by Viviana Mendoza
Some albums don’t just soundtrack your life. They become part of your identity. They live in old iPods, burned CDs, late-night drives, AIM away messages, and every version of yourself that needed them at exactly the right time.
So walking into The UC Theatre on May 8 to see The Academy Is… celebrate twenty years of Almost Here felt emotional before the lights even went down.
And somehow, impossibly, this wasn’t my first anniversary tour for this album. I was there for the ten year anniversary too. A whole decade has passed since then, and now here we all were again, older but somehow instantly transported back the second the band walked onstage.
Only this time, there was something different in the air. Not just nostalgia. Momentum.
Because this tour isn’t only about Almost Here. It’s about where the band has been and where they’re still headed. With the recent release of Almost There, the entire night carried this feeling of unfinished stories and continuing chapters. At one point, the band joked that maybe someday they’ll finally make it to their destination. It was funny, but also strangely perfect. Twenty years later, The Academy Is… still feels in motion.
From the opening notes of “Attention,” the room erupted. The crowd at The UC Theatre wasn’t just excited. They were invested. Every lyric felt lived in. Every chorus came back louder from the audience than from the stage itself.
The lighting elevated everything. Deep blues, bright whites, flashes of red and gold sweeping across the stage in perfect sync with the music. It felt cinematic without losing the rawness that makes these songs work so well live. Some moments felt massive and explosive. Others felt intimate, like the entire theater had shrunk down into a sweaty club show from 2005.
“Slow Down,” “The Phrase That Pays,” and “Black Mamba” hit with the kind of urgency that makes you remember why this band mattered so much in the first place. Their music has always balanced swagger and vulnerability so perfectly, and hearing those songs live again felt like reconnecting with a version of yourself you forgot was still there.
And then there were the emotional punches.
“About a Girl” softened the room in that familiar way, while “Neighbors” and “Seed” reminded everyone just how underrated parts of their catalog really are. The setlist shifted naturally between eras, never feeling overly nostalgic or trapped in the past. Instead, it felt curated by people who genuinely love their own history while still wanting to move forward.
That balance made the inclusion of newer material from Almost There feel exciting rather than obligatory. The new songs fit seamlessly into the set, carrying the same sharp melodies and emotional honesty while still feeling more grown into themselves. Less about trying to prove something. More about understanding exactly who they are.
There’s something surreal about hearing songs you once obsessed over as a teenager in a room full of people who clearly did too. Suddenly everyone is seventeen again for four minutes at a time.
“Checkmarks” and “His Girl Friday” sent the crowd into chaos in the best way. People screamed every word like muscle memory had taken over completely. Somewhere between the jumping, the singing, and the lights flashing overhead, it became impossible not to get swept up in it.
Then came “Almost Here.”
And honestly, that was the moment.
The entire room seemed to pause for just a second before erupting into one collective voice. It felt huge and tender at the same time. The kind of song that only grows more meaningful with age because you understand it differently every time you return to it.
Closing the main set with “After the Last Midtown Show” felt incredibly fitting. A song rooted in endings somehow sounding timeless all these years later.
One of the most beautiful things about this show was realizing how these songs have aged alongside the people who love them. Nobody in that room was pretending it was still 2005. That’s what made it special.
This wasn’t nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. It was reflection. Celebration. Proof that the music we cling to when we’re younger can still hold weight years later, even after life changes shape around it.
And standing there photographing it all, watching the lights sweep across a crowd screaming every word back at the band, it was impossible not to feel grateful. For the music. For the memories. For the fact that bands like The Academy Is… still exist in a way that feels genuine.
Twenty years after Almost Here, these songs still hit exactly where they’re supposed to.
Maybe the destination was never really the point after all.
