Home Front are one of Canada's best bands, in any genre, full stop, period. Hailing from Edmonton, Home Front was formed in 2021 by Graeme McKinnon (lead vocals, guitar, bass) and Clint Frazier (drums, synths/keyboards, programming), two DIY stalwarts who have played in numerous bands (McKinnon was in No Problem and Wednesday Night Heroes, while Frazier played in Shout Out Out Out Out and Physical Copies) and have now turned their diverse styles and influences into the behemoth that is Home Front.
Mixing the stomp of Oi! and the bluntness of hardcore with pulsating rhythms and McKinnon's gruff croon, the duo has released one full length and two EPs of throbbing, pit-worthy post-punk. Paz, Crass, New Order, Blitz, and Echo and the Bunnymen all show up, demanding both moshing and dancing in equal measure. This danceable dichotomy was on full display at the Velvet Underground Friday night, which saw the band kicking off a huge coast-to-coast tour.
Toronto's (via Calgary) Siyahkal opened the festivities with their blend of pummeling hardcore and driving punk. Walking onto a barely lit, blue-tinged stage amidst ambient noise and vocal samples, the band exploded with furious abandon right out of the gate, all squealing feedback and growls, their crushing rhythm section somehow keeping it all together — rhythmic cacophony, if you will. The swaying bodies eventually started thrashing, although it took a while to get them moving. The band, unperturbed by the audience's somewhat muted response, ripped through their Farsi-sung burners with unbridled rage and energy while their lead singer stood hooded and barely moving in the middle of the stage, the microphone disappearing into the formless depths of his cowl.
Fist pumpin' and boot stompin' permeated the room as Montreal's Béton Armé took the stage and delivered their rousing brand of '80s-inspired Oi! Filled with hooks, tasty gang vocals, and an abundance of wordless chanting, the band's meaty set maintained a steady drive that never wavered. Infused with both bounce and aggression, their music is melodic, catchy and powerful. It was just such a fun set, thanks in no small part to lead singer Prestone, who bounded across the stage, throwing his fist in the air and himself into the chorus of voices in the front row. He danced, sauntered and rallied the crowd, altogether owning the scene. At set's end, he entered the frenzied pit he'd whipped up, humbly joining the fray (unlike so many stage-centric performers who constantly request that they see a "fuckin' pit" but rarely — if ever — enter it themselves). He was relentless, and it was beautiful. Béton Armé are essential. No hyperbole, the stomp is real. Get with it.
Home Front deserve all of the accolades and praise heaped upon them. On record, they're icy, rugged and penetrative; live, they're another force altogether, an incendiary force both polished and unruly, the "punk" in their contemporary post-punk more prominently taking over.
Leaning heavily on last year's Jonah Falco-produced Games of Power, the commanding five-piece band grooved and growled, with Frazier's ethereal synths and Ian Rowley's bruising, crunchy guitar swirling beautifully with the formidable rhythm section. Brandi Strauss's serpentine bass swam through Warren Oostlander's pounding drums, never satisfied with simply bubbling under the beats, rising above and through and beyond as the band's melodic backbone.
McKinnon's voice was even raspier, louder and more aggressive than on record, which clearly suited the jean-and-leather jacketed crowd in front of him. He's a ferocious performer, stalking the stage like a caged animal waiting for its chance to maim. When the music exploded or rose, so too did McKinnon, high kicking, slinking, stomping and flailing as he delivered himself unto the audience. In return, the voracious crowd happily fed off his unbridled energy, dancing, head banging, stage diving, and joyously singing along. In fact, before the set even started, McKinnon wanted to "see you motherfuckers move," and the crowd delivered.
Although most hips were certainly swaying, there was still a sense of ironic affectation from some of the more cynical crowd members. Most egregiously, some guy kept his back turned to the stage for almost the entire duration of the band's performance, talking loudly with an equally distracted group of attendees. Sometimes, this city is the worst.
Nevertheless, such brazen displays of assholery were very few and far between, and the crowd reciprocated the band's unwavering energy. "Faded State" resulted in a rapturous sing along, with Frazier's twinkling keyboard lines soaring through the venue. During "Bit of Dust," McKinnon took off his jacket to reveal a tank top that read "DEVO WAS RIGHT"— a sentiment which unfortunately rings all too true these days. "Nation" unsurprisingly inspired the most enthusiastic crowd response, with bodies, fists, cameras and voices all thrust into the air. At set's end, the band played a riveting version of your new favourite song, Blitz's "New Age." McKinnon practically climbed on top of the front row, humbly sharing the mic with the audience, becoming an elated fan himself.
And just like that, the night was done: no encore, no pretence, just one of Canada's best new bands paying proper dues to a criminally underrated group they clearly love. It was triumphant, rapturous and cathartic. If you've thus far slept on Home Front, you better wake up.