral part of the Hot Milk canon, so much so that Sympathy Symphony, where heâs at the head of the stage, claw-handing like heâs fronting Lorna Shore or something, is far from the anomaly it wouldâve been a few years ago. In fact, thereâs no heavier element to Hot Milk today that can be called anything but a roaring success. Theyâve 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 thatâs been retooled into its so-called âNightmare Versionââunrecognisably 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. Meeâs aforementioned display of gratitude is a one-off for vulnerability; more often, sheâs got a bandolier of jibes locked and loaded for pit-ready purposes, almost hardcore in essence. âWhen this kicks in, I wanna see brains on the floorâ is reliable; âI wanna see clit in the fookinâ pitâ couldnât have come from anyone else. The spirit of pop-rock hasnât been entirely exorcised, either, at least not as far as choruses are concerned. With Corporation P.O.P., Hot Milkâs 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 itâs clear how stacked this catalogue has now become.
By the end of it, if youâre not a true believer in Hot MilkâŠwell, you probably werenât here, then. Their exponential rise has always been the result of advantageous output and hard work, and the fruits of that labour that theyâre producing now are the sweetest yet. With a beaming smile painted on Meeâs face during Glass Spiders, that really seals it all. Not only are Hot Milk popular, but theyâre popular in ways that are worthwhile, and having that translate with nary a hitch is whatâs put them so high on British rockâs pecking order. If they keep this up, expect their next âbiggest show to dateâ to arrive at breakneck speed.
Words by Luke Nuttall
Photos by Maryleen Guevara (Instagram / Website)
