Collective Soul and Live Let Their Party Animal Light Shine in Irving

Like a time machine powered by power chords and wrapped in August heat, the Summer Unity Tour rolled into Irving's The Pavilion at Toyota Music Factory on Wednesday night. The lineup was a sonic baptism that transported fans straight back to the golden age of alternative rock. Collective Soul, Live, Our Lady Peace and rising star Greylin James Rue shared the stage in a spiritual revival for the flannel-clad faithful.

The evening opened under a punishing Texas sun that would have made even Neil Diamond's "Brother Love" sweat through his salvation suit. The venue's decision to keep those back doors open meant the lawn section became a pressure cooker, but the crowd endured, united by anticipation and Liquid Death water that suddenly seemed worth every penny for the hydration alone.

Greylin James Rue, sister to Spy Kids alumna Alexa PenaVega, kicked off the evening with a brief but captivating 20-minute set that proved sometimes less truly is more. Her indie-rock sensibilities channeled the ethereal qualities of Dolores O'Riordan while carrying the fierce determination of Hayley Williams. Though her catalog remains lean—with "Birth of Venus" standing as her lone digital single—Rue's performance suggested an artist on the verge of something significant. Her voice cut through the stifling air like a cool breeze, immediately perking ears and planting seeds of curiosity about her musical future. Our Lady Peace brought their trademark Canadian precision to the sweltering stage, with Raine Maida's vocals remaining as sharp and controlled as they were during the band's Clinton-era heyday. After three decades of touring, Maida's instrument has aged like fine wine, delivering each note with the confidence of a veteran who knows exactly what his voice can do.

The seven-song set felt perfectly calibrated, building energy methodically through crowd-pleasers like "Superman's Dead" and "Clumsy" from their seminal 1997 release. But it was "Somewhere Out There" that truly ignited the audience, phones emerging like digital lighters as voices joined in familiar harmony.

The set's most powerful moment came with "Whatever," a song the band has recently reclaimed as an anthem for mental health awareness. As Maida explained to the crowd, the song was originally written as a theme for the embattled professional wrestler Chris Benoit, who murdered his family and committed suicide in 2007, but the band stopped performing it live following the tragic circumstances of his death.
"We feel like it's been almost 20 years now, and we've come a long way with mental health," Maida shared. "We tried to tell our friends, you can talk to us. Talk to your family. Don't hide in the dark. You don't have to suffer in silence."

Maida's use of a megaphone during the performance added theatrical weight to the message, transforming rock spectacle into genuine advocacy.

Then there was Live. Frontman Ed Kowalczyk bounded onto the stage like a man possessed, his "Dirty South" t-shirt already bearing the battle scars of Texas humidity. By the set's end, the shirt had become translucent testimony to the evening's intensity. But Kowalczyk's energy never flagged, even as he playfully acknowledged his geographical displacement.
"As it turns out, I'm the only one from the East Coast," he confessed around the 30-minute mark, gesturing to his Texas-born bandmates. "This whole band is from Texas, but me, so they made me an honorary Texan while we're down here. Do y'all agree with that?" The crowd's enthusiastic approval seemed to energize him further. "I don't come from anywhere cool like Dallas. I come from a little town called York, Pennsylvania, way up there. And it sucks. Still."

This self-deprecating humor led naturally into "Shit Town," a deep cut from 1994's Throwing Copper that showcased the band's willingness to dig beyond radio favorites. Yet it was the hits that truly demonstrated Live's enduring power—"I Alone" erupted from the crowd like a collective exhale held for decades, while "Lightning Crashes" closed their set with the same spiritual intensity that made them alt-rock royalty.
But the evening's true revelation came when Collective Soul claimed the stage. Ed Roland emerged like a rock and roll shaman, his glittered chest hair catching stage lights beneath a patterned suit that screamed cosmic country gentleman. Wielding a cane like Willy Wonka before casting it aside, Roland immediately established himself as the evening's master showman.

"We're not here to convert you to any religion, theology, ideology, political party," Roland declared early in their set. "All we want to convert you to is peace, love and some rock and roll." Later, he referenced their Southern roots: "We're a bunch of spiritual cats up here... some blessed Southern boys."

The band's 2024 album Here to Eternity provided the opening salvo with "Mother's Love," proving that Collective Soul's songwriting remains as potent as ever. Roland treated the stage like his personal prayer ground, taking laps around his bandmates while inviting the audience into call-and-response communion. The surreal video backdrop—featuring everything from close-up bee footage to cream-dripping visuals that could have soundtracked a Stone Temple Pilots fever dream—provided constant visual stimulation.
Family proved central to Collective Soul's appeal, with Roland introducing his brother Dean, who has played rhythm guitar since the band's formation in the early 1990s. Most touching was his introduction to "Tremble for My Beloved," written in 1998 when his son was born.

"I'm about to be a dad," Roland recalled of that Miami recording session. "And it’s a blessing to have him out here working with us now, 27 years later."

The evening's only strategic misstep came when Collective Soul played their biggest hits—"Shine" and "December"—too early in their set, causing some crowd thinning before their emotional closer "Run." Yet even this couldn't diminish the genuine joy radiating from the stage, where the musicians clearly relished each other's company.

As the final notes faded and the Texas heat finally began its retreat, the Summer Unity Tour had delivered exactly what its name promised. Four acts from different decades and countries had created something larger than their individual parts.
The '90s thundered back with a vengeance, reminding everyone present why some decades never really end; they just wait patiently for the right summer night to return.

See photos from Wednesday's show: