Review: August Burns Red at Freo.Social

August Burns Red at Freo.Social
w/ I Promised The World, The Gloom In The Corner
Sunday, September 27, 2026

WA’s King’s Birthday long weekend had already given Fremantle one hell of a bruising. A little over 24 hours after the Dockers lost the AFL Grand Final to Brisbane, Freo.Social opened its doors for another full-contact spectacle. This time, August Burns Red and support acts were administering the punishment.

Fallweather did not appear at the Fremantle show, leaving The Gloom In The Corner to open proceedings. They began by offering their commiserations to the battered Freo faithful. Having last visited Freo.Social in July 2025 while supporting Make Them Suffer, the Melbourne quartet knew exactly how to weaponise the room.

Vocalist Mikey Arthur stalked the stage with the menace of a young Jens Kidman. His voice covered considerably more ground, moving between soaring cleans, piercing highs and guttural bellows. Guitarist Jesse Abdurazak’s ringing effects filled Freo.Social, while drummer Joshua Clinch kept the band’s violent rhythmic lurches under control.

Bassist Paul Musolino was impossible to overlook, both for the frizzy locks contrasting with the surrounding bald heads and the chest-rattling drops anchoring those fat breakdowns. His caustic backing vocals added another abrasive layer whenever the songs required an additional dose of venom.

Tracks including You Didn’t Like Me Then (You Won’t Like Me Now) and Nope (Hollow Point Elysium) unfolded like miniature horror films in which the antagonist had somehow become the hero. Assassination Run was aptly dedicated to “those bloody Brisbane Lions supporters” before Gloom administered one final cinematic beating. It was heavy music arranged like a horror score, grotesque, theatrical and ridiculously fun.

I Promised The World dispensed with ceremony, rolling directly from their line check into the opening song. Within seconds, the six-piece were bouncing across the stage at full intensity, turning a functional transition into an unexpectedly effective entrance.

Their melodic instincts sat somewhere between Perth’s Illyria and Still Remains, while their manic energy recalled early Bring Me The Horizon after one caffeine hit too many. Vocalist Hunter Wilson hurled himself around like a young Oli Sykes and delivered a tutorial in textbook fry screaming. Guitarist and clean vocalist Caleb Molina provided the melodic counterweight, although excessive gain on his microphone caused some early feedback.

Molina and guitarist Mason Nowlin layered punshing riffs with clean passages approaching shoegaze. Nowlin, the blond guitarist who bore more than a passing resemblance to a young Randy Rhoads, threw himself into the heavier sections alongside Wilson.

The third song, Proud, pulled the set into moodier territory. Bassist Rivers Shutt and synthesiser player Zain Omar stepped to the front of the arrangement, supplying much of its weight and atmosphere, while drummer Mason Zschau punctuated the refrain with prominent snare rimshots. It was a welcome demonstration that the band could create tension without relying entirely on breakdowns. Zschau remained the instrumental standout, switching between restraint and outright violence without losing the song underneath.

Wilson’s banter was sporadic but memorable. “Perth, Australia, is a lot better than Texas,” he declared, later describing Australia as “a way better version of the United Kingdom” during the band’s first visit here.

Omar also found himself drawn into some unscheduled crowd interaction when an entire section of the room began demanding, “What’s in your backpack?” The chant became an unlikely call and response between songs. Omar never surrendered the information, perhaps wisely. Some secrets should remain between a synthesiser player and his carry-on luggage.

The floor became increasingly volatile as the set progressed. An early circle pit quickly grew beyond the most committed dancers, while the bass drops and breakdowns repeatedly triggered fresh bursts of movement. A Pure Expression provided a singalong for those outside the chaos, before Don’t Just Stand There opened the floor for proper slam dancing.

Tears on the Moon was another highlight, allowing the band’s melodic side to breathe without surrendering the tension beneath it. Molina’s cleans and the chiming guitar layers gave the song an emotional pull that stood apart from the surrounding carnage.

By the closing, Bliss in 7 Languages, the slam dancing had hit overdrive. Bodies pinballed across the floor as the final breakdowns landed, completing a performance that grew considerably more assured and dangerous with every song.

Then the entire character of the evening changed.

The lights dropped, and a cinematic symphony surged through Freo.Social. Orange beams cut through the haze as August Burns Red emerged, not simply as the next band on the bill, but as the main event everyone had been bracing for. The scale, lighting and sheer authority of their entrance instantly made the stage appear larger.

Their setlist proved equally commanding, finding the perfect balance between newer material and the older songs that built their reputation. Rather than leaning on nostalgia or treating recent releases as obligatory promotion, August Burns Red allowed every era to strengthen the next.

