Ethereal Metal

Ryan Murray | Co-Owner | Chief Editor | Contributor | Photographer

r.m.music84@gmail.com

The Barclays Center in Brooklyn was alive long before the first note hit the speakers. Nearly 19,000 fans packed the arena, a mix of longtime devotees and curious newcomers, all drawn to Sleep Token — a band that, in just a few short years, has transformed from an enigmatic online presence into an international phenomenon. Their 2024 signing with RCA and the release of Even in Arcadia propelled them into a new stratosphere of attention, and tickets for this North American arena tour sold out within days. Anticipation was tangible, a current running through the crowd that made the air electric, setting the perfect stage for what was about to unfold.

Thornhill – Heralds of the Fire

By the time Thornhill hit the stage, the arena was already charged with anticipation. The Australian quartet commanded attention from the first note, their presence both precise and feral, exuding the confidence of a band that had clearly spent years honing their craft. Jacob Charlton wielded his vocals like a weapon and a balm in equal measure, alternating between soaring cleans that lifted the crowd into almost ecstatic euphoria and guttural screams that shook the floor and rattled the walls. The emotional weight of his delivery drew the audience in, making even the vast arena feel intimate.

Ethan McCann carved through the sound with guitar lines that were at once intricate and atmospheric, weaving textures that expanded the depth of each track. Nick Sjogren grounded the band with thunderous bass, every note precise, anchoring the chaos above. Ben Maida drove the rhythm with relentless intensity, each drum fill punctuating the music’s tension-and-release moments with perfect timing.

The setlist was a masterclass in dynamics. Tracks like Tongues and Revolver ignited the pit, the audience responding with raw, kinetic energy that mirrored the music’s jagged peaks. Yet it wasn’t relentless aggression — quieter moments, such as Charlton’s melodic passages on For Now, created pauses that felt weighty, almost sacred, drawing the arena inward as fans collectively held their breath.

Visually, Thornhill matched their sonic energy with careful choreography and lighting. Spotlights traced each movement, bursts of strobing light accentuated breakdowns, and the band’s physicality; jumping, leaning into the riffs, interacting with one another added a kinetic layer that made the performance feel larger than life. They engaged the audience directly, coaxing hands in the air, encouraging shouts and chants, and creating a sense that the pit was not just part of the show, but a living, breathing extension of the band itself.

What’s most impressive is that Thornhill never felt like a support act. They brought the focus entirely to themselves, establishing their sound, presence, and emotional depth without relying on theatrics or the weight of the headliner. By the end of their 40-minute set, the crowd was not just warmed up, they were transformed, fully primed for the main ritual that Sleep Token would soon unleash.

The Ritual

As Thornhill’s final notes faded, the Barclays Center fell into a tense, expectant silence. A whisper of wind coursed through the speakers, and fog began to creep across the arena floor. The lights dimmed, the first synth pads of Look to Windward rising through the haze, and the colossal curtain dropped to reveal the elaborate stage ruins. When Vessel emerged, the crowd erupted in a deafening roar, the screams shaking the very foundations of the arena.

II, III, and IV occupied the stage with ritual precision, with II perched in his drum sanctuary up high among the ruins. Behind them, the masked voices of Espera floated within the structure, their harmonies weaving an ethereal tapestry.

From the first notes, the performance felt like a ceremony rather than a concert. As the night progressed, Emergence placed Vessel behind the keys, his vocals carrying the strain of expectation, the weight of myth, and the cost of breathing it into being. The crowd responded not with chaos, but with a collective exhale, a release of tension they had carried long before entering the arena.

Alkaline framed Vessel in descending light fixtures, his voice climbing into aching registers before the band crashed in with waves of sound. Rain followed, a moment of pure release and healing: Vessel vulnerable at the keys, Espera’s harmonies enveloping him. The song carried the weight of past traumas, and with nearly 19,000 voices lifted together as if cleansing old scars, my own among them, it became a shared catharsis, one that transcended performance.

Caramel showcased the fragility of the human side beneath the myth. Vessel’s voice broke on the closing lines:

“So I’ll keep dancin’ along to the rhythm

This stage is a prison, a beautiful nightmare

A war of attrition, I’ll take what I’m given

The deepest incisions, I thought I got better

But maybe I didn’t.”

In that fleeting crack, Vessel’s voice betrayed a raw vulnerability, showing the human weight behind the performance.

There’s a vulnerability here, and it’s the kind that can’t be hidden. Even in the vast arena, the audience quieted in reverence, each person feeling the weight of the song as if it were their own. The tension released in The Summoning, the pit erupting, yet the performance retained an almost ceremonial cohesion. Interludes flowed seamlessly, the set feeling like one continuous, ritualistic journey through Arcadia.

Then that vulnerability gives way to Damocles, a stripped-down yet powerful track. Vessel’s voice carried the tension of the sword hanging overhead, each line a question: “What if I can’t get up and stand tall? / What if the diamond days are all gone?” The arena quieted in reverence, absorbing the weight of the performance.

The performance closed with Infinite Baths, a breathtaking wave of stillness. Vessel’s voice floated over the soundscape as the audience collectively exhaled, suspended in a moment that felt both ending and absolution. The crowd departed not simply exhilarated, but altered, bonded together by the emotional gravity of what had been witnessed.

By the time the final notes dissolved into silence, the weight of what had been witnessed lingered. Sleep Token didn’t simply play songs; they enacted a ritual, one that demanded vulnerability, catharsis, and surrender. The crowd left not only exhilarated but altered, bound together by something they couldn’t quite name.

Because in the end, this is what Sleep Token offers: not a concert, but a gathering where myth and humanity collide.

**ALL PHOTOS OF SLEEP TOKEN COURTESY OF ADAMROSS WILLIAMS**