2023-11-15 | The Wonder Years, Origami Angel | Shepherd's Bush Empire, London |

Another late post from me. Part of me feels guilty to not be advertisting how great this gig was while the UK tour was still ongoing, but then again, with the levels of fandom on display I have no doubt that fans of The Wonder Years had ththeir tickets well in advance.

I’m a recent initiate to both Origami Angel and The Wonder Years, however (as Spotify Wrapped informs me), the latter have quickly become my most listened to band of the past year. Being a midlands chap, I was somewhat gutted to see no local date on The Wonder Years’ tour, however this was a great excuse to visit London to attend with the pop punk brethren.

When I got round to booking my ticket, the only ones available were for the balcony. I flat out refused to not be in the midst of the action and took to Twickets to find a second hand ticket. Weeks I waited, being teased repeatedly by emails notifying me of tickets for Manchester and Cardiff. When a London ticket became available, it was as a pair and I jumped at the opportunity - I wasn’t missing this gig for love nor money.

I’d missed Origami Angel in Nottingham a few months prior due to it being sold out, so I was delighted when I found out they were supporting (I’d conveniently forgotten until the day before).

I’d been offered some floorspace in Mathmo’s Finchley flat and made my way down the morning of for a few hours in the office ahead of the event. As this was a purely personal trip, I opted for the cheap seats on account of not being able to justify travel expenses. I sat in Nero sipping tea, fiddling with my MacBook and listening to my brand new AirPods like a failed hipster as I awaited my off-peak slot.

After a semi-productive day, I left the office reasonably early, but was delayed, both by taking the chance to check out the showers for the next morning and trying to follow directions to Moorgate station as my phone sat nav became thoroughly confused. This meant hitting the tube at rush hour and I was on the verge of a claustrophobia attack - nightmarish city.

Arriving late in Finchley to drop my overnight gear put us in Shepherd’s Bush late (I did stop for a very dirty burger that I devoured on the overground). Upon arriving at the venue, I was consulting Gigregator for which gig I’d attended here before, and had happy memories of seeing Sonata Arctica and the sadly missed Power Quest. As expected given our arrival time, we entered without queue and I leveraged one of my two tickets - sadly no replacement punters had been found, but the experience was well worth the double fee.

My memories of Shepherd’s Bush Empire having a great buzz were well founded - it was packed out for what we correctly estimated to be the closing handful of tracks from Origami Angel’s set. The duo put on an entertaining show, producing and impressive soundscape. I was unable to discern whether they were using some sort of backing track, but was nevertheless delighted to catch a couple of recognisable favourites, despite not being excellently versed on the band.

My relief was palpable to find that we’d arrived in time for my favourite of their tracks, 24 Hr Drive-Thru, but dashed by some uninterested lad and his girlfriend quizzing me on my earplugs just as I wanted to scream about being sad and alone with no one home - good job I’m a tolerant chap. I was also pleased to hear The Title Track in-person and the frenetic drumming 666 Flags making for a great finisher. I sincerely hope that despite missing half of the set, I can still be part of the Gami Gang now…

The Wonder Years made an entrance to dramatic narrative about the significance of their magnum opus, The Greatest Generation, which they were playing back-to-front. The sense of expectation was ripe as they embarked with the sombre tones of There, There. This was more than a fine intro, but for me a mere appetiser for Passing Through A Screen Door - figures given this was my most played song of the year according to Spotify Wrapped and I’ve memorised every word despite not being a stickler for lyrics. The energy in the room for this track was a sight to behold, with Soupy’s fan hyping going down a storm. Reviews of my video from this track have shown he could certainly get away with letting the crowd undertake all the vocal responsibilities.

I declared to my comrades earlier in the day that there was little doubt in my mind that Dismantling Summer would reduce me to tears, and my declaration proved entirely correct. As the first of The Wonder Years tracks to catch my ear purely thanks to the stupendously melodic “If I’m in an airport…”, I’d become well acquainted with the track over the last 6 months. Particularly over the weeks leading up to the gig, the song had gained a whole new level significance for me, as I’d repeated it religiously on drives to visit my dearly departed mum in the hospital bed she passed away in 2 weeks prior to the gig - I’m glad to have received a video clip of this bridge, as I was too busy losing my dignity and crying uncontrollably onto my mate’s shoulder. There were decidedly gentler tears to follow when the time came for Devil In My Bloodstream, one of the catchiest chorus melodies on the record for my money.

While Soupy waxed lyrical between many of the tracks, the most interesting for me definitely preceded Teenage Parents, the starting point for what he revealed as the least played handful of The Greatest Generation tracks across all the band’s tours. The crowd well and truly took the bait of proving the band wrong in so frequently omitting such certified bangers from their setlists. While the final third of the album surely has some great tracks, there was an unmistakable anticipation in the air for the finale, I Just Want To Sell Out My Funeral, which my friends assured me would have them bawling along with me. For the unfamiliar, the concept piece weaves together hooks from the other songs on the album in a gloriously crocheted bundle of delightful misery. After another moment of weakness in this song, I was supported by those around me, including the unknown bloke and his girlfriend to our side, despite me conspicuously checking her out earlier in the set.

The band were untraditionally forward about their encore, promising a slew of their most loved hits, many of which (they were smug to announce) came from the latest album, The Hum Goes On Forever. I was certainly pleased to indulge in the fantasy of “growing out my hair, ‘cause who gives a shit” in Low Tide and as promised beforehand, the show closed with Came Out Swinging to the moshy delight of the 30-something old man emos. Post-gig, I was pleased to see and old friend from my first year of uni and replenish my vocal chords by sucking down a pint of Aspall in the pub next door. After a late return to Finchley and a crash on a mattress in the front room, I pulled some clothes on in the morning and made for the tube to beat the rush. As I approached the office for a much needed shower and breakfast sandwich, I had high hopes that the ripe smell no doubt emanating from me confirmed to bystanders that a great night was had.