AT THE GATES

Sweden’s melodic‑death pioneers At the Gates hit Vancouver’s Commodore Ballroom thanks to Live Nation, joining Behemoth for a killer bill. I can’t even explain how excited I was for this. This band has dodged me for years—wrong timing, bad luck, whatever—but tonight I finally got my shot at seeing these Gothenburg legends. At the Gates basically wrote the rulebook for “melodic” metal, and bands like Killswitch Engage, All That Remains, and Bullet for My Valentine all admit they owe them a debt. Personally, I don’t hear a ton of At the Gates in those bands beyond some guitar influence, but Tomas Lindberg’s vocals? Untouchable. Nobody sounds like him, and you won’t hear a single clean note out of his mouth. That’s the difference I love compared to the polished melodic bands of today.

So here they are, and as I’m standing in front of them with my camera in hand, the excitement hits harder than usual. They tear into the opening riffs of “Drink from the Night Itself,” and I’m instantly torn between watching the band and remembering I’m supposed to be taking photos. My camera settings suffer for it.
The crowd behind the photo pit erupts immediately, the barricade heaving as security braces for impact. I’m reminded of where I am when a fan topples over the rail and lands square on my ankle mid‑shot—OUCH—but honestly, that’s the worst of it tonight, and the chaos only adds to the thrill.

At the Gates sound exactly like the records—heavy, tight, and soaked in that classic Gothenburg tone from their Peavey 6505s. After “Drink from the Night Itself,” they hit “Slaughter of the Soul” and “At War with Reality,” and I suddenly realize the first three songs are literally the titles of their last three albums. Turns out that’s the theme for the night, because the whole set sticks to those three monsters.
Jonas Stålhammar and Martin Larsson are absolutely crushing on guitars, and the rhythm section—Jonas Björler and Adrian Erlandsson—runs like a perfectly tuned machine. “Heroes and Tombs” hit especially hard; by then I was out of the pit and headbanging like a maniac to that chug and low‑end rumble.
Tomas, rocking his trademark black baseball hat, is the ultimate hype man. He stalks the stage, grabs the mic stand like he’s wrestling it, and unleashes that signature roar with everything he’s got. They wrap things up with “Night Eternal,” which slowly winds the energy down and feels like the perfect closer.

After a night like this, it’s obvious why so many newer bands look up to At the Gates. They absolutely tore the place apart. Their latest album, Drink from the Night Itself, is well worth diving into—just be warned, your neck might not forgive you afterward.