[CW: Self-harm]
A few months ago, I posted a piece about my thoughts around seeing Sleep Token live, by myself. Now with the US tour concluded, I felt a followup would be in order. Were my anxieties unfounded?
The short answer is no. They were not.
Sleep Token in a live setting is every single bit the emotionally intense ritual that I believed it would be. And, to be perfectly honest, I haven’t really been able to fully reconcile my thoughts or feelings about this band both in general, and more relevant to this essay, in the live setting.
But just because I feel like there’s a story to be told here, allow me to set the scene for you. So picture this…let’s travel all the way back to September, 2025…
Three weeks in London, Edinburgh, and Glasgow. A glorious trip that in spite of a Tube workers’ strike for an entire work week in the middle, included four plays, a new tattoo, more than a dozen museums, three castles, Alexander McQueen, and a trip to Wembley Stadium to see Coldplay for the fourth time over the course of roughly fifteen years. A show that, I should note, I saw all by myself.
For personal reasons obvious to me, I did not want to return to America. Aside from not wanting to be in a place where a certain bloviated, orange, pedo, wannabe dictator seems hell-bent on destroying everything he touches, the UK was a place I knew would affect me inherently. I’ve felt since I was a child, that I was born in the wrong location. That I am always more than a bit out of place. Not just in my hometown, but in the United States as a whole. My brain has never fully connected with the “American Experience” nor the ‘Merica mentality espoused amongst many of its citizens.
Finally landing on British soil, after trying to make this trip happen for the better part of a lifetime, hit me in a way that I cannot fully explain. The emotion associated with feeling an intense sense of déja-vu. That I was in a place that felt so incredibly familiar. That I felt like I was home. And, as such, the only reason why I had any interest in returning to the states was because I had obtained Sleep Token tickets to the show in my hometown of Minneapolis a little over a week after landing back in the country. Had I not given myself the opportunity to witness this ritual, I’d probably have defected to the UK…
Fuck, I still might.
Excitement and apprehension. Elation and disquiet. Anticipation and trepidation. Emotions swinging wildly from edge-to-edge. Hanging on a precipice of my own making. And to quell the inevitable anxiety that I tend to spiral into when going to shows, I will almost always dive in to get a little bit of an idea of what I’m in for – pulling a setlist, watching old live performances and other such things. I find that doing this makes my ever-present anxiety a bit more manageable. But in the case of Sleep Token, in the run-up to the Minneapolis show, the things that normally give my brain a little bit of peace, only increased the feelings of nervous anticipation into the base of brain and belly.
Fast-forward to October first, where undeniably nervous energy invades my entire being as I ready myself for the evening. After a full day of work, where stress is routine and the feelings of impostor syndrome are near all-consuming. This music – the themes Vessel addresses mirroring the very things I can’t seem to shake – permeate my thoughts as I clamber into the Uber to head to Target Center. And as the car moves through the streets toward downtown, I can’t help but reflect on how this band has affected me since being introduced to their music less than ten months ago.
At this point in the tale, I should probably confess, when I decide that I have more than just a passing interest in something, I generally can’t help but dive in head-first and fully immerse myself into whatever it is that has captured my attraction, in an attempt to learn and understand as much as I can about said interest. But nobody warned me that this band, this man and his mask and his extraordinary turn of phrase both lyrical and musical, not to mention his intrepid friend with the sticks and incredible sense of pattern and rhythm, would hold such depth within its tracks.
I should also point out that it was not “The Summoning” that first drew me to Sleep Token as it did for so many others. It was “Granite” that was the gateway drug for me. A snippet of “Emergence” followed. “Chokehold”. And only then, did “The Summoning” enter the picture. I think at some point, I might just do some type of narrative reaction to these songs, but that seems like a nearly insurmountable undertaking. At this point, I dove headfirst into Take Me Back to Eden, put it into an endless rotation for a few weeks. “Vore” scared the pants off me the first three times I heard it and was ready to drop that track into the “skip” pile (spoiler…it’s now one of my favorites).
“Caramel” drops and I’m hooked. I am forever altered. And I decide on first listen that I absolutely mustsee this band live. Are they even touring? Could they possibly be anywhere near as good live as they are on these masterpieces of recorded music? Turns out, yes. They are coming to my hometown in the fall. And every single date of this tour is already so completely and totally sold out, it’s hilariously depressing in my newfound obsession with this band. But I shall not be swayed. Oh no, I shall not, my friends. I will find a way to get into this show, if it’s the last thing I do. Even if I have to call in every single favor I’ve banked since I hit adulthood. And so, I begin to stalk the AXS app. Whether or not the band can even come close to living up to what I’m hearing on this infinite loop remains to be seen, but I am desperate to know. I need to see it for myself. I need to OBTAIN AND WORSHIP.
It’s May, and I’m not really a part of the community. I don’t know about the doxxing until I start diving in, in earnest. I don’t follow the Reddit page, Discord, TikTok or IG accounts, or other fans – with the exception of people I’m already friends with who are fans by coincidence. I’m immersed in the music. I add This Place Will Become Your Tomb and Sundowning and I am being dragged ever under to this voice that feels familiar yet so utterly new and exotic that I’m entirely hypnotised. Hooked on all of it like a drug that I am all too happy to become addicted to. Lyrics full-to-bursting with so much depth that even before I start digging into the lore, I know that I could spend a lifetime listening to these songs and still find new meaning. I check the AXS app multiple times per day, hoping that something will drop. That someone will take pity on this new devotée and my ticket will find me.
I add the EP’s and singles to the infinite loop. “Calcutta” and “Nazareth” seep into the very marrow of my bones. Drop in the headphones. Start at the beginning and run the entire gauntlet daily. Absorbing these tracks until they begin to play at random in my head whenever I’m in moments of silence. And then, it happens. Even In Arcadia falls down like mana from heaven and it too, goes into heavy rotation. And less than a week later, a miracle. One lonely ticket appears in my AXS app, clearly meant for me and I snap it up faster than Sleep can retaliate when Vessel gets impudent with them. Section 131, Row 10, Seat 5. My seat. My space of worship. Entry obtained, now all I have to do is to commit the scriptures to memory. And try to understand the significance of this experience that is now looming on the horizon.