Lead guitarist JB Brubaker immediately took command of opener Meddler, its melodic leads and guitar solo cutting across rhythm guitarist Brent Rambler’s muscular playing. Lead vocalist Jake Luhrs twirled his microphone while bellowing, “The gallows were not supposed to look like this.” Behind them, drummer Matt Greiner’s precision made the song’s constant rhythmic pivots feel effortless.

The early arrival of material from Constellations and Messengers was enthusiastically received. These songs were not token acknowledgements of the past. They remained foundational parts of the band’s live identity.

Luhrs called for a circle pit as Back Burner detonated, with “Gather all your possessions” serving as an unofficial starting gun. Brubaker, Rambler and bassist and backing vocalist Dustin Davidson leant, dipped and snapped upright in synchronised movements through its most mosh friendly passages, visually driving each breakdown into the crowd.

The band had only arrived in Australia the previous day, with Luhrs saying they felt “thankful and blessed to be here”. Any jet lag was invisible throughout Sonic Salvation, where piercing shrieks and pitched screams tore across another barrage of Greiner’s rhythmic precision.

The Eleventh Hour summoned an especially vocal response from the older fans. Its final command of “Give up, give in, no matter what, it’s your decision” was hurled back from the floor before Paramount brought Davidson’s melodic backing vocals and the crowd’s wordless refrain into focus.

Introducing The Nameless, Luhrs described the new single as “slightly aggressive” and invited those in the pit to “connect with each other through physical acts of love”. Its firm, meaty grooves demonstrated how comfortably the newer material sat besides the classics.

Purple and green strobes then carried the band directly into Behemoth. The declaration that “Death will fear me” arrived with suitable force, as Davidson’s bass and Greiner’s kick drums gave the song a colossal physical presence.

Then came Bloodletter, one of the most bludgeoning performances of the night.

Brubaker’s wailing lead guitar sharpened its edges, while Rambler and Davidson locked into a rhythmic churn seemingly designed to rearrange internal organs. The defiance of “We won’t fall in line” gave way to the blunt verdict, “Your purpose is pointless.” The three instrumentalists moved as one during its heaviest sections, heads dropping and bodies folding with the riffs. Below them, the circle pit disintegrated into absolute chaos as slam dancers and flailing bodies consumed every available patch of floor.

Den of Thieves briefly changed the complexion of the set, introducing more swing into the guitars without surrendering any intensity. Its looser groove offered a momentary reset before the band snapped straight back into that unmistakable ABR precision.

By Invisible Enemy, crowd surfers were already moving overhead. Greiner navigated its frequent changes in time signature and abrupt accents with machine-like accuracy, while Luhrs and Davidson traded vocals over Brubaker and Rambler’s interlocking guitars. The expanded circle pit and surrounding mosh went into overdrive.

The wordless gang refrain of Empire gave the room another welcome release before Luhrs presented his final challenge. “How many people in this crowd have never crowd surfed before? Guess what, it’s time to make a memory.”

During Exhumed, those first timers were duly carried overhead towards the stage, where Luhrs greeted them with fist bumps. Its references to “undoing my memories” and declaring “My demons die today” gave that invitation an unexpected resonance. Their intimidating music was never allowed to overwhelm the sense of connection. As Luhrs reminded the room, “After all, it’s angry music for happy people.”

Then came Mariana’s Trench, and holy fuck.

The recognition was immediate, with one of the loudest reactions of the evening greeting its opening notes. The command to “Prepare for the struggle, prepare to engage” sounded less like a lyric than a warning. Greiner’s rolling percussion and Davidson’s low end turned the venue into a pressure chamber as the song steadily climbed.

Brubaker’s landmark solo then erupted above it all. It did not merely provide the night’s melodic guitar peak. With bodies churning below and every instrument pushing towards the same towering release, it felt like the entire set had been building towards that moment.

Greiner was then given the spotlight. Air raid sirens sounded before a dulcet voice announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for.”

His ensuing drum solo was absurd, displaying power, control and musicality rather than empty theatrics. Greiner then drove the band directly into Composure. The warning that “your demeanour looks like quicksand” accompanied another surge across the floor, before White Washed delivered one final eruption of circle pits, synchronised headbanging, slam dancing and crowd surfing chaos.

From The Gloom In The Corner’s cinematic menace, through I Promised The World’s caffeinated melodic volatility, to August Burns Red’s career spanning masterclass, the evening celebrated every shade of modern metalcore. It began with commiserations for a wounded town and ended with hundreds of happy people willingly throwing themselves into angry music. Fremantle had spent its long weekend learning that bruises come in different forms. Some break your heart. Others become souvenirs.

ANDY JONES