High Vis - Rock Werchter 2024
Brace yourselves—a white guy who listens to a ton of podcasts is about to talk about transcendence. No, I won’t be invoking Immanuel Kant, and we won’t reach High Vis’ superb 2024 Belgium set by way of early nineteenth-century New England. But still, better go ahead and recharge your drink.
This summer, I had a moment that felt transcendent—a higher plane of emotion, understanding, and connectedness. Logic faded, and I just felt. Just existed in bliss. I’ve tipped my hand already, but no, this wasn’t meditation or a house of worship. But it felt divine all the same.
Years ago, I started saying that live music was my “church.” Back then, I meant that nowhere else made me feel so connected to the people around me in a way that went beyond anything I could intellectually process. I can think of countless shows at the Pour House in Charleston, where my PBR was resting on the amps right at the front of the stage, or Diarrhea Planet’s face-melting show at Savannah Stopover in 2015, where my body thrashed without me commanding it to. My limbs were summoned to move by the shredding six strings on stage (28 strings total in a Diarrhea Planet set!). But with few exceptions—that Savannah set in 2015 being one—I’ve mostly been a string-bean spectator to the mosh pit at heavy shows over the years.
Charlotte’s 2009 Warped Tour comes to mind as an onlooker’s experience. Attack! Attack! introduced my friend Raul and me to the infamous wall-of-death at a small side stage. Ra and I also talked about the “pit monsters”—basically, scary dudes who seemed to come to shows just looking to put a hurting on someone. So while watching the thrill of it around me was a rush, I didn’t feel that inescapable urge to join. Frankly, younger me didn’t have the confidence or courage to chance it.
Alright, that’s 350ish words of prologue. Give the people the damn story, Brigs.
There are a lot of acts I owe a writeup from Rock Werchter. Let’s just assume I’ll eventually write those, and for now, let me set the stage for the High Vis set. It’s the last day of the fest—I’ve traveled eight hours by train and bus, set up a tent, and been camping for four nights. Days consist of showering, consuming caffeine, and boozing to bands. We started that day with Whispering Sons, Lawrence, and The Breeders. IDLES kicked us right in the crotch and we said, “Thank you, sir, may I have another?” Soccer Mommy brought the feels. And Chrissy Hynde said, “Fuck you, I can kick more ass at 72 than a 7’2” man a quarter my age” (paraphrasing). Royal Blood reminded us how two blokes can absolutely own the main stage—and here’s where we really begin our journey.
High Vis entered the chat on April 16, 2023 (as told by my first Liked Song, “Walking Wires”) but REALLY popped into my consciousness on May 5, 2024. That’s the day I saved “Trauma Bonds.” Coming into Rock Werchter, High Vis was one of my most HIGHLY anticipated acts (worst pun on the site…so far?) So, while Royal Blood was in the middle of a GREAT set and my pals had a great vantage point for the Foos + booze to come, I wasn’t going to miss the small-stage High Vis se
When I got to the stage, I was a little early and set up on the barrier, stage left, just about all the way to the end of the stage. Close, but comfortable. The guy to my left was a bigger, older dude who didn’t look like a pit monster, so I felt, “Okay, I’ll feel a part of it, but this guy isn’t going to go nuts.” I did have the peace of mind to toss my fanny pack with raincoat and basics over the barricades… just in case.
As soon as the band took the stage, vocalist Graham Sayle set the tone with a jumping split as “0151” began. And already, I have to discuss the rawness of the emotions. TRACK ONE, and Graham’s picking a fight with the microphone using only his vocal cords and the tightest grip you’ve ever seen. I’m telling you, that mic better project his voice as loud as he demands, or he’s going to knock it to the ground. “0151” is Liverpool’s area code, and the message about the bleakness of working-class existence isn’t hidden. The intensity isn’t an affront; it’s respecting the gravity of the words.
“The working class is as good as dead / If you won't give it, then, we'll fucking take it”
“0151” - High Vis
Track two, the OG for me, “Walking Wires”! At this point, we’re thinking, “Man, these guys kick ass,” and like many others, my arm’s in the air, reaching toward the stage as if to say, “What you’re feeling and putting out, I’m feeling and sending right back.” After this song, Graham breaks the fourth wall, saying in his scouse accent,
“Fuck yeah, this is fucking sick, we’re just a punk band, d’ykno what I mean? All the hardcore kids, all the punk kids, all the supporters and shit — each time it gets more and more mental.” - Graham Sayle
I remember being moved by his gratitude already.
