189. Stone Sour
Roundhouse
18 June 2018
Stone Sour are one of those bands that exist somewhere between the mosh pit and the motivational seminar. One of my friends is a huge fan and enjoyed them so much the first time around, he was back at it again dragging me along with him, although, on the strength of this band’s last outing, there was little resistance from me hiking it up to Chalk Farm with him.
Corey Taylor is a natural showman, and it is his charisma that is the gravitational force holding it all together. Part rock god, part stand-up comic, part motivational speaker who’s accidentally wandered into a metal band. Between songs he’s charming and disarmingly funny, talking about love, loss, and how he still can’t believe anyone listens to his lyrics. Then, without warning, he detonates into another chorus of screamed catharsis that could strip the varnish off a church door.
Musically, Stone Sour sit at that curious intersection between old-school metal and post-grunge sincerity, a place where huge riffs meet heartfelt choruses, and everyone secretly enjoys it more than they admit. “Say You’ll Haunt Me” and “Tired” sound colossal, built for arenas rather than the Roundhouse’s curved walls, which barely contains the noise, like boxing up an angry animal.
The band themselves are razor-sharp: Josh Rand’s guitars crunch like tectonic plates colliding, Roy Mayorga drums like a man trying to send a message to the gods, and Johnny Chow’s bass rumbles so hard you can feel it in your fillings. Yet, for all the volume, for all the pyrotechnic precision, there’s a strange warmth at the heart of it. “Bother” is stripped down, heartfelt, almost tender, Taylor’s voice raw and cracked. It’s a reminder that beneath the mask (literal and metaphorical), he’s one of the best frontmen of his generation, a man who can make a crowd of snarling metalheads cry into their cider.
The new Hydrograd material fares surprisingly well live. “Song #3” becomes a communal anthem, all fists in the air and singalong catharsis, while “Fabuless” closes the main set in a hurricane of lights, flames, smoke, and pure theatre. Corey pogoing, hair flying, grin wide enough to swallow Camden whole.
As the final encore fades and the lights go up, Taylor takes a moment, hands on hips, soaking in the adoration. “You guys are the best,” he says, and for once, it doesn’t sound like rockstar banter. It sounds genuine.
Stone Sour may never rewrite the rulebook, but they don’t need to. They’ve mastered their craft: heavy enough for the faithful, melodic enough for the curious, and with enough heart to make even the cynics nod along. Corey Taylor doesn’t do half measures. He gives everything: volume, humour, sincerity, and a wink that says he knows exactly how ridiculous it all is. And that, frankly, is why he’s brilliant.