VANS WARPED TOUR HITS LONG BEACH—BUT THE CHAOS BEGAN AT THE PALLADIUM
On the night before Warped Tour roared back to life in Long Beach, Emo Nite assembled a lineup that felt like a thunderclap in the heart of Hollywood with The Vans Warped Tour Befores. A packed Palladium swelled with longtime fans and fresh faces alike, all drawn into an almost six-hour whirlwind that tapped into every cracked speaker and crumpled setlist memory from Warped Tour's past.
Fever333 kicked the doors open with the subtlety of a freight train. Jason Aalon Butler stormed the stage and the venue like it was already on fire, contorting, leaping, and shouting with the full-body intensity of someone performing like the walls might close in at any moment. Their message was sharp, their presence defiant, and their sound loud enough to rattle the upstairs balcony. There was no room for warming up—their set demanded you show up fully present, or get left behind.
When Anberlin appeared next, the crowd leaned in close—ready to scream until voices cracked. But just as the energy crested, technical complications took control that resulted in the band only having time to perform two songs. Even so, those brief moments—especially the explosive opener—left an impression. The audience filled the silence with chants and applause, a collective refusal to let the moment die quietly.
Four Year Strong showed up with zero interest in subtlety. Their brand of melody-infused hardcore came crashing in like a steel-toed reminder of what Warped was always best at: loud, fast, emotional release. The crowd fed off every downstroke, fists flying in unison to songs like “It Must Really Suck…” and “Find My Way Back.” It was relentless in the best way possible—a rhythmic, sweat-drenched surge that restored momentum to the evening with authority.
Then came Hawthorne Heights, who brought with them a wave of emotional grit. Their set carved through the noise with no need for spectacle. They didn’t posture or pander—they simply were, delivering heartbreak anthems with a quiet power that resonated deep. The weight behind songs like “Saying Sorry” felt amplified in a room full of people who still carry those lyrics in their bones. It was unflashy and deeply felt—a slow-burning spark in the night’s chaos.
Silverstein arrived with a sharp edge honed by two decades of constant touring. Their performance was a masterclass in dynamic control—one moment soaring and melodic, the next snarling and unhinged. Shane Told's vocal command, paired with the band’s airtight transitions, gave each song a sense of urgency. They held the room in full focus, not through gimmicks, but through consistency and raw delivery. It was proof that intensity doesn’t have to come at the cost of clarity.
State Champs wrapped up the night with a well-aimed burst of speed and swagger. Even as the clock pushed past midnight, they pulled the crowd into one last sprint. Every chorus felt like a call to arms, every riff sparking motion in a sea of worn-out sneakers. They owned the closer slot—not because of seniority, but because they knew exactly how to bring every last ounce of energy out of a crowd that had already given so much.
By the end, exhaustion was everywhere—on stage, in the pit, at the bar—but so was something else: conviction. People didn’t just show up to relive old playlists. They came to be reminded of what it feels like to be part of something loud, imperfect, and alive. The Befores did more than nod to the past. They cleared a runway for what’s next.