About 12 minutes in, with “Altitude.” I find myself moving from the barricades to the edges of the more intense energy closer to center stage, a person or two back from the barricade. While I am not one to usually hop in the pit, I’ve been on the periphery enough to feel comfortable keeping an eye on the stage and another on the fracas. I’m not sure if we have crowd surfers yet, but this song is definitely ratcheting up the intensity.
Quick detour for the guitar sound in “Altitude.” What’s cool about High Vis is that while Graham’s lyrics have traditional scream/shouted/political vibes, the overall sound has a more post-punk, reverb-laden tone. We’re in the hardcore subdivision but down a different street than, say, Turnstile.
Before “Out Cold,” Graham, out of breath, says, “This next track is from a very different time in me life. Life gets better if you put the fucking work in. Thanks so much for letting us fucking do this.” Once again, the gratitude! The humility! I fucking LIKE these guys.
This track is where I best recall letting go, where I moved from intellectually processing the show to EXPERIENCING it. Maybe it’s the first line “I won’t leave this world without a fight” that resonated. You see, 2024 was a year of massive transition for me. The festival hit me at the greatest point of that inflection, between life before and the life I was building. Looking back, that moment was a microcosm—fuck being a spectator, I’m taking an active role.
I remember bouncing into the pit, doing the normal hop around, get shoved, give a shove, but never feeling in danger. There was a scraggly guy with red hair doing that punch-dancing thing when he wasn’t crowd surfing, and a dude every bit of 50 with a dad hat, grinning ear to ear. It felt—safe. Like we were all letting go of whatever we brought to the show, leaving everything else behind. The heightened senses, that small element of “danger,” pulled me out of my head. It’s around here Graham shed the parka—not just out of breath, he’s giving it all and sweating his ass off.
“We might not sound like it, but we’re all hardcore kids… before all this shit, like I said we were playing a bunch of pubs, all around Europe. Everything we like came out of punk DIY scenes. No money for nothin, I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ELSE. It fuckin’ means the world to be on a different stage connecting with people.” - Graham Sayle
YES. I felt like a part of an organism in that moment that didn’t exist 20 minutes prior but was thriving. Somewhere along the way, I took a break on the side of the pit to catch my breath, but when “Trauma Bonds” started, it was like a magnet pulling me to get as close as I could to the front and center. Listen to Graham himself in his impromptu, genuine thoughts, or read my excerpt below.
“Thanks, thank you. I keep saying it so much but fuck I don’t care. Thank you so fuckin’ much, man. It’s the only way this shit can continue. This next song is called Trauma Bonds. Fucking amazes me how many people I end up talking to — I wrote this song obviously about personal experiences, I never imagined I’d be singing it to this many people — and they’re like, this song really fuckin resonates with me, helped me whatever connection it is, it’s mad, it’s overwhelming and it’s fuckin amazing. Hardcore, punk, fucking all music is fucking powerful. It connects people, and it’s so important. Thanks for giving us a chance to be able to do this.”
- Graham Sayle
As “Trauma Bonds” began, those first reverby notes pulled me to the stage and the plodding bass pushed me from behind. There was a crowd of us packed into the tiny corner between the mid-stage aisle and front barricade all jumping to reach closer to the stage. Arms outstretched, it’s like standing and watching wasn’t enough. We needed to be IN IT. But as the song kept going, “are we still lucky to be here” repeated in refrain and the drums building, I lost my goddamn mind. Jumping, launching myself around, but also being like rubber and letting myself BE jostled. Nothing existed outside of that space, I mean fuck, just writing it now I feel myself moved inside. The mix of sounding intense but the words and feelings being those of concern was truly. moving. (Listening to it now, let’s take a moment to admire the rad baby-solo that I absolutely would’ve missed in the moment)
This wasn’t High Vis’ last song of the set, but really I just stayed on that same high for the rest of their performance. I just felt so MOVED. There was a girls-only pit to the side that formed naturally and I saw ladies having an absolute blast. Twice, people dropped to tie their shoe and those of us immediately proximate instinctively stopped our own mosh to stand still and make sure they could tie their shoe without someone inadvertently crashing on them. There was both reckless abandon and genuine concern for your fellow audience member.
Foo Fighters were good, they played the hits, but High Vis had already given me the performance of the festival. Reflecting now…maybe that feeling people talk about at hardcore shows is something you can’t intellectually grasp; you have to be in a place where you need it to fully understand. I was raised Southern Baptist, so I know all about the Holy Spirit despite not being the tiniest bit religious. But when I tell you I felt something move me—a presence bigger and higher, driven by the people around me but also something beyond—I transcended the moment into a place where I just experienced communion, joy, and gratitude. High Vis gave me more than a new love for hardcore; they reaffirmed that live music will always be my church.
