Viagra Boys rolled into Toronto like a deranged wellness seminar gone completely off the rails, and History proved to be the perfect room for their particular brand of sweaty, confrontational chaos. This wasn’t a polished rock show or a nostalgia exercise—it was a living, breathing mess in the best possible way. The Swedish post-punk weirdos have always thrived on discomfort, and from the moment they hit the stage, they made it clear that nobody in the room was here to feel cool, safe, or dignified. You were here to laugh, to flinch, to dance badly, and to maybe question a few life choices along the way.
The crowd reflected that energy immediately. History filled with a mix of longtime fans, punk lifers, ironic hipsters, and people who looked like they wandered in by accident and decided to stay. There was no barrier between band and audience in spirit, even if there was one physically. The air felt thick before a note was played, and once the band launched into “Man Made of Meat,” it instantly became a communal purge. The bass rattled the room, the sax cut through like a siren, and Sebastian Murphy took control of the stage with his usual unhinged preacher energy—half motivational speaker, half guy yelling at himself in a mirror.
“Slow Learner” and “Waterboy” kept the momentum surging, the band locking into that lurching, hypnotic groove they do so well. Viagra Boys don’t rush; they grind. The rhythm section is a machine, pounding out grooves that feel both caveman-simple and meticulously controlled. Murphy stalked the stage, pacing, swaying, muttering, occasionally locking eyes with the crowd like he was daring someone to look away. The humor was there, but it was always undercut by menace. You laugh, then you feel weird about laughing, then the song hits harder.
“Punk Rock Loser” landed like a mission statement. It’s a song that shouldn’t work as well as it does live, but in this room it felt enormous. The crowd shouted along, not because it’s catchy, but because it’s brutally relatable. Viagra Boys have a way of turning self-loathing into a communal chant, and History echoed with it. “Uno II” and “Ain’t No Thief” followed, stretching the set into something that felt less like a list of songs and more like one long, unbroken mood. The band gave each track room to breathe, letting grooves spiral and mutate before snapping back into shape.
By the time “Return to Monke” and “Pyramid of Health” hit, the room was fully locked in. The pit wasn’t violent, but it was relentless—constant movement, bodies bouncing off each other in a way that felt more primal than aggressive. The lighting stayed stark and functional, nothing flashy, which suited the band perfectly. This isn’t a show about spectacle; it’s about presence. Every glare, every grimace, every ridiculous saxophone flourish mattered more than visuals ever could.
“Troglodyte” pushed things into darker territory, the song’s caveman paranoia and simmering tension translating beautifully live. Murphy leaned into the absurdity without winking too hard, letting the track feel genuinely unsettling. “You N33d Me” brought a warped sense of swagger, while “Cold Play” was one of the night’s biggest crowd-pleasers—not because of the joke title, but because of how perfectly it skewers modern insecurity. The audience laughed, danced, and sang along in equal measure, fully aware they were being roasted and loving it anyway.
The middle stretch of the set—“Store Policy,” “Down in the Basement,” and “Medicine for Horses”—felt like the band hitting a deep groove pocket. These weren’t throwaway tracks; they were delivered with the same intensity as the bigger songs, and it paid off. “Medicine for Horses” in particular stretched out beautifully, the band letting the tension simmer before bringing it crashing back down. It was sweaty, hypnotic, and slightly uncomfortable, which is exactly where Viagra Boys operate best.
“Sports” detonated the room. It’s impossible to overstate how hard this song hits live. The chant-along sections turned History into a roaring mass of voices, fists in the air, people losing their minds over a song that is, at its core, a satire. That contradiction is the band’s superpower. They make songs about dumb obsessions and empty masculinity that feel cathartic rather than preachy, and “Sports” remains the ultimate example. It was loud, joyous, and completely ridiculous.
“Research Chemicals,” extended and stretched into a late-set freakout, was the peak of the night. The band leaned into the repetition, building a trance-like atmosphere that felt borderline hypnotic. The sax squealed, the bass throbbed, and Murphy looked like he was barely holding it together—in a way that felt completely intentional. This wasn’t indulgent jamming; it was controlled chaos, and the crowd stayed with them every second of it.
After a brief exit, the band returned for an encore that somehow managed to escalate things further. “The Bog Body” slithered into the room with its eerie, off-kilter energy, followed by “ADD,” which felt like a release valve for all the pent-up tension. Murphy bounced, paced, and barked his way through the song, feeding off the crowd’s energy like it was oxygen. By the time they closed with “Worms,” the room was exhausted but ecstatic. It was the perfect closer—gross, catchy, and oddly life-affirming in its own twisted way.
What made this show stand out wasn’t just the setlist or the performance, but how cohesive it all felt. Viagra Boys aren’t trying to be likable in a traditional sense, and they’re certainly not chasing mainstream approval. They’re fully committed to their lane, and that confidence radiated throughout the night. History felt less like a venue and more like a shared fever dream, a place where irony and sincerity blurred into something raw and physical.
Sebastian Murphy remains one of the most compelling frontmen working right now. He doesn’t command the stage through technical prowess or polished charisma; he does it by being completely present and unfiltered. He looks like someone who shouldn’t work as a frontman, which is exactly why he does. The rest of the band deserves equal credit—they’re tight, powerful, and never let the chaos slip into sloppiness. Every groove hit hard, every transition felt deliberate.
By the end of the night, the crowd spilled out onto Queen Street buzzing, sweaty, and grinning like they’d just survived something together. Viagra Boys didn’t just play a show at History; they temporarily took it over, turning it into their own strange, feral ecosystem. It was loud, funny, unsettling, and deeply satisfying—everything a Viagra Boys show should be.
Setlist:
Man Made of Meat
Slow Learner
Waterboy
Punk Rock Loser
Uno II
Ain’t No Thief
Return to Monke
Pyramid of Health
Troglodyte
You N33d Me
Cold Play
Store Policy
Down in the Basement
Medicine for Horses
Sports
Research Chemicals (extended)
Encore:
The Bog Body
ADD
Worms