Delta Sleep arrive first and waste no time making a case for themselves. The Brighton math-rockers bring a kind of unhurried technical confidence that makes every track feel crowded and cascading in the best possible sense, jazz and alt influence bleeding into one another with an ease that makes the whole thing feel inevitable rather than effortful. The energy is quieter than Oversize’s; more focused, the kind of performance where the music does all the talking and the talking is very good. The crowd eat up every minute of it and by the time they’re done, a room that arrived strangers to them has been thoroughly won over.

And now, Hot Mulligan. ‘Moving to Bed Bug Island’ opens with deceptive calm, the kind of measured intro that lulls you into thinking you might get a minute to breathe before the whole thing detonates. You don’t. ‘And a Big Load’ follows and the Roundhouse barely knows what to do with itself, and from there the room is in freefall in the best possible way. Tades Sanville occupies a very specific Venn diagram overlap between genuinely funny and genuinely devastating, working the crowd between songs with the ease of someone who has been doing this in rooms this size long enough to know exactly when to land a punchline and when to let a song do the heavy lifting. The banter never outstays its welcome because the songs never let it.

A Weezer cover in ‘Island in the Sun’ arrives early and lands with a warmth that briefly turns the Roundhouse into a living room. Then ‘Monica Lewinskibidi’ and ‘How Do You Know It’s Not Armadillo Shells?’ (fan favourite and highlight of the set) instantly make the queuing all worth it. It’s a far cry from playing support slots to a couple of hundred people only a handful of years ago. ‘I Don’t Think It’s the Right Time for Emojis’ is barely three weeks old, a B-side broadside against religious hypocrisy that Tades has described with characteristic bluntness, and yet a startling number of this crowd already know every word. It’s just that kind of fanbase. ‘Featuring Mark Hoppus’ and ‘John “The Rock” Cena, Can You Smell What the Undertaker’ bulldozes through the mid-set with Hot Mulligan’s signature trick of disguising genuinely devastating emotional content inside song titles that sound like they were named by a sleep-deprived teenager on a group chat. ‘Drink Milk and Run’ and ‘Feal Like Crab’ keep the room in a state of near-constant motion, and ‘Gans Media Retro Games’ and ‘Stickers of Brian’ carry the main set toward its close with taut, hard-won momentum.

We’re transported back to the fever dream that was March 2020 with two tracks from ‘You’ll Be Fine’ for the encore. ’BCKYRD’ and ‘*Equip Sunglasses*’ close it out with the kind of volume that makes the Roundhouse’s famous circular walls feel like they’re leaning in.

Hot Mulligan are, and have been for a while, one of the best live bands doing it, and it feels like they are now, at last, getting their flowers.

KATHRYN EDWARDS

Reliably on point as ever, The Bouncing Souls’ new song ‘As One’ channels street punk on the bass, alongside their ever-present focus, a community strength cut with a darker edge. There’ll never be a time when we don’t welcome the sight of Greg Attonito swaggering his way through ‘True Believers’, chorus aflame and beers raised in salute. ‘Gone’ gives us the first anthem moment that we crave, with each singalong-second heartfelt. Calling this tour a Winter Circus feels a tad reductive after the moment of honesty that The Bouncing Souls conjure.

Of course, we’re here for the mini-festival atmosphere that Less Than Jake conjure at every show. It’s almost like a quality guarantee that could be stamped on every ticket: we know exactly what we’re going to get, and it’s going to satisfy our urges for healthy nostalgia and a time to dance like we’re in a field circa 2004. Red lights glint off thrown glasses as we’re swept into ‘History Of A Boring Town’ as Chris DeMakes conducts our singalong, and we’re in full voice from the second the drop hits. “It’s too fuckin’ easy to play here! You just go crazy for the first note,” the frontman laughs, and he’s right too. We’d still be bouncing off the walls if they read their shopping lists for ninety minutes, but their little touches of drama – the blasts of smoke, the synchronised jumps, the inflatable mascots, the masked rabble-rousers that leap onstage – fuel a show that reaches beyond the standard look back at the greatest hits. As Roger Lima takes over vocals for ‘Lie To Me’, a burst of magnificent optimism sends a crowd-surfer flipping and extending ropes of connection into the audience. No one needs to be told to create a “unity pit” for ‘Last One Out Of Liberty City’, and our shouts can’t be repressed as we’re flung into ‘All My Best Friends Are Metalheads’. Phones rise and shoes are lost from feet as even the security guards are bemused at the sight of folk in their fifties skanking like no tomorrow, while remaining word-perfect and in total sync with DeMakes. 

