Holmdel, NJ – 29 Aug 2025
Feel so loud that tomorrow hears you
PNC Bank Arts Center always finds a way to fuck with me. Will call in particular has never gone smoothly. I swear the universe has my photo in its urinal whenever I show up here. Tonight was no different.I had a photo pass waiting, but due to a list issue, I never got it. That meant the photos you’ll see are, somehow, even shittier than normal. But honestly, who cares? These tickets were a birthday gift for my wife, and as luck would have it, they doubled as a victory lap for our oldest getting their driver’s permit the day before. Throw in a VIP package that included a stripped-down acoustic Coheed and Cambria performance; a killer Misfits cover of “Skulls” and we were already on track for a night worth the ticket window headaches.
The night kicked off with Foxing, St. Louis’ finest post-hardcore chaos merchants. I’ll confess: I almost walked into their set with a chip on my shoulder. Earlier that day, Missouri’s governor went on TV spewing fascist dogshit about gerrymandering, and for about five minutes, I wanted to take it out on the band by association. That was dumb, and thankfully my better judgement smacked me upside the head. Foxing didn’t vote for that guy (and if they did, they sure as hell didn’t advertise it), and they played like their lives depended on it. The set swung wildly between delicate and destructive, pretty and pulverizing. Foxing are like a nervous breakdown you can dance to. The best live bands aren’t always the most technically airtight; they’re the ones who look like they’re guzzling every drop of the moment, and Foxing absolutely radiated that. You could see it in their faces: they’ll be telling their grandkids about this night someday.
Then came Taking Back Sunday, retooled for this tour with Fred Mascherino stepping in for John Nolan. Seeing Fred back in the fold after more than a decade felt like a gift in itself—he still plays with as much precision as heart, and by all accounts remains one of the kindest people in rock. But if Fred brought warmth, Adam Lazzara brought fire. His performances have always been larger than life, but Friday night he outdid himself. Charging the stage like a revivalist preacher with a rock god’s swagger, Lazzara whipped the mic, stomped the boards, and drew us in with pure charisma. From the opening blast of “A Decade Under the Influence” through set-closers “Cute Without the E” and “MakeDamnSure,” TBS had the amphitheater on a string. For nearly an hour, it felt like 2003 again, except now my knees hurt and I have to worry about mortgage payments.
But the real heavy hitters were still waiting. Coheed & Cambria have this ability to make every show feel like a goddamn space opera, and Friday was no different. They’re not my every song, every album band the way they are for my wife, but live? They’re untouchable. Claudio Sanchez’s hair alone deserves its own billing, but his soaring vocals and guitar wizardry were just as mesmerizing. The stage was ridiculous in the best way; towering inflatables, video screens, Sanchez sprinting between risers like he was trying to outrun the plot of The Armory Wars. The set ripped through new material like “Goodbye Sunshine,” old staples like “Everything Evil,” and the monolithic “In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3.” Then, as if that wasn’t enough, the encore brought Adam Lazzara back out for a gloriously unhinged cover of The Killers’ “Mr. Brightside.” It was one of those “fuck, I can’t believe I just saw that” moments you only get once in a blue moon.
In the end, the night was exactly what live music is supposed to be: messy, joyful, cathartic, and unforgettable. Foxing reminded us why sincerity beats perfection, Taking Back Sunday proved nostalgia ages better when it’s delivered with unfiltered energy, and Coheed & Cambria turned the amphitheater into their own intergalactic cathedral. Sure, will call can go to hell, and yes, I’ll still be bitching about some prick kicking over my outrageously overpriced lemonade, but none of that sticks. What sticks is my wife singing along loudly and joyously, my kid’s excitement and smile and the fact that for a few hours, surrounded by thousands of sweaty strangers, I got to feel something big, loud, and real.
Bad Dad (occasionally called Ed) has been on the periphery of the punk and punk-adjacent scene for over twenty years. While many contributors to this site have musical experience and talent, Ed’s musical claim to fame comes from his time in arguably the most punk rock Blockbuster Video district in NJ where he worked alongside members of Blanks 77, Best Hit TV and Brian Fallon. He is more than just an awful father to his 2 daughters, he is also a dreadful husband, a subpar writer, a terrible dresser and has a severe deficiency in all things talent… but hey, at least he’s self-aware, amirite?
Check out the pathetic attempts at photography on his insta at https://www.instagram.com/bad_dad_photography/