Queensrÿche @ Beanfield Theatre▪

Honestly, I’m not 100% sure why I’m here tonight. My gig calendar has been running a little lean the last 3 weeks, with another week until Belle & Sebastian come to town, so with tonight’s show in need of a reviewer, I threw my hat into the ring. If nothing else, it would be a nice change to feel like the youngest person in the room for a change!

How’s this for a backstory: I first heard of Queensrÿche thanks to The Vandals’ ridiculous 1998 ode to mullets, “I’ve Got An Ape Drape.”

“Go ahead and buzz it ’round the ears / I’ve been growin’ that one braid back there for years / I’ve had it since the first time I saw Queensrӱche.”

Pretty sure that’s not how the band wanted to reach new fans, but it worked for me! I listened to them on and off since then, but I must admit, I definitely feel out of my depth tonight around all these hardcore metalheads that have clearly followed them since the 80s!

The show itself is completely sold out, and the Beanfield balcony is as packed as I’ve ever seen it; not even a single seat for this lone wolf except for the back row! The lights drop, and a creepy recorded voice describes 5 freedom fighters who are the only hope for the enslaved world (or something), and right on cue, the band appears, dressed all in black except for frontman Todd La Torre, who is sporting a Habs jersey. But the white away jersey, though, not the hell-coloured red one I am not sure how he plans to help me escape my enslavement in that thing; it’s way too bright and conspicuous.

The set starts with a run-through of their 1982 self-titled EP, and as Todd unloads his Bruce Dickinson-esque howl over Michael Wilton and Mike Stone’s shredding riffs, I realize: This is amazing! Like, everything I imagine 80s hair metal would have been! Each band member even has their own podium to climb up on (except bassist Eddie Jackson, weirdly; perhaps he’s tall enough already)! Todd seems to leave the stage a lot when his vocals are not required, often multiple times in the same song, which is unusual; maybe he’s got the playoffs running at the side of the stage. After one pit-stop, just prior to “The Lady Wore Black,” he returns sans Habs jersey, now all in black, restoring my faith in the source of my dark salvation after all. Once the EP is done, next up on deck is 1984 debut “The Warning,” which arrives in a flurry of lasers and sirens. Todd is wearing a black leather trench now, so I definitely know he’s gonna save me.

There are times when it definitely feels like the rest of the crowd needs saving; for a metal show, the audience is pretty chilled, with zero sign of a mosh pit or a crowd surfer. Makes sense I guess, given the age demographic of the evening, but it’s definitely a contrast to other metal shows I’ve been to.

The band is unfazed by that, of course. The riffs on “Deliverance” are a sonic masterpiece (even if all I can see is Jack Black urging me to raise my ‘goblet of rock’ the minute I see a guitar pick being raised aloft), and the duelling guitar intros on “NM 156” are a spectacle to behold, too. “No Sanctuary” seems structurally similar to Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters,” which you have to remind yourself actually came 8 years later!

The crowd finally stirs to life on “Take Hold of the Flame,” belting out a rousing singalong that draws Todd’s appreciation: “It’s not often we get to Canada. Thanks for making us feel right at home!” The intro to “Before The Storm” is as shredding as anything else that came before it, before the main set closes out with “Road To Madness,” which, I’m not gonna lie, reminded me of the ironic “Pain For Pleasure” by Sum 41. After a brief pause, the show closes out with an encore of 1984’s “Prophecy” and 1986’s “Screaming in Digital,” the latter of which is probably one of the best show conclusions I’ve witnessed in a long time, a blinding display of strobe lights and a pummeling double bass drum courtesy of Casey Grillo, who is barely visible behind one of the biggest drum setups you are ever likely to see.

All in all, it’s an epic 85 minutes, and by the time the band leave the stage, I feel thoroughly emancipated. All hail our saviours!