It’s always tricky for a band with such a long history to balance the old and the new – the anniversary retrospective hits with the newer numbers – but Less Than Jake seem to walk that tightrope with precision. Yes, most of the crowd are drawn by songs like ‘Johnny Quest Thinks We’re Sellouts’, its massive tension rising into a drop that crashes like a tidal wave with a note of longing on the fade out, or ‘The Science Of Selling Yourself Short’, a song that drags you back to a time when you could have been sincerely speaking those lyrics. However, while the newer songs peppering the set might not have the instant recognition of their hits, a track like ‘Walking Pipebomb’ is infused with their original energy like a teabag in hot water, the pressure cooker tempo radiating through tightly clicking rhythms. Meanwhile, ‘Sunny Side’ offers a gentler openness that finds something inspiring within the trumpet whirls that build as the song unfolds. DeMakes’ solo take on ‘The Brightest Bulb Has Burned Out’ is lush. Our emotion fills in the gaps left by the full band, and it’s our overwhelming singing that makes ‘Look What Happened’ so memorable live. We’re rapt until the last second when a glossy ‘Gainesville Rock City’ keeps us dancing until the howled finale. 

The healthy niche that Less Than Jake have carved for themselves, as purveyors of consistently party-oriented tunes cut with cynicism that fulfil our need for nostalgia without cliche, has proven to be a welcome part of every millennial punk’s year. They’re obviously a polished ska-punk machine by now, but it’s the community they’ve built around themselves which makes tonight shine, and the joy you see beaming from every corner of the venue elevates the band above many of their contemporaries. This Winter Circus is welcome to roll back into town any time. 

Kate Allvey

The night starts with Drug Church, whose blend of punky, post-hardcore-y, alt rock-y goodness shows they’re determined to earn their place on this bill. Frontman Patrick Kindlon has already declared to every crowd on this run that it’s the opening band’s job to set the tone, and set it they do. ‘Fun’s Over’ hits the O2’s cavernous space with a force that has no right to feel this intimate, and ‘Weed Pin’ sends the first wave of bodies over the barricade. Kindlon holds court between songs with the cadence of a man who has been given a pulpit and is absolutely going to use it. Drug Church give us neither the headliner’s sensuality nor the main support’s anarchic energy, but what they bring instead is something pricklier and more relentless. ‘Myopic’ and ‘Grubby’ deliver in ways that feel both urgent and oddly wise, and by the time they’re done, several thousand people who arrived as strangers to Drug Church are leaving as converts.

Denzel Curry takes to the stage wearing a balaclava-like snood and barely stops moving for the entirety of his set. Frankly, it’s a masterclass in how to occupy an arena stage as a solo rapper. The crowd naturally divides into two separate, invisible groups: Group A, ‘who the f*ck is this’, and Group B, ‘he’s an odd choice to support Deftones, but I’m having a fantastic time’. ’RICKY’ hits like a thunderclap and ‘GOATED’ follows with rhymes and confidence that match the song’s self-billing. DJ Poshtronaut adds crucial texture beside him as the pair bounce off each other in ways that keep the crowd perpetually on their toes. Curry’s ability to hold a crowd that’s ostensibly here for alt-metal is remarkable in and of itself, but a shout-out to Rage Against The Machine’s Zack De La Rocha before an absolutely scorching cover of ‘Bulls on Parade’ settles the question of whether he belongs on this bill (he does). Next, Deftones. Here we go!

‘Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)’ opens with the kind of slow-burn grandeur that renders the O2’s size irrelevant. Suddenly, this is the most intimate room in London, and Chino Moreno’s voice is doing things to the atmosphere that the projections and light rigs can only dream of. Speaking of which: the visuals form a striking backdrop of short looping clips that cycle behind the band, pulsing and breathing with the music. It is in fact so striking, it’s hard to look away, making it surprisingly easy to forget the people on stage creating all this noise, forcing the crowd to periodically correct the subject of their attention.