On YouTube, I dive even further down, desperate to hear and see others’ contributions. Churg IO for isolated vocals, the crazy but adorable brothers at RykerRoad for their unfiltered reactions. Then I discover the “teachings” of Glen Joseph Robinson and Timpft (the guy who does the utterly brilliant ST lore with kitties on TikTok). I’m excited to expand the knowledge-base. And these two, in particular, feel like they are true Distinguished Professors with PhD-level knowledge. Not all of you may agree, and that’s okay. But I’ve found my Sleep Token University educational track, and class is in session. And barring Vessel himself taking up a professorship, these two feel like they’ve really got their shit together. And I would like to at least earn a Master’s Degree, thank you very much.
Fast-forward now again to London. This entire trip was soundtracked by Sleep Token. Vessel’s voice, desperate and divine, seductive and soulful, outraged and otherworldly all in equal measure. And, unsurprisingly, utterly, distinctively British. This music, amongst the castles, history, weather, parks, pavements, and a train to and from Scotland —makes sense. These songs have a landscape. “Atlantic” amongst the green hills on a train to Edinburgh. “The Night Does Not Belong to God” in St. James’ Park. “Calcutta” amongst the Hindi antiquities in the Far East wing of the British Museum. “Look To Windward” on the Thames, drifting under Tower Bridge on the way to Greenwich. “Chokehold” while getting a new tattoo in Soho. These songs take on moments in a foreign land, making this new world feel even more familiar. Vessel, purveyor of lullaby, even when he’s screaming in anger at Sleep and vice-versa. His voice helps to keep the loneliness of solo travel at bay.
The US tour kicks off while I’m still overseas. But I pull a setlist and set up the one and only playlist of their catalogue that I have. Read through the setlist again and again, trying to make sense of its order. Is there a narrative here too? The only one that springs to mind at this point is that by starting with “Look to Windward” and ending with “Infinite Baths”, the band is signaling that this story isn’t over. It’s nowhere near over. And thanks to those Instagram accounts, the fans may have unknowingly determined the tracklisting to ensure that House Veridian “must endure”, over the Feathered Host’s call that “the cycle must end.” Thereby forcing Vessel, ii, iii, and iv to continue to live in this cycle of Sleep’s abuse. Will they ever be able to break free? How can they shatter the cycle? Get out of this unholy contract they’ve made? And are we fans the army Vessel and the boys need in order to go to war with and finally defeat Sleep for good?
Sorry…I digress…
Ten days after landing back in the states, and I’m making my way through the Target Center concourse. On the way up the stairs, a revelation. A girl coming up next to me who looks like she escaped from Espara and I admire her look. Nice as can be and she hands me a handmade keychain. And I’ve discovered that apparently this is a thing. Like some fucked-up metal Swiftie convention. And I’ve brought nothing in exchange except for kindness and compliments. Jump in the merch line, something I rarely do, because I really want a coin. But they, like this tour, are so utterly sold out, it’s comical. So, instead, I buy the light-colored tote bag and that super adorable cream-and-lime baseball hat with the pink flower. Only to discover our beloved Jerry on the back once I get home. Make my way to my seat. Close, but I will quickly discover that it’s nowhere near close enough. I don’t know that I could be…close enough.
Nervous excitement throughout Thornhill. Anticipation ascending like smoke from a fire when the wind noise begins and the Kabuki curtain unfurls, obscuring the massive set piece from we mortals. The crowd, chattering in excitement, talking about all the shows they’ve seen before and I’m mildly jealous that I seem to be the only Ritual virgin in my direct vicinity. And inwardly wishing that I’d found this band far sooner than I did. But also happy that I’m finally here…and, like the wordsmith, I’m not leaving this congregation anytime soon.
Enterprising fans, hellbent on proving that Minneapolis has the best, most organized followers on the planet, coordinated efforts and brought hundreds upon hundreds of simple paper signs to remind Vessel and the guys that “YOU ARE ENOUGH”. Passing them out to what equates to the entire GA and front half of the lower bowl, like test sheets in a classroom, you know the kind; “take one and pass the pile back”. Keep them in hiding until the perfect moment during “Caramel” when Vessel tells us to let him see those hands. Sentiment obtained and this only ratchets up the anticipation for what is about to unfold. My entire body begins to vibrate, blood thrumming through my veins and arteries in an ever increasing rush of prevision.
There is a slight metallic taste in my mouth as the adrenaline spike hits my body like a lightning flash when the lights are suddenly killed and the lilting opener of “Look to Windward” pumps through the soundsystem and 20,000 disciples all lose their collective shit the moment Vessel’s voice can be heard through the excitement. As for me, my heart is undeniably racing in a way that I haven’t experienced at a live event, maybe ever. But certainly not in an extremely long time. My brain is trying to absorb and memorize every single note. Every vocal run. Every polyrhythmic stroke of stick to kit. Every plucked string of the bass and strummed note of the guitar. Every harmony beautifully supplied by the Espara. And don’t get me started on our newly minted and adored “Sax Token”, who will make his presence known later in the show. But I’m getting ahead of myself…
The Kabuki drop. Tending toward overdone in metal circles, for sure, in Sleep Token’s hands feels right. It feels like time travel into the world of Arcadia. Most (including me) haven’t even noticed yet that Vessel has been starting the shows up on top of the set-piece, singing and screaming his beautiful, oversized heart out. Because nobody thinks to look upward when there’s so much else to take in. My heart threatens to burst out of my chest when he finally steps through the veil where the waterfall flows during certain points in the show. The audience goes positively feral as my eyes well up and threaten to spill over. The feeling that somehow, I’ve managed to be accepted into whatever this is, is a relief. It’s the reward for believing in the messages that Vessel’s proclaiming and getting on the previously mentioned bandwagon.
