When I arrived at the Vogue Theatre, it was already packed. People were pressed tight against the barrier, not impatient but expectant. They weren’t just there to see a concert, they were there for an experience. King Buffalo opened that night. I wasn't able to catch their set, but judging by the energy in the room, they set the tone well.
There was an unspoken familiarity in the air, as if the band and the audience had agreed long ago to meet here again. Eight have passed years since their last Vancouver show, yet it felt less like a tour stop and more like a promised return.
Fog hung beneath the ceiling, which glowed softly from the spill of stage lights. Music flowed from the speakers while we waited, and the crowd sang along. No one was killing time, every moment from beginning to end felt intentional and warm. Then, the house music swelled one last time before cutting to black.
The lights dropped. The room went quiet. Heavy.
And when the stage lit back up, the release was immediate. What followed wasn’t chaotic or explosive. It was immersive.
They opened with “See You Next Fall”, a 10 minute long piece that perfectly highlighted each band member. This song pulled me - along with everyone else - into something close to a trance. Hardly any phones were raised. People weren’t straining for videos or shouting for attention, they were swaying, eyes closed, fully present. It didn’t feel like a party, it felt like a ritual.
The Vogue itself became part of that ritual. Near the stage, the bass didn’t just rumble - it moved through my entire body. It pressed into my chest, rattled my ribs, and traveled through the floorboards. The space held the sound beautifully, letting it bloom without turning to noise. The show became a full-body experience, immersive and physical without ever feeling out of control.
With reflection comes change. The departure of founding drummer Robby Staebler and the introduction of Christian Powers marked one of the most significant shifts the band has faced. For longtime listeners, it raised questions about chemistry and identity. However onstage, any uncertainty the audience may have felt melted away. The drums were grounded, locking into the band’s pulse. Powers’ rhythm was rooted in the moment, and felt like a recalibration rather than a replacement.
“Diamond” was the centerpiece - a slow-burning meditation. The band members seemed spiritually connected yet in their own zones, feeling the music throughout their whole being. There wasn’t flashy showmanship or exaggerated cues, it felt deeper than that. There’s a special kind of trust that lets a song stretch past ten minutes without losing its pulse, and it was felt by everyone in that venue.
The addition of violin gave the set an added weight. It wasn’t flashy or theatrical, it felt grounded. In a scene built on distortion, hearing something so organic woven into the mix made the performance feel even more special. The violin was the element I had been most looking forward to, and it more than delivered.
Then came “Red Rocking Chair,” and the room softened. It felt intimate - almost fragile - like the calm before a storm. You could sense the entire audience leaning in together. It was moving in a way that didn’t need to announce itself.
For a band rooted in Nashville yet never confined by it, All Them Witches have always created something distinctly their own. They’ve never fully belonged to a single scene, and that outsider edge shapes their sound.
If House of Mirrors is about reflection, what the band saw at The Vogue seemed to be acceptance. They looked confident. Comfortable. Calm. Not trying to prove anything — just inhabiting who they are right now. Walking out into the night, that feeling lingered. Less spectacle. More certainty.