Chino is a man of remarkably few words, with “welcome”, ”thank you” and “you feeling good over there?”, being about the limit. The Deftones live experience offers an almost cult-like quality, a sense that the music is the sermon and additional commentary would only dilute it. ‘locked club’ and ‘Rocket Skates’ keep the temperature climbing, and ‘Diamond Eyes’ sends the first properly delirious surge through the crowd. The newer ‘Private Music’ cuts sit comfortably alongside the catalogue, as ‘ecdysis’ unfurls with that familiar gauzy menace, and ‘infinite source’ holds its own in a setlist that includes ‘Digital Bath’ and ‘Change (In the House of Flies)’ — no small feat.

Then, mid-intro to ‘my mind is a mountain’, Chino stops. Something’s happened in the crowd that appears to be a medical emergency. Chino handles it with quiet authority, waiting it out, watching, and only when the situation is resolved does the band ease back in. It briefly strips the theatre away from a gig and reminds you that these things happen in rooms full of people. They recover without missing a step. ‘Sextape’ drifts past like a fever dream, ‘Genesis’ rattles the chest cavity, and ‘milk of the madonna’ – bleeding into a ‘souvenir’ outro – feels like being slowly lowered into warm water, closing the main set with a kind of aching grace that leaves the room briefly speechless.

There’s something lovely happening tonight, as teenagers who’ve clearly arrived via TikTok’s recent and apparently insatiable appetite for Deftones stand beside the parents who’ve been listening to ‘Around the Fur’ since 1997. When ‘Cherry Waves’ opens the encore, the volume from the floor gets suspiciously, magnificently louder, and you can tell exactly which songs those newer fans came for. Nobody begrudges them for it. Mostly. ‘7 Words’ ends it all with the fury the night earned. Moreno screams, Carpenter’s guitar does something prehistoric to the air, and then it’s over. They walk off and leave the lights to do the talking. It’s more than enough.

Deftones return to the UK to headline All Points East presents Outbreak in August, and if tonight is anything to go by, whoever’s lucky enough to be in that field better be ready.

KATHRYN EDWARDS

Photo: Clemente Ruiz

Goo take to the stage earlier in the evening with the venue still filling up and the crowd holding back with that polite Saturday evening reservation that can plague support slots. West Yorkshire’s fuzzy indie-punks deserve better than this measured response too, but they don’t let it dim their attack. Vocalist Tanisha Badman and her bandmates throw everything they have at the room, determined to shake loose some energy from the swaying bodies. Their new single ‘Payday’ cuts through the chatter with those sunshine-saturated guitars and Tanisha’s vocals that nod to Courtney Barnett’s effortless cool, and for a moment the pints pause mid-sip as people actually pay attention. The band’s grunge-tinged alt-rock brings genuine energy, even when the crowd won’t quite meet them halfway. Tanisha graciously thanks “the mighty Marmozets” for having them before they exit. It’s a shame more people didn’t arrive earlier. Goo brought the fire, the crowd just wasn’t ready to catch it yet.

The atmosphere shifts entirely at 8:45pm when Becca Macintyre strolls onstage, looking cool as anything with her leopard print top catching the lights. Without fanfare, Marmozets tear into ‘A Kiss From A Mother’; their new single landing like a statement of intent. The gothy garage riffs twist around Becca’s voice as she unleashes that signature scream – a reminder of just how striking it is to hear the sheer force pouring from her throat. Within thirty seconds it’s clear the hiatus hasn’t dulled a single edge. The ceiling starts dripping condensation almost immediately, with bodies colliding and the venue transforming into exactly the kind of chaos Marmozets were born to create.

‘Play’ and ‘Weird and Wonderful’ demonstrate why they were called one of the UK’s most exciting live acts before they vanished. The math-rock rhythms stutter and surge while Sam Macintyre’s guitar playing carves jagged patterns through the mayhem. ‘Is It Horrible’ hits with visceral impact before ‘Particle’ showcases that peculiar Marmozets magic of pivoting from melodic to manic in a single bar. ‘You Want The Truth’ and ‘Habits’ continue to build momentum, with each song acting as a reminder of exactly what we’ve been missing. When Becca announces: “Here’s a dancing one”, before launching into ‘Running With The Sun In Your Eyes’, she’s not asking, she’s commanding. “Let’s see your dance moves; Saturday night,” she grins, and the room obliges with abandon.