There is something to be said about fully immersing into a band’s discography while moving through a foreign land. When the headphones are up at volume and amongst priceless works of art and cobblestone streets subtle nuances appear that get missed elsewhere. The vocal expression of specific phrases take on a new or deeper meaning. And the interpretation shifts out of necessity, because the American slant has disappeared from the musical landscape. The individual elements can be scrutinized in a way that doesn’t happen when I’m in my “home” country. And even though I’m in a city of roughly 9 million people, the music parts the throng like Moses parting the Red Sea. Screamy-screamy Vessel (as himself or his divine counterpart) here feels less angry but more desperate and significant. The lyrics hit harder, too and I find myself determinedly trying to submerge to depths the emotions that threaten to inconveniently burst to the surface in extremely public places.
I feel seen by a man I’ve never met. How is this even possible?
What kind of sorcery does this man wield?
I’m being pulled ever deeper into this vortex, this swirling pool of musical complexity that is determined to drag me to the sea floor.
Not that I mind. Not even a little bit. I’m more than happy to drown in this beauty forever.
Delicate tissue paper flower petals fall over the crowd lucky enough to be on the floor. Arcadia’s blossom trees shed their blooms to anoint the faithful in delicate pink leaves as Vessel prowls, roars, croons, cries, and dances in his very own kind of rapturous ecstasy akin to the Dervishes of the Melevi Order. “The Offering”, “Vore”, and “Emergence” round out the first section of the show. A loose narrative review of what brought us to Arcadia in the first place. And the progressive growth Vessel has managed to attain in his relationship with Sleep. From blindly begging to be wholly consumed by his deity to finding his own power and taking control of this relationship. “Vore”, in particular, takes on an entirely more desperate slant that hits me in the chest like a gunshot and there is nothing I can do to stop the river of tears that flow down my cheeks in reaction as Vessel screams – “Are you in pain like I am?” Taking on the world’s agony and verbalizing the torment back at us.
It’s here when I begin to ache for a body to crash into. When that thing I was worried about happening, happens. I feel the entirety of the holy nature of the music. Every note that so eloquently expresses fury, domination, anguish, force, love, lust, manipulation, vexation, enlightenment, despair, dignity, ascension, and acceptance. Often in a single vocal run. And oh, the mastery of vocal gymnastics Vessel employs when the reins of a recording booth are removed and he’s allowed to just utterly let go is nothing short of, well, orgasmic. But standing here alone, all I can do is press the heel of my palm to my chest and try to hold as much of it all inside my body as I can.
The first interlude comes and it’s a moment to collect myself before the next series of songs. A second to breathe and to quietly reset the mask I try to keep in place while in mixed company. And good thing too, because the next section of songs feels like we’re moving away from messy and emotional foreplay to round one of the most filthy musical coitus my dirty mind can possibly conjure. Vessel oozes over what feels like seduction and equal exchanges of preparatory pleasure during “Alkaline” and “Hypnosis”, but all of this is just foreplay too, because it’s “Provider” that’s the main event. Baby-making metal? Absolutely. Sexy-as-fuck? Unquestionably. Panty-dropping? Oh yeah. Vessel caressing iv’s mask-clad cheek at the end while he ardently growls the most desperate “bay-bee!” makes half the women in the arena lose their ever-loving minds and appear to collectively dream of this man in his mask and body paint, pressing them against a wall and ravaging them like some kind of dark romance novel hero.
“Rain” follows, and after many, many listens and a deep-dive into those lyrics, I am convinced is also about the sexytimes. Slightly more veiled and softer than the positively filthy music, lyrics, and delivery of “Provider”, but still very fitting in this section of the show. This is the look-each-other in the eyes in post-coital bliss song that also has a bite to it that hits like a second or third coming in the second verse. Vessel does so know how to bring the musical pleasure, and lord love him for it, too.
Just a moment to breathe and grab the paper sign that’s been hidden in my newly purchased tote as the band breaks into “Caramel” while all 20,000 worshippers sing along with Vessel to the bassline. The signs are incredibly impactful when finally raised and I can see, even from my distance, that Vessel is visibly moved. We’ve done our duty and expressed back to the man behind the mask that while we may not be able to fully understand, because how can we really —not being famous, exposed, and in his shoes? We can show appreciation for everything he pours into his art. We can show appreciation for the sacrifices he makes in order to bring Sleep Token to life. We can show empathy for the horror that the moments of forced exposure creates additional and unwelcome anxiety into an already difficult situation. And we can express back to him and the others that they do not need to put on airs for us. The brilliance of this music is enough. They are, at their core essence, more than enough.
Another interlude and we’re taking a short detour back into Eden plus a throwback to the band’s very first EP. And I’m already beginning the process of trying to reconcile the inevitable come-down that will soon be upon us all. “The Summoning” brings the first of the inter-band antics. Vessel using his mic stand to tap, tap, tap on ii’s cymbal during the vocal break, like a forest imp hellbent on making mischief wherever he can. “Aqua Regia”, which is stellar live, messing with the security man tasked with guarding his very precious body from the masses, and that I completely miss until I see footage on YouTube days later thanks to this particular event taking place on the other side of the small jetty out into the crowd that blocks the view from those of us sitting stage left. “Granite”, a car crash in musical form, and one of my favorites that I can’t help but sing along to. And “Thread The Needle” as another post-coital lullaby in this multi-wave of musical orgasms that have been coaxed out of one another since the beginning of the second section of the show.
The final interlude arrives, followed by a hard left turn into the last two songs of the show and I can’t help the bit of sadness that’s beginning to creep in, knowing that our time together is nearly over. I don’t ever want this feeling to end. I’m deeply and irrevocably in love now and the thought of having to return to an empty apartment and my pedestrian daily routine sounds like the worst thing in the world. This gathering has made me feel whole for the first time in a very long time and knowing that I will need to leave it behind and go back to what was before, seems impossible.
