Hawthorne Heights – First Avenue – Minneapolis MN – March 9th 2026

First Avenue presents Hawthorne Heights with special geusts letlive and Creeper on March 9th 2026

Review and photos by Kyle Hansen

A gothic spectacle condensed into a blistering opening set

On a cold Minneapolis night, Creeper didn’t waste a second of their opening slot at First Avenue. Known for turning even modest stages into something resembling a dark theater production, the band approached this set with the urgency of headliners and the precision of a group that knows exactly what it wants to leave behind: atmosphere.

From the moment they stepped on stage, Creeper leaned hard into their gothic identity. The lighting skewed dim and dramatic—deep reds, shadowy blues—casting the band in a half-world between punk show and horror opera. Frontman Will Gould commanded the room with a mix of swagger and theatricality, shifting between crooning melodrama and sharp-edged punk delivery without losing control of either.

The setlist, pulled largely from their newer material, favored momentum over nostalgia. Songs hit quickly and decisively, each one designed to hook the audience fast—an essential strategy for an opener. Tracks with big, anthemic choruses landed best, drawing in even those who may not have come specifically for them. The crowd, initially reserved, warmed noticeably by the midpoint, responding to the band’s call-and-response moments and rising dynamics.

What stood out most was how complete the performance felt despite its brevity. Creeper doesn’t just play songs; they build a world. Even in a 30-minute window, there was a sense of narrative—romance, death, longing—all filtered through their signature goth-punk lens. It’s a difficult balance to strike without feeling overindulgent, but here it came across as focused rather than excessive.

If there was a limitation, it was purely structural: time. The band’s style thrives on immersion, and just as the atmosphere fully settled in, the set was already racing toward its conclusion. A longer slot would have allowed for more pacing, more tension, and a deeper dive into the theatrical elements that define them.

Still, as opening sets go, this was a statement. Creeper didn’t simply warm up the room—they reframed it. By the time they left the stage, First Avenue felt less like a club show and more like the first act of something larger, darker, and far more dramatic.

A tightly executed, visually rich performance that proved Creeper can turn even a short set into a fully realized experience.

Volatile, physical, and impossible to ignore

There are bands that play shows, and then there are bands like letlive., who treat the stage as something to be tested, bent, and occasionally broken. At First Avenue, their set felt less like a performance and more like a controlled detonation—brief, loud, and leaving a visible mark on everything around it.

From the first note, the band locked into a sound that was both jagged and precise. The instrumentation hit hard—sharp, angular guitar lines cutting through dense, pounding rhythms—while still maintaining enough clarity to keep everything from collapsing into noise. It’s a balance letlive. have always walked well, and here it felt especially dialed in.

At the center of it all was Jason Aalon Butler, whose presence turned the set into something physical. He didn’t stay in one place long enough to be defined by it—pacing, climbing, leaning into the crowd, constantly pushing against the invisible line between performer and audience. His vocals followed the same pattern: shifting from raw, throat-shredding intensity to spoken-word urgency, then snapping back again without warning.

What made the set stand out wasn’t just energy—it was tension. There was a persistent feeling that things could tip over at any moment, that a mic stand might fall, a monitor might slide, or a song might veer off course. But it never did. The band held everything together just tightly enough to keep the chaos intentional.

The crowd responded in kind. Movement spread quickly from the front outward—pockets of jumping, shoving, and shouted lyrics building into something communal. Even those hanging back seemed pulled into the orbit, watching as much as listening, aware that this was a set you didn’t fully experience unless you were paying attention.

If there’s a critique, it’s that the set’s intensity left little room for dynamic contrast. letlive. operate at a near-constant peak, and while that’s part of their identity, a moment of restraint might have made the louder sections hit even harder. Still, in a shorter slot, that relentless pace worked in their favor—it ensured there was no lull, no wasted space.

By the end, the stage looked slightly disheveled, the crowd visibly spent, and the energy in the room had shifted. That’s the hallmark of a strong live act—not just sounding good, but changing the atmosphere in a way that lingers after they’re gone.

Nostalgia, precision, and a crowd that never left

At a venue as storied as First Avenue, certain shows feel less like concerts and more like time capsules. Hawthorne Heights leaned directly into that idea, delivering a set that didn’t try to reinvent their legacy so much as reaffirm why it still matters.

From the outset, the band played with a kind of disciplined confidence. The instrumentation was tight and deliberate—clean guitar lines, steady rhythm section, and just enough edge to keep the songs from feeling overly polished. It was clear this was a group that knows its catalog inside and out, and more importantly, knows how an audience expects to feel when hearing it.

Frontman JT Woodruff anchored the performance with a straightforward, earnest presence. His delivery favored clarity over theatrics, letting the lyrics carry the emotional weight rather than over-performing them. When the songs opened up—those familiar surges between melody and intensity—the crowd filled in the gaps, often loud enough to briefly overtake the band itself.

That audience participation became the defining element of the night. Nearly every chorus turned into a full-room singalong, the kind where individual voices blur into something collective. It gave the set a sense of scale that went beyond the stage, transforming it into a shared experience rather than a one-sided performance.

Structurally, the show moved with purpose. The pacing allowed songs to breathe without dragging, building a steady emotional arc that rose and fell in predictable but satisfying ways. There wasn’t much in the way of surprise—no major rearrangements or detours—but the consistency worked in its favor. The band delivered exactly what the room came for, and did so without hesitation.

If there’s a drawback, it’s that same predictability. The performance was so locked-in that it occasionally felt more like a recreation than a reinterpretation. For longtime fans, that fidelity likely enhanced the experience; for others, it may have left a desire for a bit more spontaneity or risk.

Still, the connection in the room was undeniable. Hawthorne Heights didn’t need to push boundaries—they just needed to show up and play these songs with conviction. And in a space filled with people who had carried those songs with them for years, that was more than enough.

Verdict: A polished, emotionally grounded set driven as much by the crowd as the band—proof that some records don’t just age, they settle in.