Black Rebel Motorcycle Club – Howl 20th Anniversary Tour at HISTORY, Toronto

By the time doors finally opened at 7:30 p.m., the crowd outside HISTORY in Toronto was restless but patient. Two lines snaked around the building, wrapping both sides of the venue as fans waited patiently to get in. Once inside, the merch line stretched down to the floor — showing just how strong Black Rebel Motorcycle Club’s draw remains, even after two decades on the road. This was no ordinary tour stop. This was a celebration of Howl, the band’s 2005 masterpiece — an album that stripped their sound to its bare soul and rebuilt it with gospel grit and Americana dust.

Delays at the border held up the band’s equipment, but once everything arrived after 7:00, we watched the crew set up and run through a soundcheck as fans trickled inside, observing the scene like a behind-the-scenes documentary. If anyone was frustrated, they didn’t show it. When the lights finally dimmed, the tension snapped into electric focus.

Support came from Humanist, whose 30-minute set offered a cinematic counterpoint to BRMC’s raw minimalism. Their blend of post-punk and darkwave pulsed through the room, all shadow and atmosphere. Tracks like “Beast of the Nation” and “This Holding Pattern” hit hard, while their cover of Mark Lanegan’s “Disbelief Suspension” landed with reverent weight — a fitting nod to a shared musical lineage. The band had to trim their set by 15 minutes, but their presence felt complete: immersive, brooding, and perfectly paired with what was to come.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club took the stage at 9:40 p.m., opening with “Devil’s Waitin’,” a stark acoustic confession that instantly quieted the crowd. The song’s minimalism — a lone voice facing judgment — felt like an invocation. From there, the Howl journey unfolded in order, front to back: “Shuffle Your Feet,” “Howl,” “Ain’t No Easy Way,” “Still Suspicion Holds You Tight.” Each carried the weight of faith and doubt, but none of the self-importance. BRMC’s power lies in restraint — the way they let space, tone, and repetition speak instead of flash.

On Howl, Peter Hayes and Robert Levon Been trade electric chaos for human ache. Live, that shift feels even more tangible. “Promise” shimmered with quiet desperation, “Weight of the World” drifted like a weary confession, and “Complicated Situation” hung in the air like cigarette smoke — dense but beautiful. When “Mercy” hit, the room pulsed like a slow heartbeat. Leah Shapiro’s drums rolled in with ritual precision, grounding the band’s harmonies in something that felt spiritual.

By “Sympathetic Noose” and “Gospel Song,” the crowd had been pulled somewhere quieter — less like a concert and more like a sermon. The Howl material isn’t loud; it’s lived-in. Every strum carries the dirt and grace of experience, and that authenticity filled the room completely.

After the full album run, BRMC shifted gears into the heavier corners of their catalogue — a reminder that beneath all that introspection still beats a punk heart. “The Line” and “Red Eyes and Tears” snapped the crowd awake, bass fuzz vibrating through the floor. “U.S. Government” spat with political defiance, a reminder that BRMC’s rebellion has always had both spiritual and societal edges.

When the opening riff of “Beat the Devil’s Tattoo” hit, the room erupted. Shapiro’s drumming was thunderous — primal but precise. “Berlin” and “Conscience Killer” followed with relentless drive before the inevitable eruption of “Whatever Happened to My Rock ’n’ Roll (Punk Song).” It was pure catharsis — a full-body release after an hour of slow-burn tension.

They could’ve ended there, but “Spread Your Love” and “Shadow’s Keeper” kept the pulse going, dark grooves twisting through clouds of smoke and feedback. Finally, they closed with “Open Invitation,” that quiet, hidden gem from their debut — a moment of calm after the storm. Its tender, nearly whispered delivery left the room suspended, like the lights were fading on the final frame of a film.

By 11:30 p.m., the band slipped away as quietly as they’d arrived. No theatrics. No encores. Just three musicians disappearing back into the haze, leaving behind the echo of something sacred and fleeting.

Twenty years on, the album’s themes — sin, mercy, faith, and redemption — still ring true. In an era of noise and overstimulation, BRMC remind us that sometimes the most powerful statement is made in the dark.

Special thanks to Mahlet Sintayehu at Live Nation for providing press accreditation for this show.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

Humanist

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Drew Osborne

I’m Drew, the founder and editor of Front of the Stage. I have a strong love for music and photography, which started at a very young age. There’s just something I love about experiencing live music and capturing memories that will last a lifetime, and that’s how Front of the Stage came to be.