“Damocles” is bolstered visually by thousands of orange and purple mobile phone screens (huge shoutout to Projekt Damocles) that seem to drown out the impressive lighting rig in yet another show of appreciation for the band and the very real vulnerability expressed in these lyrics. Fear of the unknown, written at a time when Vessel and ii were on the precipice of superstardom thanks to a stellar pickup by RCA. An incredible record deal that by all accounts includes ownership of their master recordings and publishing rights, surely also included a generous amount of tour support money, considering this stage set and the amount of visible promotion that’s accompanied the new release. And, given Vessel and ii’s proclivity for remaining anonymous, there had to be an incredible amount of negotiation on their part to ensure that they could continue to do business as they have been up to this point.
That this band does not follow any kind of traditional forms from its music to its visual presentation, I’m sure there were a lot of questions as to whether or not the band’s vision could work as is, as they continue to grow, and in this case, explode like a supernova in a matter of weeks. And I’m certain that an old-school label like RCA asked the question most seem to want to ask at some point – are the masks and anonymity vital to the presentation? And, in return, Vessel appears to have some questions of his own. ‘What happens if, after everything I’ve put in, all of the personal sacrifices I’ve made, the relationships I’ve let fall apart, the feelings of inadequacy that happen when a song isn’t coming together? What if, after all of this, when this goes to the next level, I fall apart – it all falls apart? What if, after all of this, it’s all a fluke and there is just nothing else left in the creative tank and RCA drops me…us?’ “Damocles” feels like it musically asks all of these questions. And it’s utterly heartbreaking. But it’s also incredibly humanizing. And it’s only the beginning.
With this level of honesty through not just “Damocles”, but across the entire catalogue, the vulnerability Vessel pours into his lyrics and the music by which these words are carried to us would, I feel, be nearly impossible to actualize unmasked. To look an audience of 20,000 in the eye without the theatrics, to me, would be such a daunting prospect that I don’t know that I could get onstage and pour my heart out like this without being able to disappear into some type of character. And so the mask in this context, makes sense. And for the purposes of delivering these messages to the masses the only way Vessel may be able to do this with any kind of authenticity is to publicly live in the words of Oscar Wilde;
Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.
And the truth is fully exposed in the final song of the night.
“Infinite Baths” is on a whole other level. At its foundations, it seems to follow the expected cycle of final Sleep Token songs on their previous recordings. Acting as a sort of epilogue of the album’s narrative details. But this time, it feels different. It’s not just a recap of how Vessel got to where he is, but a further confession of how he feels about all of his newfound autonomy and what appears to be a very real attempt to break free from Sleep’s clutches. But what is even more striking about the lyrics is the revelation that he appears to be talking to the fans directly. My personal theory is that it’s not some random new love that he’s found to take along on this journey, but us. That after everything he’s already been through, he’s not going anywhere. Vessel is never going back to what was before. He’s going to stick around to make sure that all of us are okay. He’s not leaving any of us behind. He sees the effect his music and art have on the people who become a part of this congregation and understands the importance his words have on those who suffer from a variety of issues, mental health and otherwise. Even if it seems our love and devotion to him and his offerings utterly baffle him in the process.
And that’s when things start to get really interesting.
Because enter Sleep, in all their terrifying, patronizing glory. Ready to intrude and stir up the calm waters that Vessel’s fought and nearly died for to remind him and anyone else who has worked to overcome the drowning sensation of impostor syndrome of their affliction. That Sleep will hunt down Vessel, ii, iii, iv and any fan who dares to side with the band to the ends of the universe to collect on the presumed debt owed and already more than paid in full. The words, terrifying to hear as channeled through our hero after declaring some kind of victory and ascension to meet Sleep on a level. This possession and what feels like a declaration of war as Sleep screams through the ether;
“All this glory you did not earn
Every lesson you did not learn
You will drown in an endless sea…”
A confrontation from Sleep calling out not just Vessel, but all of us over the negativity that always tries to slip in and take over just as everything seems to finally be coming together. And for those who also suffer from impostor syndrome the thoughts that invade the brain telling us that we’re not good enough…that we can never do enough…be enough. That no matter what we’ve done, what training we’ve put ourselves through, no matter how much expertise we’ve gained through years and years of work in a chosen field, or how many awards we may have won —none of it is enough. We will, in the words of our hero, “sunder the earth only to burn the reward.” That these achievements are unearned. That we are about to be exposed for being nothing short of a fraud. And that is because we don’t deserve whatever goodness comes our way. Everything we’ve been working for is all about to vanish and we will be ostracized as a con artist. A liar. A phony. And Sleep is all too happy to point all of this out. To make sure that we know that they can see us for the charlatans we really are. All in an effort to continue to chain us to them for whatever time we have left on this earth out of the fear of being cast out by colleagues, friends, and family.
All of these things swirl through my brain as I can’t help the tears that fall uncontrollably down my cheeks, palm of hand once again pressed tightly to my chest as Vessel verbalizes all the doubt that my brain can’t help but scream at me on a near-daily basis since I too, ascended to my most recent job. A job that those who know me well have said that I was more than prepared to take on. But since arriving in this new company, elevated from what I’ve spent most of my career doing, there has been a constant feeling of drowning where I sit. That, in reality, I’m completely out of my depth and have absolutely no clue what I’m doing. Contrary to what my boss has said, my boss’ boss has said, and everyone at this new company I’ve encountered has said, I feel in my heart of hearts that they’re all lying to me, humoring me. That I am a total sham and all too soon, I will be fully exposed for this fact and cast back out into the cold world to try to pick up the pieces again and start all over, but at a far lower rung on the ladder…where I really belong.
However, Vessel appears to understand all of this on a fundamental level. It would seem that perhaps he feels all of this too, in himself, or at the very least has dealt with impostor syndrome at some point. And because of this apparent fact, he and his friends with the sticks, bass, guitar, sax, and harmonies all seem ready to go to war to save us all. And that makes the tears fall even more in earnest.
