The Mysterines on pre-show rituals and opening for Arctic Monkeys : ‘I don’t think we’ve been stuck on this bill because I’m a girl’

Megan Graye chats to 22-year-old frontwoman Lia Metcalfe at Emirates Stadium hours before the Scouse rock band open for Sheffield royalty Arctic Monkeys

Lia Metcalfe leads rock four-piece The Mysterines (Charles Agall)

In three hours The Mysterines will open for the Arctic Monkeys at Emirates Stadium in London. The idea of performing to 60,000 people is a daunting prospect for any musician, but vocalist and guitarist Lia Metcalfe is cool and calm as we settle onto two plastic red seats overlooking the stage her scouse rock band will soon play. Even empty, it looks intimidating. Fortunately, Metcalfe prefers bigger crowds. “The best part about playing in front of so many people is that I can’t see who I’m playing to,” she says in her distinctive Liverpudlian tones. “It’s like people secretly reading my diary rather than me reading it aloud to them.”

The Mysterines – formed by Metcalfe and completed by George Favager (bass), Callum Thompson (guitar) and Paul Crilly (drums) – have quenched a thirst in modern guitar music. They make unashamed rock ‘n’ roll. It’s rich and moreish like Ruby Port; as is the colour palette that dominates both their music videos and wardrobes, all swathed in black and red. Rugged riffs and driving drums give their sound a seductive heaviness similar to Queens of the Stone Age. That combined with Metcalfe’s husky, powerhouse of a voice (a result, she says, of “always having a cold – I live right by Mersey!”) and you can see why they’re comfortable playing big shows. In the last few years, The Mysterines have ticked off feats on any band’s bucket list: release a debut album (Reeling), complete an American tour, and bag an Arctic Monkeys support slot. “We grew up listening to them,” says Metcalfe. “So it’s a weird full circle moment.”

This kind of fateful serendipity has become a familiar pattern for the band. In June 2022, after they released their debut album, the group were invited to perform on the Jools Holland show. But the appearance was more than a career milestone for Metcalfe; it was a premonition realised. When Metcalfe was 14, her secondary school teacher Miss Jones had gifted her a rhyming dictionary to help with songwriting. “Hopefully you’ll put this to good use, and I’ll catch you on Jools Holland one day,” Miss Jones had written inside. “I have kept this book for years and used it on many occasions as an aid/ inspiration for songwriting and poetry writing,” wrote Metcalfe next to an image of her teacher’s handwritten note. “Little did I know when it was gifted to me, that it had a lot more to offer than just some rhymes”.

Metcalfe began gigging alone in cafes and bars when she was 16. She was obsessed with powerful female singers like Miley Cyrus, Martha Reeves and Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Karen O. “I would watch clips of them on stage and try to imitate that terribly,” she tells me, admitting she once taped over her dad’s footage to film herself doing a singalong with a snotty nose. Metcalfe met bassist Favager when she was 14, and the pair found the rest of the band in The Shipping Forecast pub in Liverpool. “Growing up in [the city], naturally everywhere is already so musically inclined,” she says, fiddling with her hair. “We had a whole year in primary school just dedicated to learning about the Beatles. It’s in the education system, so it’s a right of passage. Liverpool definitely provides way more opportunity and for that, we’re super grateful.” Their shared scouse identity has also shaped the band’s relationship. “Knowing that we all came from that one place together and we’ve all had a very similar experience growing up.”

In May, the band entered a new chapter with their aptly titled track “Begin Again” – their first release since 2022’s debut album. “It’s introspective and taps into places of yourself that perhaps you couldn’t reach with just your own brain,” explains Metcalfe, pausing briefly to try to best articulate her thoughts. “I wrote the lyrics down to remember how I got to that state of mind.” The song is all twisted surrealism and phoenix imagery. Metcalfe believes the band are moving away from their rock roots on this second record. “It’s a bit more considered in terms of its sound,” she says. “[Reeling] came out of lockdown. It has all that pent-up energy – and we were kids really.” She has made good progress on album two, which hasn’t got a release date yet, but her songwriting is still evolving. “It’s kind of like building in a world. All the buildings might be up, but none of them have been painted yet.”

Metcalfe has always found writing “thrilling”. Performing, however, is something she has had to learn to love. “It’s a place where you’re vulnerable,” she says of the stage. “I used to think it was cheapening the art of songs because I don’t really care if people like [the sound] or not. But that’s not a fair way to think because people do like it and they deserve the music.” Metcalfe’s doesn’t take it so seriously anymore. “Sometimes you zone out and you’re like, ‘Oh,  s*** I’m on stage’” she laughs. “How did my body just carry on doing that when I just drifted off into what I dreamt last night?” Is dissociating perhaps a way to protect herself when faced with an overwhelming situation? “Yeah, maybe it’s a psychological thing that a brain does so I don’t get overexcited,” she suggests. “My head is always in the clouds, but it’s weirdly therapeutic.” She’s not the only one who transports into different worlds during performance. “[Turner] once did this invisible bowling ball [act in between songs] and rolled it along,” Metcalfe recalls, smiling as though she’s rewatching it in her head. “If he wasn’t Alex Turner, he could probably make a really good career out of miming.”

A loud buzzing suddenly jolts from an amp. Guitars are being set up for soundcheck. There’s anticipation in the air. Metcalfe’s pre-show rituals include everything from screaming into a mirror to stripping off and hastily redressing again. “Honestly, the girl’s bathroom is a lifesaver before the show,” she says. It’s the only time she gets to herself. “There aren’t many women in the industry, so that’s my dressing room because no one’s going to come in there,” she laughs. Finding a solitary space for vocal warm-ups is perhaps the only positive that can be drawn from the lack of gender diversity in music. “If I see a woman, I’m like, ‘A girl – YES!’” she shouts. “There’s definitely more female artists coming through now than ever. I don’t think we’ve been stuck on this bill because I’m a girl. Arctic Monkeys do actually like the tunes.” She pauses, suddenly doubting herself. “Well – they said they did!”