Some bands don’t just make music—they shape moments, stitch themselves into your memories, and leave echoes that resurface in the hardest and most beautiful times. Killswitch Engage has been that for me.
This show wasn’t just a concert. It was a farewell, a full-circle moment, and a thank you—to the band, and to someone who shared every note of their music with me: Morrigan, my best friend, my service dog, my shadow, my heart.
For 14 and a half years, Morrigan stood by my side, loyal and loving beyond words. We blasted Killswitch on road trips, in quiet moments, on long walks through the unknown. Their lyrics became the lullabies I’d sing to her, the battle anthems for our tougher days, and the bond that played out through speakers as the soundtrack to our story.
So when the house lights dropped and “Strength of the Mind” opened the set, it wasn’t just the start of a show—it was the first step in letting go.
And when they launched into “Rose of Sharyn,” Jesse Leach threw himself into the crowd, literally, and the venue lost it. Security scrambled, unsure how to react, but Jesse was home among the people, held up by hundreds of hands as he kept singing with a smile on his face and fire in his voice. The message was clear: this band doesn’t just perform for fans—they perform with them.
The energy throughout the night was relentless. The pit was pure chaos—bodies crashing into each other, fists in the air, sweat flying as every breakdown detonated like a landmine. The lighting pulsed with vibrant intensity, every note illuminated in color and shadow. And the crowd? The crowd sang every damn word, from front barricade to the back wall.
Killswitch didn’t hold back. Their set was a perfect storm of old and new, melody and aggression, pain and triumph:
• “A Bid Farewell” hit like a wrecking ball, a song soaked in loss and resilience, its chorus cutting through the air like an anthem of survival.
• “Beyond the Flames” and “Collusion” kept the intensity high, their intricate guitar work weaving through the crushing rhythms, while “Hate by Design” had the crowd throwing their voices into the void, shouting back lyrics that felt like they belonged to everyone in that room.
• “Signal Fire” and “Hate by Design” were moments of unity, the entire venue moving as one, proving that Killswitch Engage has always been about more than just heavy riffs—they are about connection, struggle, and triumph. Rallying cries of hope in the storm
• “My Curse” was overpowering, the chorus swallowed by thousands of voices, a moment where the band could have stopped playing entirely, and the audience would have carried the song alone.
• And “The End of Heartache”—the moment that broke me —a song drenched in longing, in pain, in beauty.
When that first chord hit, it was like everything else faded. That song, with its mix of crushing heaviness and aching vulnerability, hit me straight in the chest.
“This distance, this dissolution… I cling to memories while falling…”
I stood there, surrounded by noise, lights, people—and yet felt like I was alone with her again, just for a minute. As Jesse sang those words, I quietly said what I’d been holding onto:
“Thank you for your loyalty and friendship over these last 14 and a half years. I’ll miss you.”
In that moment, Killswitch Engage gave me more than music—they gave me a goodbye.
The final moments of the night, closing with “My Last Serenade,” felt like a final send-off. A song of farewell, of facing pain, of choosing to live through it. The weight of it all—the music, the memories, the loss—it all came together under those lights.
Each member of the band brought everything they had:
• Mike D’Antonio, planted himself in a wide power stance, bracing for impact before whipping his head around with such force that his hair looked like it was caught in slow motion.
• Adam Dutkiewicz, was pure chaos, sprinting from one end of the stage to the other in an ‘I’m With Stupid’ t-shirt and an ‘80s headband that had BEER across it, pointing at the crowd, hyping them up, demanding they jump higher. If he wasn’t impressed, he’d throw his arms out in mock disappointment, then flash a grin, knowing damn well they’d give even more.
• Joel Stroetzel, was all about connection—spotting fans in the crowd, pointing them out, giving them thumbs-ups, even reaching across the photo pit mid-song to shake hands.
• Justin Foley, was an absolute machine behind the kit. His drumming was so precise, so rapid-fire, that at times it felt like he had extra arms, seamlessly shifting between crushing breakdowns and technical fills with ease and passion.
• And Jesse Leach, who never stopped interacting with the crowd, engaging with every person in that venue like they were part of something bigger than just a concert. His vocals were powerful, switching between guttural growls, soaring cleans, and impassioned screams that made it impossible not to feel every word. Not just a frontman, but a messenger—raw, vulnerable, powerful. A man who sings with his heart ripped wide open.
Killswitch Engage didn’t just perform that night. They gave us something—something real.
And for me, they gave me a chance to say goodbye.
To Killswitch Engage—thank you. For your music, for your heart, for helping me create the memories I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.
And to Morrigan:
Thank you for always being there. You were the best part of my world.
I’ll miss you forever.
Your song will always play on.
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