I stand, in my small space of worship, trying to keep myself together even just a little bit. But it’s not really working, because as Vessel stalks off the stage, I know the end is at hand. And I am not prepared. I don’t want to be alone in my head to try to make sense of this night. But then, a moment of reprieve as Vessel returns, guitar in hand, ready to go into battle. The petals fall in earnest, while Vessel, iii, and iv call us to arms. Musically, recruiting the entire audience to join them in the coming war with Sleep for our very souls. And in spite of my emotional state, I know I would follow Vessel and his bandmates to the ends of the earth and fight right along with them. I would lay down my life to help free us all from Sleep’s clutches.
But before I can fully volunteer as tribute, the lights come up and I am abruptly yanked back into harsh reality. The musical theatre production that is Sleep Token is moving out and on to the next city. And I’m once again left alone to try to pick up the pieces, to try to understand the emotional impact in the aftermath of this show that has been everything I’d thought it would be. I can’t help but feel overwhelmed over it all. The intensity of “Infinite Baths”, in particular, has imprinted itself onto my soul and I already know that the effect of this night will not leave me anytime soon. I’m already grieving the loss and know that this night has changed me forever.
On the way out of the arena, I obtain a few petals thanks to fans on the floor who are willing to pass some up our way. I linger a bit, not ready to go back to my empty apartment. To the aloneness I feel on a daily basis, but try to keep at bay through bad humor and even worse deflection. I make my way a couple of blocks east of the arena where there’s slightly less traffic and call an Uber to take me the rest of the way back to reality. I’m fully in my head on the ride home and trying to hold it together as I replay the night in my mind. Finding the moments that I want to keep, to take with me as I move forward in this world.
I unlock my front door, toss my keys on the kitchen island and meander silently into my living room. I’m on autopilot and my focus is slipping, the mask is disappearing in the safety of my apartment. Here, I can let it all go. There’s nobody to perform for. Nobody to tell me to pull my fucking shit together. Nobody to tell me it’s all going to be okay. And nobody to talk through my swirling emotions with. I need a hug, maybe more. But there’s nobody here for that, either.
In a daze, I crumple to the floor and cry in earnest. How can this be the only time I get to see this show? My rational brain is fully on holiday, because, were it available and actually functioning in any kind of rational way, would be reminding me that I am incredibly lucky. A lot of people, fans who have been around a hell of a lot longer than I have, couldn’t get a ticket to see this, first through circumstance, then by being priced out thanks to the insane resale prices these shows have been demanding. But because I am absolutely not thinking rationally, I don’t say any of this to myself. Right or wrong, I am fully in self-pity mode. All my heart wants to hear right now is that I’m not completely insane for wanting to see this show again. And with only a little over a week and six shows remaining, that the next thought that passes through my brain isn’t entirely preposterous —how can I make it happen to see this show just one more time?
I am extremely fortunate, I know that. I have a good job in a career in which I’ve worked incredibly hard over a considerable amount of time to achieve a certain level of status. I am paid well for that work and that affords me opportunities that even two years ago, I could not fathom would be available to me now. And so it’s because of this, well, status, that I let any kind of logical thought leave my brain entirely and remind myself of two words that will fuel the next couple of days —disposable income.
Like Vessel, and after years of incredibly hard work, I too have been afforded a new deal that has elevated my status. I am now in possession of a semblance of freedom because of the aforementioned disposable income available to me for the first time in my entire life. I can actually afford to seek out another show and go, so long as a couple of things fall in my favor. Although there is one rather large thing to consider, having just returned from three full weeks of holidays, to leave again now to take multiple days off to chase a rock band to the West Coast, would earn me the disdain of my boss and the others in my work group. So that factor immediately eliminates Tacoma and Portland, which occur in the middle of the week. Denver is also out due to its very close proximity and the fact that there are zero resale tickets available. And Sunday’s show in Salt Lake City is also a no-go as I already have tickets to see Bad Suns, by myself.
That leaves Oakland and Los Angeles.
I pull AXS and Ticketmaster for the LA show and unsurprisingly the few tickets available are both ridiculously overpriced, but there are also no single tickets available. And as deeply as I’ve fallen in love with this band, even I can’t justify buying two $1200 tickets for seats three rows from the very back top corner of the venue. $2400 for a nosebleed seat is where I draw the proverbial line in the sand. It’s sad though because I have friends in LA, and I wouldn’t miss any work, if only something more reasonable were available.
That leaves Oakland. And over the next 36 hours I once again stalk the AXS app, hoping for something in the lower bowl at the very least. Due to a serious fall when I was a junior in high school, I don’t do well in the upper deck of venues. The fear of falling down the insanely deep stairs and over the railing to my death make for very unpleasant evenings in the few instances I’ve had to endure such a seat. But I must be on a lucky streak, because on Friday afternoon my spot finds me, and it’s like the goddess herself was holding this space for me; Floor B, Row 1, Seat 5. Right on the barricade between the floor seats and standing GA. Only being on the GA barricade could be better in my opinion, and I snap up this ticket faster than Usain Bolt can run the hundred-yard dash.
I am going back to Arcadia one more time.
The elation of this fact is quickly replaced by the need to get on the logistical details of getting to and from Oakland. And also remembering that there is a trinket exchange aspect to this whole fandom and make a point of ordering these adorable little resin flamingoes, who I kid you not, are holding little signs with a message of affirmation on them. A clear signal that these need to be obtained and come with me to Oakland. Plane tickets and hotel reservations are secured and all I have to do now is to pack, get on my flights, and go worship, West Coast style.
