The Offspring | Simple Plan
Manchester AO Arena
Sunday 16th November 

The Doctor will see you now…fresh from gaining his PhD, The Offspring’s Dexter Holland and his gang of SoCal stalwarts bring their hearty blend of alternative punk and salsa to a packed out Manchester. Just watch out for the gorilla guy. And the booty cam. Sam Lambeth asked for a 13, but they drew a 31.

You could be forgiven for thinking that Halloween has come late to Manchester. As you take a stroll in the city centre on a bitterly cold Sunday night, you’re likely to come across an army of blue sports jerseys, bug-eyed shades, chains and red caps. Some proudly display mohawks and that extremely gelled spiky look that Sum 41’s singer loved back in the day. Then, you’ll come across a punk gorilla – a silverback complimented with a cut-off denim jacket replete with band patches. It’s all a bit zany, but it turns out The Offspring are in town, and things are gonna get crazier from here on in. 

First, though, this sea of red snapbacks – so ubiquitous you almost think you’ve accidentally walked into a MAGA rally – are warmed up by Canadian pop punk mainstays Simple Plan. The band are pop punk in their purest form. Think emotive, charging guitar riffs and wistful, yearning lyrics. Singer Pierre Bouvier may have a name that sounds like a French socialite from the 1960s, but here he’s dressed in regulation pop punk attire – tattoo sleeves, black vest, spiky hair. He orders everyone in the already crammed arena to stand up, but those sitting down are all too aware it’s a Sunday and are only gonna get up to either buy or expel fluids. 

They do a fine job of transitioning between po-faced bitterness on the epic Your Love is a Lie and the bouncy Jet Lag (sadly, there’s no Natasha Bedingfield cameo). Next, a line of stage hands appear like riot police, only instead of brandishing guns, they’re proudly holding huge beach balls. These are soon unleashed for the breezy acoustic hit Summer Paradise, which has everyone in chilly MCR imagining they’re sifting through a paperback next to the pool. “Thanks for playing with our balls,” Bouvier cheekily remarks, proving that they also adhere to the strict joke code of pop punk, too. 

Things get even stranger next when a cabal of onesies take to the stage. There’s numerous Scooby Doos, a few Freds and even the odd Velma. Yep, Simple Plan did a raucous version of the Scooby Doo theme tune for a TV show way back, and they’re now dusting it off in all its campy glory. The crowd, hungry for nostalgia, lap up every minute. 

This writer has never once had to write about an intermission before, and with good reason. Nothing normally happens. Roadies appear and disappear, music plays, people go grab a beer, you get the picture. Well, for those who hate silence or have fallen out with their partner during Simple Plan’s set, they’re in luck, for The Offspring certainly know how to fill 25 minutes. First, there’s ‘Gorilla Guy’. Not since Harambe has there been a primate so universally loved by millennials. He gets in the crowd, he steals people’s hats, he offers people the chance to get front row seats.

Next, it turns into a basketball game. The kiss cam is unleashed, as couples around the arena lock lips and black hoodies. Worse, or better depending on your viewpoint, is booty cam. Men and women proudly flaunt their rumps to that ungodly mash up of Baby’s Got Back and Anaconda. Topping this all off is the lookalike section, where randomers in the crowd are matched to a celebrity. Comparisons to Vin Diesel and Jason Momoa are pretty flattering, but those who are likened to Mr Mackey and Crazy Barbie might be asking for a refund (and a facelift).

It’s so action-packed that you almost forget there’s still a headline gig to come. People have been refraining from going for a piss. Others look dehydrated as they veto grabbing a bevvie. Some look gutted that their booty did not get the exposure it deserves. As Gorilla Guy whips up some final hype, The Offspring take to the stage and tear straight into the punk-meets-rockabilly of Come Out and Play. It’s one of the many songs that sees the California legends combine angsty alt rock with a more easy-going subgenre, and it’s one of the skills that propelled them from the garages to the arenas. 

The hits come out in full force from the beginning, the blistering longing of Want You Bad careening into the taut blasts of old favourite Staring at the Sun. The electro-tinged stomper Hit That is masterfully spliced into one of their best-loved songs, and one of a few that brings a bit of silliness to proceedings. Original Prankster has that winning blend of jokey energy and strong craftsmanship, and keeps the crowd moshing – although, truth be told, they’ve been doing that since the kiss cam. 

The band are hearty hosts. Skunk-like guitarist Noodles is the band’s hype man, informing the crowd about singer Dexter Holland’s new PhD, his hot sauce and his career as a pilot. He also peppers the night with cries of “fuck yeah” and hyperbolic boasts that the audience numbers are in the millions. Holland is a little more reserved and “aw, shucks” in his demeanour, but together they have a patter that is as endearing as a long-suffering husband and wife.

There are moments when things get serious, too. The caustic Hammerhead is as close as The Offspring get to metal. The twangy, bustling The Kids Aren’t Alright is a brutal broadside on suburban disharmony. A solo, piano-led take on the elegiac Gone Away belies the night’s bombast, although dollops of dry ice keep things on trend. While he’s sat at the ivories, Holland can’t resist dusting off eternal classic Hey Jude, which gets the crowd swaying in unison. Thankfully, though, he doesn’t do a McCartney and extend the outro for four hours.

On the home stretch, the band gets to work. Gorilla Guy returns for a spirited cover of I Wanna Be Sedated. Inflatable tube fly guys rise to the roof for the irresistible smash of Latin hip hop and arena rock that is Pretty Fly (For A White Guy) and the cynical slacker ode Why Don’t You Get A Job. For the encore, they go back to the start for the toxic cry of juddery misfit anthem Self Esteem.

As the band leaves to the sweet strains of Sweet Caroline, the swelled out crowd – red caps and all – bounce out feeling sweaty and satisfied, even if not all of them got to party with the gorilla.

~

The Offspring can be found on Facebook, X, Instagram and via their website.

All words by Sam Lambeth. Sam is a journalist and musician. More of his work for Louder Than War is available on his archive. 

Photos by Federica Burelli, except for main header image by Tijs van Leur.