The Beaches – Roadrunner, Boston September 2025

-Videos, The Beaches

Some rooms just fit certain bands perfectly, and Roadrunner in Boston felt like it was built for The Beaches. Big enough to feel important, small enough to stay sweaty and chaotic, it was the ideal setting for a band that thrives on connection, volume, and a little bit of mess. From the moment they walked onstage, it was obvious this wasn’t going to be a polished, distant performance. This was going to be loud, loose, and personal—and that’s exactly what it was.

They wasted no time, launching straight into “Last Girls at the Party.” The place erupted immediately. No easing in, no warm-up lap—just full throttle from the first note. The crowd surged forward, drinks went up, and suddenly Roadrunner felt less like a concert venue and more like a packed house party teetering on the edge of chaos. The Beaches fed off that energy instantly, grinning, moving nonstop, clearly thrilled with the response.

“Touch Myself” kept the momentum going, guitars snapping and drums hitting hard enough to rattle the floor. The sound in the room was thick and loud but never muddy, and the band’s chemistry was obvious. They’ve played together long enough now that everything feels instinctual. There’s no overthinking onstage—just muscle memory, trust, and attitude. “Me & Me” followed, and the crowd sang along loudly enough to almost drown out the PA, which only seemed to encourage the band more.

With “Cigarette,” they leaned into a slightly grittier groove, and Roadrunner responded accordingly. The Beaches have a way of making songs about bad habits and messy emotions feel celebratory rather than heavy, and live, that effect is amplified. It’s cathartic without being self-serious, which is a big part of why their shows feel so communal.

“Grow Up Tomorrow” brought a bit of swagger and bite, while “Shower Beer” blew the doors off the place. That song is practically designed for rooms like Roadrunner—tight, loud, and impossible not to yell along with. By this point, the entire floor was moving as one, bouncing and shouting every lyric back at the band. It wasn’t just fans watching a show; it was a crowd actively participating in it.

Things shifted with “Did I Say Too Much.” The tempo slowed slightly, but the intensity didn’t drop. If anything, it deepened. The Beaches let the song breathe, and the audience followed their lead, singing with a kind of earnest volume that felt almost emotional. There’s something about hearing a few thousand people shout vulnerable lyrics in unison that never stops being powerful.

That emotional thread continued into “Fine, Let’s Get Married,” which landed as one of the night’s biggest moments. The crowd sang every word, arms around friends, phones in the air, the whole room glowing. It felt intimate in a way that’s rare for a venue this size—like everyone was sharing the same memory at the same time.

The middle of the set—“Dirty Laundry,” “Can I Call You in the Morning?” and “What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Paranoid”—was where the band really flexed their pacing. They never let the energy dip too far, but they also didn’t just hammer away nonstop. Each song had space to hit, and Roadrunner stayed locked in the entire time.

“Everything Is Boring” brought the sarcasm back in full force, its sharp hooks landing perfectly in the live setting. Then came “Lesbian of the Year,” performed without guitar, which turned into one of the most memorable moments of the night. Stripped down and raw, it forced the room to listen differently. The crowd leaned in, singing loudly but respectfully, and the song’s power came through even stronger without the usual instrumentation.

With “Edge of the Earth,” the band expanded the room again, building atmosphere and drama before charging into the final stretch. “Jocelyn” and “Takes One to Know One” kept the crowd moving, but by now everyone knew what was coming. When the opening notes of “Blame Brett” hit, the reaction was explosive. The singalong was deafening, bodies jumping, voices cracking, the kind of moment bands dream about when they start out playing basements and bars.

After a brief break, The Beaches returned for the encore. “I Wore You Better” felt like a thank-you, a nod to longtime fans who had been there since the early days. “Sorry for Your Loss” added a bittersweet edge before the night closed where it began—with “Last Girls at the Party.” Ending the show on that song felt perfect, like slamming the door on a great night rather than letting it quietly fade out.

At Roadrunner, The Beaches didn’t just play a show—they reminded everyone why live rock music still matters. Loud, emotional, funny, and completely unfiltered, this was the kind of night that leaves you hoarse, sweaty, and already wishing you could do it again.

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