Getting to Oakland is extremely stressful thanks to Southwest’s strategy to give its passengers as little time as humanly possible to get to their connecting flights and to seemingly ensure that the gate-to-gate connection is as far apart as possible so that having the skillset of an Olympic-level sprinter is strictly necessary. My connection in Las Vegas is one such instance. Fifteen minutes to get from one end of the airport to the other in an estimated walk time of over twenty minutes means that I’m near to running the entire distance as I walk right on the plane while the doors to the jetway close behind me and I try not to have an asthma attack on the spot.
I’ve never been to Oakland before. The farthest north I’ve been in California prior to this trip is Santa Barbara and the vast majority of prior visits to the state being in Los Angeles, Orange County or San Diego where I would spend part of my summers as a kid. And were I not so singularly focused on this band, I might have remembered that I have a long weekend thanks to our company giving us Indigenous Peoples’ Day off and hang around for a couple more days to explore the Bay Area. Or if I were very bold, I’d book a flight Saturday morning down to LA and take my chances on a last-minute ticket for the final show of the tour. But I’m not thinking that rationally or strategically, and so I am in town only for about thirty hours —how very rockstar of me.
In spite of my ticket stating that the show starts at 7:30, Thornhil are already in the middle of their set when I enter the arena at 7:15. I make my way to my seat and, holy shit, I couldn’t be more center if I tried. As previously stated the only space better would be on the front rail. But please don’t take this as complaint. This spot is kind of the best of both worlds. I can sit if I absolutely have to (spoiler, I never actually use the seat other than to catch falling petals) and the barricade affords me the breathing room I so desperately need when in these packed-in situations. Because in spite of my proclamations of wanting a body to crash into, I really prefer that said body not be of the unknown variety. I don’t particularly like being touched by strangers, hell, I barely tolerate talking to strangers. So the barrier is nice to force some semblance of personal space into the situation.
Thornhill ends their set, once again proving that they’re more than capable to hype up the audience and begin to set the mood for the evening. House lights back up, and in the in-between, trinkets and tokens are once again exchanged. This time, however, understanding the assignment, I have offerings of my own to barter with. The Oakland fans, looking to make their own, distinct mark during “Caramel”, go for whimsy and start passing out these little blow-up cocktail-holding pool floating flamingoes. The goal, instead of trying to make Vessel break down and cry, is instead to make the man laugh and I have to applaud the ingenuity of the idea. It’s brilliant. And the flamingoes are freaking adorable. I’m offered one which I hang on to for about ten minutes before I pass it off to a younger fan who is on the GA side of the barricade, knowing that the chances of Vessel being able to see me and my Jerry from the stage are essentially nonexistent, and that having this little guy on the other side of the barrier will potentially have a far greater impact to the overall aforementioned scheme. The fan tittering with excitement for now being included in the gag, skips off to hopefully get within visible distance of the boys and, more importantly, have an amazing time.
As for me, my right wrist is filling up nicely with beaded bracelets that I will regard with reverence after this night. And the increase in trinkets only fuel the feeling that I’m becoming increasingly welcomed into this community of worshippers. The added effect of this experience is the very real ratcheting up of excitement as the moments tick ever closer to the start of the set. I can feel it in my veins, the way the blood pumps through my system with every second that passes and brings me closer to Arcadia once more.
This time feels different, maybe because I know now where my triggers lie within the context of the show and I’m at least somewhat prepared for the upswell of emotions that will inevitably come with those moments that send me over the emotional precipice. But there are some X-factors now, too. How does the impact of this show change being on the floor, less than forty feet away from the stage? Will the proximity and direct sightline to center stage make the entire experience feel more commanding and consequential?
The short answer is yes. It does, for me at least.
“Look to Windward”, when standing in the shadow of the Kabuki curtain feels far more imposing than when closer to eye-level with the Sleep Token logo that is slowly drawn out in light over the course of the first verse. The petals start to fall over the crowd and I feel like I’m being pulled directly into the theatrics and being made a part of the show in a way that can’t fully happen when in the stands. The small amount of disconnection of being off the floor, for this show, is palpable. And now having the opportunity to be more fully dragged into the world that Sleep Token has created, gives the music an even more immersive quality than even that found while submerging into them while moving through a foreign country. And, even at this distance, there is a very real feeling of connection between art, artist and audience.
The other benefit of this particular location is that once the curtain falls and Arcadia is revealed in all its glory, is that I can look up and see that Vessel is, in fact, way up, up, up on top of the set-piece, keeping watch over us all, like the ascended god he is. And yes it is cool, epic, even. But there is also a tiny part of me that is very nervous on his behalf because that would be a nasty place to make a misstep. But I push that from my mind, certainly helped by the fact that the front edge is roped-off, at the very least. This new discovery also affords me the opportunity to discover that there’s an additional vocal moment that I’d never noticed before on the recorded version of “Look to Windward”, another “in me!” positively howled from the precipice like a call to arms that I will no longer be able to unhear from this night onward.
There is some kind of magic in listening to a band of this magnitude in a land of Kings, Queens and Knights. A land of Henry VIII and his six wives. And where one can still go and walk in the footsteps of these very people. Wandering around the Tower of London, there is a weight, a grandeur for sure, while walking through the exhibit to view the Crown Jewels whilst listening to “Descending”. A melancholy to knowing that someone like Anne Boleyn once took her tea in one of the very rooms I find myself standing in before she was executed. The ghosts of long past palace intrigue signaling their presence through shocking cold spots during “High Water” and “Jaws.” The musical landscape widens and the emotional language of the lyrics absorb even more layers of potential intent with each new experience and location I’ve had on this trip. Deepening the desire to remain in this foreign land and just keep tapping these new emotions.
