No air con, no barrier, no encore. Hawthorne Heights close the Slam Dunk weekend with a sweat-soaked throwback set destined to make any former MySpace kid yearn for 2006…
Words & photos by Felix Bartlett (@bartlettfelixhc) | May 2, 2026
The Dome is doing its best sauna impression and JT Woodruff is mopping his brow. “We’d trade you The Beatles, The Smiths and The Cure for some ice water and air con right now,” he grins. Tonight, there is no AC, no barrier, no security, just sweat, tears, and a roomful of emo kids primed to scream every word back at the band.
Having missed Hawthorne’s main set at Slam Dunk South over the weekend to chase interviews, this writer arrived guilt-ridden. Two songs in, with If Only You Were Lonely and This Is Who We Are landing square in the chest, all is forgiven. The band are leaning fully into the 20th anniversary of their second record, and the throwback setlist arrives in waves: We Are So Last Year, Saying Sorry, Pens And Needles, every chorus louder than the last.
JT is in his element, dropping a story about one of the lads taking his partner to Toby Carvery for their anniversary. The punchline lands; Yorkshire pudding, it turns out, isn’t a pudding in any meaningful sense of the word. Later, a heartfelt monologue about community, about why bands like Hawthorne keep doing this twenty years deep, makes The Dome feel less like a venue and more like a living room. The repeated push for the merch stand isn’t ego, it’s lifeblood. No matter how big these bands look from the outside, the only thing keeping them on the road is you and the shirt you buy on the way out.
If there is a gripe, and it’s a small one, Mark McMillon’s screams needed cranking way higher in the mix. Where Can I Stab Myself In The Ears? and Cross Me Off Your List both lose a little of their bite when the unclean vocals get swallowed by the room. Small ask, big payoff next time.
When the encore comes, it doesn’t really. “What’s the point of leaving?” JT shrugs, and the band stay rooted and tear straight into Dandelions, Niki FM and Like A Cardinal. With no barrier in sight, crowdsurfers climb onto the stage and tumble back into the pit like it’s 2006 all over again. Ohio Is For Lovers closes us out, and there isn’t a dry eye, or a dry shirt, in the building. The MySpace era never really left. It was just waiting for someone in London to turn the AC off.
Leave a Reply