‘Love You Good’ brings a brief moment of melodic breathing room before ‘Move, Shake, Hide’ sparks an inevitable mosh pit – bodies slamming with seven years of pent-up energy finally released. Sam’s confrontation with security over crowdsurfing becomes the defining moment of the night. “Kick me out as well then!” he shouts when security begin to eject crowdsurfers; the band refusing to let venue staff dampen the energy. “Do whatever you like, that’s the rule at our shows,” Becca declares, and the room erupts in approval.

It’s this defiant spirit that makes Marmozets more than just a band returning from hiatus. They’re a reminder of what live music is supposed to feel like, uninhibited and alive.

‘Cut Back’ and ‘Captivate You’ pull from the older material. They’re songs that feel like reuniting with old friends. Meanwhile, ‘New York’ demonstrates exactly what they’ve been cooking up during their time away (eccentric and unhinged in all the right ways). The one-two punch of ‘Why Do You Hate Me?’ followed by ‘Major System Error’ forms an encore that leaves the sweat-drenched crowd gasping, with the ceiling still dripping as Becca stands there grinning like someone who’s just remembered exactly who they are.

So the seven-year wait was worth it. Marmozets haven’t just survived their hiatus, they’ve returned stronger and more focused than ever. In this cramped Camden venue, with the ceiling dripping and security thoroughly told off, they proved that sometimes stepping away is exactly what you need to remember why you started. Welcome back.

KATHRYN EDWARDS

It’s almost odd to see the band sitting on chairs when they take to the stage, rather than leaping and storming around like we’re used to. Diving straight in with ‘Leader of the Free World’, which is by far the most mellow intro to a Kid Kapichi show I’ve ever experienced, they then follow it up with ‘Intervention’, which harks back to the Kid Kapichi days of old. Bassist Eddie Lewis’ baselines still rattle through you and drummer Miles Gill’s pounding beats hit hard, proving to any of the potential naysayers of the new album that, live, the songs still slap.

One thing Kid Kapichi have mastered is their ability to unite their audience; previously with shared angst over the state of the country and the fat cats that run it, now with a look inward at struggles that all of us in the room have surely faced at some point. There’s no denying ‘Fearless Nature’ has been somewhat divisive; it’s a far cry from the energetic, punchier sounds of their previous albums, but I think it’s fair to say that sense of camaraderie is still alive and well in the room tonight. With frontman Jack Wilson making no secret of the fact that this album is their most personal one to date, it’s heartwarming to see the crowd reacting so positively to it. 

The lads know this album is a departure from their previous ones, but they took a creative risk and it’s paying off. After all, how can anyone be mad at an album that’s so raw and open about the darker side of the human condition?  It’s plain to see how much it means to Wilson to be sharing such an intimate look into his personal life, and to have the audience give it such a warm reception. Sure, there’s big cheers when he asks if we want an older song in the form of ‘Tar Pit’, but despite the album only being out for five days at this point, the crowd don’t hold back when he asks if we can help him sing along to ‘Worst Kept Secret’.

It’s clear to see that ‘Patience’, a song written by founding member and old guitarist Ben Beetham before leaving the band, is a poignant goodbye to the life they’ve all experienced together for the last twelve years. Jack takes this opportunity to reintroduce new members Gill and guitarist Lee Martin and, whilst their old band members are missed, it’s great to see that both new additions are really hitting their stride after playing with the band the last few months.

Finishing up the new songs for the evening is Wilson’s favourite track off the album, ‘If You’ve Got Legs’, a song heavily influenced by the ‘Humbug’ days of the Arctic Monkeys and ‘Rabbit Hole’, a song overflowing with equal parts nostalgia and existentialism. Knowing that they couldn’t possibly leave us without playing a couple of bangers from their previous albums, they launch into stripped back versions of ‘Working Mans Town’ and ‘Rob The Supermarket’, the former almost sounding a little country with Martin’s slide guitar intro. 