Vessel disappears from his topside perch and the knot in my stomach tightens in anticipation for knowing that he will soon be among us for real. And I can’t deny the hunger I feel to be emotionally wrecked again by a man whom I will most likely never have the pleasure of meeting. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment. To want to experience this depth and melancholic pain ad infinitum, but I just can’t get enough. And there are certainly people who have drifted in and out of my life who would tell you that I am, indeed, a glutton for pain and darkness. And that’s probably why this music speaks to me as it does. But even in all of this darkness, there are moments of pure joy, and for me it’s when Vessel finally appears through the veil and holy shit, he’s so much closer than the last time. And like before, a very small part of me wishes I could be on the front rail. But it’s only a small part, because I am humbled to even just be in the room. I shouldn’t be here. I was never supposed to be here. This isn’t my genre. I don’t listen to any other bands marked as Sleep Token’s contemporaries. I generally find most of the screamy-screamy stuff to be lacking in any kind of musicality that ratchets up my anxiety something fierce. But as I’ve been discovering about this band over these last months, they love breaking convention all over the damn place. So when Vessel goes there, as evidenced by “Look To Windward”, it’s in tune and tone. And this is the difference for me. It’s not an affectation, it’s used for an emotional response. And boy does it work on me.
As such, the impact of this spot cannot be overstated. From this vantage point, I’m hit with the full effect of the show’s production and it’s incredible. And oh shit, I can make out facial expressions from here. I’m done for. I may not make it out of this alive, my friends. Please pray for me while I sing along to it all and fall apart at multiple points in the show.
While every song tonight manages to hit me on a grander scale than the show in Minneapolis, as is to be expected by the fact that this is both the second-to-last show of the tour and my final opportunity to worship in the presence of other like-minded people. And to express my appreciation to the band itself, for what they have given me since they’ve come into my life.
And now it’s time for my final confession of this essay. I was in an extremely dark place at the beginning of the year. For several reasons, it felt like everything I touched was failing. In spite of this aforementioned fantastic new job, what was to be my signature project was rejected, wholesale. My whole reason for existing at this company was something that I couldn’t get people behind and approve of. My long-distance relationship of four months turned out to be a total farce and had utterly fallen apart, leaving me wondering what in the hell I was even doing here. That there was no path to happiness. And making plans for what little I would leave behind and that everyone around me would be far better off if I just weren’t here anymore.
I had the method, I had the reasoning. I was ready in my head. I just needed the right moment. And while neither of the two people mentioned in the previous essay know that they were the catalyst that kept me around, because these two were the ones who unknowingly got me to listen to music unlike anything I’ve ever heard before.
Enter Sleep Token. Enter Vessel with his deep understanding of emotional trauma (and the other kind too, apparently). With his supernatural talent for verse and melody. And his friend with equal talent in beat and mora. This music seems to speak inherently to those of us who struggle, to those of us who face the darkness and shadows on a daily basis, as I’ve said more than once in this essay. But this is the root of why I feel the way I do about seeing this band in particular, alone. I don’t really have these insecure feelings about any other band, any other concert-going experience. But because of the significant impact Vessel and his friends have had on my life, it’s difficult for me to hold back whenever this music flows through my body. It’s difficult for me to articulate the thanks I feel in knowing that this music, specifically, played a major part in pulling me back from my own precipice.
This music, Vessel, ii, iii, and iv, saved me.
And so, as this Oakland ritual unfolds before me tonight, it’s this line from “Emergence” that’s the first moment that hits me like a truck; “You might be the one to take away the pain and let my mind go quiet”. In the beginning of my Sleep Token journey, this was the lyric that really hit me hard. The one that brought me to my knees. And tonight, it does again. I can’t hold it back, not even a little bit. Because even though I’m still working through all of my shit, this music makes me remember how to feel. That I even can. And that in spite of all of the fucking drama that I’ve been hit with over the last fifteen years, that I can survive it. I can find some reason, no matter how small, how seemingly insignificant, to push through. To figure out how to trust anyone again, to be able to find a way to love anyone again. And, most importantly, how to find something in myself to appreciate. And that Vessel, hits all of these emotions and thoughts that pass through my brain, is enough to wake me up and to want to work on all of this for the first time in a very long time. This music has re-ignited my love of lyric, verse, chorus, beat, and melody. I don’t want to exit this earth for the fear of missing what Vessel has planned next for all of us.
But I’m also trying to be as present as possible tonight. I don’t want to miss a single thing. I need to see and feel the tiniest vocal gesture, crazy forest imp dance, shenanigans, and every other moment that is unfolding before my eyes. I try to leave my phone in my pocket, but I can’t help it, I want to have some documentation of this night. I grab a few photos of “Alkaline” and “Hypnosis”, which are both so strong tonight that the roof has already been blown off Oakland Arena and so I keep the photos to only a couple during each song. I film “Provider” for a friend recently lost to me, but for the most part, I’m immersed in the man in the mask, or rather, the men in the masks. “Rain” is just absolutely on fire tonight, pulling me in ever deeper into whatever magic this is and I don’t want it to ever end. Vessel’s voice, which was stellar in Minneapolis, is on a whole other level tonight. It’s ethereal. It’s, dare I say, god-like. And I just can’t get enough. I want to go find this man’s vocal coach and throw them a party, give them a raise, anything to reward the work they’ve clearly put in to help this man fully tap into every ounce of his diaphragm, lungs, and vocal folds. The singer in me is envious of this man’s capabilities, but only a little bit because how can you really be envious of this kind of perfection? You can only really revel in it and give thanks to whatever god you believe in that Vessel even exists in this world.
“Caramel” arrives and the anticipation for Vessel’s reaction to the blow-up flamingoes has me practically hanging over the barricade. This song, which has catapulted the band into the consciousness of a whole other demographic thanks to the plethora of accolades that have been showered upon it since the track dropped earlier this year. Vessel and the boys seem to know this inherently and tonight it takes on the mantle of catharsis toward all of the things Vessel has given up and left behind in order to pursue his art. So when the Jerry flamingoes are finally revealed, I swear I can see the grin all the way from my vantage point. And that makes my cold, dead heart grow three sizes on this night. And when, during “The Summoning” Vessel snags one of said flamingoes and crowns iv with it during his guitar solo, with a look of abject satisfaction and joy may just be my favorite memory of the night.
