No one has had, or can likely ever have again, the career trajectory of Poppy. To go from an uncanny robo-doll on YouTube to one of the foremost female representatives of alt-metal is basically non-replicable, no matter how much Poppy herself seems to want to distance herself from that pipeline. Her current work is not only unrecognisable from those first couple of albums, but the inkling of what used to be isnât even there. This yearâs Empty Hands is her fifth album in the alt-metal style, far enough in to dismiss this as a gimmick or an experiment. No, evidently, this is music that Poppy wants to make, and that people want her to make.
Regardless of its qualitative ups and downs, itâs only become more ironed out over time as Poppy has found herself legitimised in modern heavy music. Grumble if you want (people have and will continue to), but at least itâs a position being used for good. Itâs easy to fixate on Poppyâs aesthetic and performative elements and leave it at that, rather than how her reach has been extended to uplift others in the scene. If that werenât the case, youâd have the usual carousel of TikTok-sprouted edge-girls supporting, instead of some cool metalcore bands deserving of the platform.
Fox Lake, while acknowledging TikTokâs own role in their profile, certainly have more to offer than just Freestyle as a one-off. Their cavalcade of Stray From The Path-esque poundings remains pretty consistent throughout, subject to sometimes-wonky vocal mixing that Nathan Johnson finds no issue in powering through. When youâre packing a song called Pure Adrenaline, thatâs kinda the standard you need to meet, after all. And with the rapcore meat at their disposal (with special mention going to Zach Swafford and the slam of his bass), Fox Lake really do play a blinder. âWeâre your cardio for the day,â declares Johnson, aware of the heat and effort exerted from both sides of the barrier. Dog Eat Dog plummets; Excessive Damage is two-step-ready; GaslightâŠis dedicated to Paleface Swiss, for whatever reason; it all lands. Amid all of that, the ease and confidence of Fox Lake never falters, deservedly so.
A good few leaps upward from that, though, land Ocean Grove. No shade to Fox Lake whatsoever, but the apex of an exuberant glow within alt-metal isnât lightly contended with. Itâs in the smallest matters, too, like when frontman Dale Tannerâalready permanently beamingâcomes out with something as simple as âBack in Australia, we like to have a fun time.â For Tanner, that manifests in spins, jumps and air-punches, soundtracked by a grungey metal concoction thatâs dense but notably euphoric. Hell, RAINDROP is basically alt-metal shaped into a sweaty rave cut. Screams also come out when needed like on MY DISASTER, though you wonât find those moments topping the blissful quickstep of Ask For The Anthem, or the banging, colour-pumped closing pair of JUNKIE$ and FLY AWAY. The only thing resembling a misstep is the stodgy ballad LAST DANCE; otherwise, Ocean Grove are golden.
Nevertheless, this is one of those bills where the presence of anyone but the headliner might as well be immaterial. Yes, thereâs a lot of love for both Fox Lake and Ocean Grove, but when the glittery mic stand is brought out and the opening tape declares âYou are now inside the houseâŠthe house of Poppyâ, the idea that anyone else might squeak out something more memorable is out the window. If anything, itâs all engineered for that to be the case. Hereâs Poppy, the visualisation of a sound loaded with idiosyncrasies as she contrasts metal moves and fraught screams with the frilly gown sheâs wearing. On top of that, sheâs joined by anonymous, masked musicians in stage blacks, if you couldnât tell where any and all attention should be directed.
To be fair, itâs not like it isnât justified. Poppy is unfailingly magnetic as a presence, even with a lot of her uncanny weirdness (even from earlier in her metal days) isolated entirely in her sweeter speaking voice. Instead, thereâs more a technical showcase to be wowed by, where mid-song switch-ups seldom miss. Scary Mask is the first major one, stitching its gauzy slowdowns into big, bouncy metal hits that always leave a crater in their wake. In general, you spot just how much variety there is in Poppyâs catalogue that mightnât always get its due notice. In a genre thatâs become as spirit-sappingly homogenous as alt-metal has, a simple kick in tempo like with Public Domain or crystallized is an actual godsend. As far as more blunt, singalong-ready cracks go, the centerâs falling out and Time Will Tell have those covered too, even if the latter is as clear a showcase of Poppyâs limitations as youâll get tonight. She canât soar as high as its chorus demands and, thus, winds up a bit shrill, but the effort to try is not lost.
If thereâs anything to be gleaned from a set like this, it really is that effort. Nothing about this reads in any other way than true desire coming out; the want to deliver a great alt-metal experience is here. It helps that Poppy is not only capable of that, but sheâs almost hotwired her way to getting there. Thereâs a commandeering energy she brings to Anything Like Me through a nonchalant sway. Directly after, have you had enough? has the beginnings of her wielding the mic stand like a weapon to really pin down the songâs groove. Even V.A.N. later on is given a much-needed personality infusion, to where youâd never believe itâs actually your typical Bad Omens slog.
At the centre of all of this, Poppy shines most as a screamer, arguably where her current artistic persona is most tactfully sketched. Dexterity counts for a lot, which she definitely has, but thereâs always a thrill to these nervy vampire shrieks coming in on a sixpence, demolishing the girlish visual that Poppy cultivates. Itâs most apparent on Empty Hands, the setâs pinnacle of heaviness culminating in a silhouetted, pig-squealing Poppy that might be worth the price of admission alone. That single moment could probably put paid to assertions of not being a âseriousâ metal artist; most of the time, the actual âseriousâ ones arenât leaving you with an image that striking. Rather, Poppyâs unconventional beginning has conflated into the main mainstream metal path, and sheâs simply going about it in a way that lets her succeed. Even if some screws still need tightening, itâs plain to see why the enthusiasm and admiration is so potent. After all, in this lane, thereâs no one quite like Poppy.
Words by Luke Nuttall