It’s no surprise that tonight’s show at Headrow House sold out instantly, and when they come back again in October (keep your eyes peeled for that announcement), I’ve no doubt that show will do the same. Whether their music is a scathing indictment of 21st Century Britain, or a deeper look at the complexities of the human condition, as long as they keep putting out music as honest and open as this, Leeds’ Kid Kapichi’s fans are going to be here for the ride.

EMMA STONE

Free Throw are determined to our celebratory instincts. ‘The Corner’s Dilemma’ grinds like a skateboard on a rail, Cory Castro ripping his throat raw as we slide into the grainy comfort of ‘Pallet Town’. Lulls make room for claps and air punches, then jolting into a wider scope on ‘My High’. Each song the band chucks our way feels wiser than the one before, and ‘Mike Nolan’s Long Weekend’ grows with a taut, hard-won charm. Their “old one,” ‘Tongue Tied’, tumbles into raw fan connection and a touch of guitar solo silliness, and the way they weave in between roars and tempo shifts makes for an impressive appearance. The rapturous sway to ‘Two Beers In’ cements their status as heirs apparent in this space, and if The Wonder Years are passing their torch to anyone, it has to be to Free Throw. 

Without a fanfare, The Wonder Years make an understated entrance, a soft cheer for each member as they wander silently onstage for the title track of ‘No Closer To Heaven’. Playing an album in full has become such a staple of aging punk bands as to now be a cliche, but that’s not to diminish the joy of hearing your favourite record outside of your headphones in the form that the band always intended. That’s exactly what The Wonder Years deliver, and as Soupy’s vocals blur into ours on ‘Cardinals’, each rough shred landing with a cratering impact, we have to fully appreciate what they accomplished with this glorious album.

We feel closer to the band than ever before, as the frontman shares the story of despair behind ‘A Song For Ernest Hemmingway’ as part of his followup to ‘The Greatest Generation’, we find each hard narrative smacks harder with each applause-soaked micro chapter they play. Vignettes of bass underwrite the unearthed road struggles, the sentiment still fresh on ‘Thanks For the Ride’. ‘Stained Glass Ceilings’ sees swears spat across the room while we pause to contemplate the beauty of the sincere message pouring from every chord as timelines and past and present collide. ‘I Wanted So Badly To Be Brave’ sparks vulnerable orders and evocative fast paced yells as a staked message of hope before ‘You In January’ and its rough and tender acknowledgement that life is complicated. The cycle is completed with ‘Palm Reader’, and we’re left satisfied having enjoyed the entirety of The Wonder Years’ vision.

“As you heard a few moments ago, I am forty goddamn years old,” Soupy exclaims. It’s his birthday today, and he’s blowing out his birthday candles onstage. “We need time to rest, we need time to rest, to stretch this thing out and come back stronger than ever.” Collectively our shoulders unclench with the knowledge that tonight is not a goodbye show, and now the retrospective is over, we’re ready to party. We jump to the unadulterated punk joy of ‘Passing Through A Screen Door’ and holler as ‘Don’t Let Me Cave In’ resonates through the crowd. The photographic memories in ‘Wyatt’s Song (Your Name)’ flit across our vision, joining with ‘New Lows’ to create the background gallery to the record with piercing guitars and thunderous buildups. The absolute pinnacle of the snap on the chorus of ‘GODDAMNITALL’ is perfection before the home run of ‘Came Out Swinging’, a churning party that flings us home with each twang and pebbled beat in an all consuming extended singalong.

So, our nerves were unfounded, and it was only a see you soon show. However, “only” feels diminutive of the raw parade that The Wonder Years put on to showcase ‘No Closer To Heaven’. It’s a deeper spectacle than we expected, and a closer performance from a band will prove they still have a lot to give when they return from hiatus.

KATE ALLVEY

Accompanying them on this tour are The Legendary Orchestra, a collective of musicians put together by Sabaton bassist Pär Sundström as a new way to bring the band’s songs to life through classical arrangements. On paper, it makes sense given the orchestral elements across their discography; in practice, it’s a spellbindingly impressive performance that’s not metal in sound, but most certainly is in spirit. Their hour long set flies by in what feels like no time at all due to the engrossing beauty of their renditions of Sabaton anthems. As they close on fan favourite, ‘Swedish Pagans’ to a rapturous reception, it’s clear that the left-field choice of warm-up act has gone down swimmingly.