Until we get to “Aqua Regia” and “Granite”, that is. I don’t know what it is about these songs that just electrifies me, but these two performed back-to-back does things to me that shouldn’t be repeated in mixed company, but please go check out my short form pieces and you’ll get an idea of what these songs make me feel. I will hear these tracks in my head for days following this tour and that I will keep coming back to again and again.
But wait. I may have spoken too soon because here we are at the end again. And I can feel the turmoil at this fact wrap its spider-like tendrils right around my heart and start to squeeze. “Infinite Baths” tonight, sends me into a spiral from which I don’t think I’ve yet fully recovered. Heel of hand once again pressed to heart hard enough to leave marks and my body just dissolves into pure emotion and reaction to the words that Vessel is pushing out of his body in a way that I’ve never heard before. I know I’ve called his voice ethereal and otherworldly and on a stupidly high level, but this song, tonight, knowing that there’s only one more show, Vessel has opened up and put this song into a whole other orbit. And by the time he finally wails as the channeled God(dess), I am unequivocally destroyed.
I can’t keep the emotion in that is demanding release and I’m holding on to the barricade rail like a lifeboat. That’s the only thing keeping me upright though I’m fully bent into it while I sob in raking inhalations, tears falling in earnest, hot on my cheeks while my breath feels like shards of glass flowing in and out of my lungs while Vessel keeps screaming and it feels like Sleep is looking right at me and trying to pull me under. But no matter how much I’d like to drown in this endless sea Sleep speaks of, because the idea of not getting to hear this band live, in person after tonight is acutely painful. In just this short period of time, I know that I could listen to Vessel every single day, over and over, and never tire of it —and I have. Sleep Token has yet to leave my daily rotation to the tune of over 18,000 minutes of play-time on my Apple Music year end roundup. I’m probably annoying the absolute shit out of my friends and family as I try to pull them all into the congregation.
I’m still inconsolable when the lights come back up and the crew emerges from backstage to begin to dismantle the stage set. And while I gather up as many petals as I can to bring home with me, I am already beginning the stages of grief and mourning the loss, the gaping hole in my chest that yearns for that voice —just one more song, if you please?
Pretty please? I promise if you come and sing one more for me I won’t tell anybody.
But no. It’s not to be.
So I finally make my way out of the arena and into the vast parking lot, unsure of where to go to catch an Uber back to the hotel. But knowing that there’s going to be a rush to get them, I’ll wait for a while before trying to call for one. I linger in the warm evening, taking in the nearly full moon that looms over the city while fans pour out of the arena and I try not to fall apart again. At least in the shadow of the stage lights and massive sound system, I can hide. Nobody to see me fall apart. But out here, I’m exposed. The safety of the production is gone. The warm, weighted blanket of Vessel’s voice has gone silent and I’m left feeling unprotected and completely vulnerable. And once again, I am desperate for a hand to hold, a body to sink into as a chill absorbs into my bones —the come-down in its central stages.
Eventually, I make my way back to the hotel and less than twelve hours later board the first of two flights that will take me back to Minneapolis. In the aftermath, I feel numb, unsure of where the next step will come from as I walk down airport terminal hallways. My body is on autopilot and I just hope that it’s going in the direction it needs to at this point. I feel alone to wander in a wilderness of my own making after a storm. And I can’t get my thoughts to slow down as I try to replay moments in time, while I crank the AirPods and work my way through the catalogue once again.
I say as little as possible to those I have to interact with as I shift from flight to flight and vehicle to vehicle until I reach my front door and push it open while the melancholy settles firmly upon my shoulders. But there is a small reprieve, because I’ve made home just in time to catch Glen Joseph Robinson livestream the LA show on his Twitch channel. I log on and mirror the screen onto my television so I can run the sound through my soundbar, and I’m certain that my neighbors completely hate me by this point.
This show hits very differently when watching it through a shaky cam and a livestream over the television. But even with the disconnection of distance and technology, I can feel the weight of this show. Closing night and Vessel is just letting it all go. There is a sharp edge to every note, every syllable, every hand gesture. And I can only watch in fascination and sublime awe at what is unfolding, in spite of not being in the room. This is, at the moment, an acceptable consolation prize to not seeing this gig at all. And once again, I find myself incredibly grateful for the opportunities that have been laid in front of me. That divine timing seems to be fully at play here allowing me every possible iteration of experiencing this show in all its forms. And, in truth, the moments that have impacted me throughout these past two live experiences still gut me through the television. I’m still an absolute mess during “Vore” and “Infinite Baths”. “Provider”, “The Summoning”, and “Granite” still hit me below the belt in that other kingdom we don’t talk about in mixed company. “Alkaline”, “Hypnosis”, and “Rain” positively growl in intensity and also hit deep in my belly as Vessel appears to rip his heart out of his chest and throw it onto the stage in the hopes that we will pick it up and care for it as we would our own.
And I’m starting to make peace with the idea that our heroes all could probably use a very long nap. That, while I will absolutely miss having more opportunities to see this band live for the foreseeable future, it doesn’t take away the fact that I can put in my AirPods and listen to them all day, every day, if I so choose. I can pull up complete shows on YouTube and watch them again and again until I expire from this mortal coil —or until they get hit with a DMCA takedown notice from RCA. And if I’m very lucky, and they tour Europe, I can go do that, too. All this to say that, like Vessel’s relationship with Sleep, this is, apparently, an infinite loop. At least until Sleep Token decides to break the cycle and move on to other projects. I just hope that this doesn’t happen for a very long time. There is still more story to this story and I can’t wait to hear and see what’s next.
So, I guess in the grand scheme of things I’ve hit the acceptance part of the cycle of grief. The quiet stillness that comes after the denial, anger, bargaining, and depression. Because I know now that they’re not really gone, and hopefully Vessel is lying on a beach somewhere really lovely and warm and having a cocktail while he writes his next masterpiece.
And in spite of everything I’ve said during this extremely long tale, rest assured, dear reader, that this show, this band is worth every…single…penny.