As cauldrons light up the smaller B-stage in the middle of the arena, what can only be described as a historical fever dream gets underway. An actor portraying Napoleon Bonaparte – one of said legends covered on Sabaton’s new album – climbs the steps to address the crowd, boasting of his greatness and firing quips towards the audience. He is joined by Genghis Khan and Julius Caesar, with the trio debating which of them is the greatest in what is part theatrical epic, part Monty Python skit and a little bit panto, though it outstays its 20-minute duration.

Their bickering is brought to an end by Jacques de Molay and his Knights Templar, with the latter removing their helmets and revealing themselves to be the members of Sabaton, who kick their set off with an emphatic rendition of new album opener ‘Templars’ and the rousing ‘The Last Stand’. A bridge descends from the ceiling to connect the two stages, with vocalist Joakim Brodén pacing up and down it during the opening numbers.

As the band take their places on the castle stage, streams of pyro follow the return of Genghis Khan on the B-Stage for, unsurprisingly, ‘Hordes of Khan’. He is the first of the legendary figures to reappear for their respective songs from the new album, as Napoleon directs his troops to set off cannons in a sea of smoke during ‘I, Emperor’ and Caesar introduces the thunderous ‘Crossing the Rubicon’.

Accompanying the huge new stage show are costume changes and props galore. The band don the coats of the Swedish Royal Guard for the imposing ‘Carolus Rex’, while Joakim plunges the arena into darkness and silence with a detonator during ‘Stormtroopers’, as the music kicks back in with aplomb accompanied by streaks of bright flares. ‘A Tiger Among Dragons’ sees Brodén takes over duties on guitar from Chris Rörland and Thobbe Englund, with the pair flanking him playing traditional Chinese Drums.

Phone torches light up the arena for ‘Christmas Truce’, as members of The Legendary Orchestra’s choir file onto the castle’s ramparts to add extra gravitas to the ballad. It’s the emotional start to a run of songs from their pair of First World War albums, with the band taking the show into the crowd during ‘The Attack of the Dead Men’, as a gas mask-wearing Joakim clears a path for them through the audience from the B-stage to the main stage with a gas sprayer.

The final run is a reminder of sheer firepower of hits in the Swedes’ arsenal, with ‘Night Witches’, ‘Primo Victoria’, ‘The Art of War’ and ‘To Hell and Back’ getting the arena’s packed-out floor off their feet and belting the lyrics back at the band with gusto as the stage continues to be engulfed in flames. A surprising closer in debut album track ‘Masters of the World’ brings the nights to a triumphant end, as confetti falls and the quintet take in the applause from the bridge.

Earlier in the night, Pär reflected on how far they had come since their first London show at the Purple Turtle eighteen years ago. They were told back then that “bands like you” don’t play at venues like the O2, but tonight’s show couldn’t have proven those doubters more wrong. Sabaton’s bombastic combination of power metal and the history of warfare has brought them and their army of fans to the biggest of stages – on which they look completely at home. The spectacle of their performance puts them on a par with the likes of Parkway Drive in being one of metal’s must-see live acts the next time they grace our shores; it truly was the stuff of legend.

BRAD STRATTON

Kelsy Karter & The Heroines open with the kind of confidence that makes sense once they hit their stride. Their set leans into glam-tinged rock without tipping into parody, and Karter handles the stage space well, pacing the length of it rather than planting herself in the middle. The arena isn’t full yet, but they keep the attention of those who’ve made the effort to turn up early. Karter herself is an impressive vocalist; pushing herself harder than expected for an opener, and the band keeps everything tight and precise behind her. It’s a solid, well-delivered start.

Bloodywood change the atmosphere immediately. Their mix of heavy riffs and traditional Indian folk instruments cuts through the room in a way that feels very deliberate rather than gimmicky. The dhol drum, in particular, lands like a physical hit and gets people moving long before the set reaches its heavier moments. A sizeable pit opens during both ‘Gaddaar’ and ‘Nu Delhi’, which sums up the shift neatly; momentary curious looks for the first minute, followed by full engagement. They’re an unexpected but welcome booking for this tour, and the reaction suggests the gamble pays off. You get the sense a fair number of people, aside from those who are already fans, are making a mental note to look up Bloodywood on the way home.

Halestorm arrive to a louder response than the support acts, though not the explosive roar some arena shows get. It feels more like everyone collectively deciding it’s time to stand up properly. The stunning ‘Fallen Star’ and fan favourite ‘I Miss the Misery’ opens the set and the crowd settle into it immediately. Lzzy Hale hits the big final note cleanly. It’s strong and unforced. The sound mix is impressively clear for The O2, with the guitars cutting through without turning sharp or scratchy. ‘Love Bites’ keeps the momentum going and the floor picks up energy as a small pit opens up, though it doesn’t dominate. The band’s years of touring show in how effortlessly they navigate dynamics, knowing when to drive forward and when to let the songs breathe. 

The set shifts gears when Lzzy moves to the piano for ‘Familiar Taste of Poison’. The arena goes quiet, and the sea of phone lights that rises up captures something genuinely affecting rather than formulaic. Even from the upper sections, the moment registers as earned. Then Arejay Hale’s drum solo arrives, oversized sticks and all. It’s a bit silly but still technically solid, and the crowd treats it in the right spirit. It doesn’t drag, which helps the flow of the final part of the set. The closing run gets the strongest response of the night. ‘Here’s to Us’ lands hard with a crowd that’s fully warmed up by now. Lzzy mentions London’s importance to the band but keeps it to a sentence before launching into the final song. The show ends without fanfare or forced sentiment. When the lights come up, conversations in the crowd touch on all three acts, not just the headliner. Halestorm deliver exactly what they’re built for: a tight, confident set that treats the arena like a bigger club. No reinvention, no wasted motion. For a weeknight show, it’s the right call.

KATHRYN EDWARDS

First up are Dog Rotten, who waste no time getting stuck in. Their sound leans into gritty punk and grime influences, delivered with a rough-edged confidence that suits the room. There’s no fussing with introductions; they simply open fire and let momentum do the rest. The crowd respond quickly, some already pushing forward and testing the edges of a pit before the set has even reached its halfway point. Dog Rotten might not have the sharpest presentation, but that’s part of the appeal. They come across like a band who want to get their hands dirty, and the audience happily meet them in the middle.

Tuggawar follows and immediately shifts the atmosphere. He turns up wearing sunglasses, which would risk seeming detached if he weren’t so quick to wade into the crowd. Backed by a surprisingly tight live band, he delivers a set packed with heavy, rhythmic tracks that land well with the front rows, who are fully on board from the start. At one point, he drops a riff from Eminem’s ‘Without Me’, which earns a ripple of laughter and recognition before the room settles back into moving as one. There’s an easy confidence to Tuggawar. He’s energetic without trying too hard, engaged without being overly earnest. By the end, he’s got the entire venue bouncing, and it feels like he’s only just getting warmed up when his set wraps up.

Once PENGSHUi take over, the temperature somehow climbs further. The first track barely begins before a pit opens, and a crowd surfer appears almost immediately. ‘Let’s Go’ and ‘No Time’ both hit with real weight, helped along by a room that seems intent on matching them beat-for-beat. The band offer bottles of water to the front rows, which is needed; even from the back, you can see the heat rising in waves. Not everything goes smoothly – a brief scuffle breaks out during the second song, though it’s dealt with quickly. MC Illaman calls it out – “all love, no bad energy” – the tension evaporates, to be replaced by the same good-natured chaos as before. The band keep the atmosphere steady without slowing the pace, a balance that demonstrates just how comfortable they are working this kind of crowd.

One of the night’s highlights comes when they bring Tuggawar back onstage. PENGSHUi usually switch into a drum and bass or dubstep section at this point, but tonight they lean into a grime-focused stretch instead. It brings a fresh spike of energy that feels more like an organic collaboration than a planned cameo, and audience lap it up. Between songs, PENGSHUi are generous with their thanks. “You are our press campaign”, they tell the crowd, half-amused but clearly sincere. Later, they add: “You made all this possible.” It never crosses into sentimentality; it simply reflects the reality of a band who have grown through word of mouth and relentless gigging rather than glossy marketing.

By the end of the night, The Black Heart is dripping, steaming and absolutely buzzing. People spill into the street looking wrung out but satisfied, displaying the kind of communal exhaustion that only comes from a genuinely lively show. PENGSHUi don’t just perform; they create a scene within a scene, pulling artist and audience together into a room that feels like it just might burst. On a cold November night in Camden, that’s exactly what you want.

KATHRYN EDWARDS

Beforehand, PSYCHO-FRAME kick things off with their brand of American deathcore that’s been turning heads since ‘Salvation Laughs in the Face of a Grieving Mother’ dropped earlier this year. Vocalist Jourdan Pearce prowls the stage with manic energy, his guttural roars cutting through the room like a serrated blade. The crowd response is mixed – some arms stay crossed, others are already windmilling – but the hardcore contingent absolutely lap it up. The breakdowns hit with seismic force, each one triggering a fresh surge into the pit. It’s uncompromising stuff that sets the tone for what’s to come.

Dying Wish are next, bringing their blend of Y2K metalcore nostalgia and modern hardcore aggression to a venue that’s now properly warming up. Emma Boster commands the stage with a presence that’s equal part vulnerability and absolute fury, switching between clean melodic passages and throat-shredding screams that sound like they’re tearing something vital loose. There’s a genuine emotional weight to the performance. It cuts through the aggression to deliver moments where the entire room exhales collectively, before being dragged back into the chaos. By the time they finish, the temperature has risen several degrees.

SPEED round out the support, and the Australian hardcore crew are a different beast entirely. This is straightforward, brutal hardcore – it doesn’t mess about. Frontman Jem Siow whips the crowd into an absolute frenzy, shouting out UK bands like Pest Control and Dynamite to massive cheers. People are using the crush barriers as launching pads, hurling themselves into the crowd in waves. Their debut album ‘Only One Mode’ topped the ARIA charts earlier this year, and you can tell why – it’s primal and immediate, the kind of music that demands a physical response. By the time they’re done, security are working overtime to keep people upright.

By the time Malevolence take to the stage, the venue is absolutely rammed. Actor Alan Ford introduces them; his distinctive voice booming through the speakers before the band launch into ‘Blood To The Leech’. From here, it’s straight into ‘Trenches’, and the place erupts. The chant that accompanies “Everybody’s always looking for a handout, who the fuck are you?” is deafening – thousands of voices united in a particular brand of working-class fury that Malevolence have made their trademark. Vocalist Alex Taylor stalks the stage with the presence of someone who’s earned every inch of the ground beneath their feet, switching his delivery between guttural roars and venomous spoken passages. Behind him, Josh Baines is particularly on fire, with fingers flying across the fretboard during every solo, each more technically impressive than the last. The rhythm section provide an absolutely punishing foundation, with every hit of the kick drum feeling like it’s trying to cave your chest in.

The setlist pulls heavily from ‘Where Only The Truth Is Spoken’, but weaves in enough older material to keep everyone satisfied. ‘Self Supremacy’ receives a huge response, with Taylor calling for circle pits that open up across different sections of the floor – Brixton Academy’s layout delivers multiple whirlpools of chaos rather than one massive pit, and it’s a sight to behold. ‘On Broken Glass’ sees Taylor encourage a wave of crowd surfers into action. The aim is to get as many people airborne as is physically possible, and the crowd obliges. The instrumental ‘Jam’ gives everyone a moment to breathe before they pile back in for ‘Counterfeit’ and ‘Karma’. ‘Higher Place’ and ‘The Other Side’ provide unexpected moments of melodic respite as the crowd singalong to the cleaner vocal passages, before everything kicks back into full brutality. By the time they close the main set, the place is absolutely spent. Alan Ford’s voice comes back through the speakers to introduce the encore, and they finish with ‘Keep Your Distance’, leaving absolutely nothing on the table. Brixton is an iconic venue, and Malevolence fill it without any issue. The show proves they’ve earned their spot at this level, built on years of graft and an uncompromising approach to what they do. Missing this one would have been a serious mistake.

KATHRYN EDWARDS