Palaye Royale @ Barfly

Palaye Royale @ Barfly (Louise Phillips)

Down on Chalk Farm Road, the queue for The Barfly resembled a gothic blockade. Smudged eyeliner, shredded fishnets, and a feverish, vibrating anxiety choked the pavement long before the heavy doors even opened. Tickets for this incredibly rare intimate show had completely vanished in 120 seconds. This wasn’t just a standard gig; for the band’s fiercely devoted ‘Royal Council’, it was a pilgrimage. The sheer adoration this band commands is staggering to witness, a visceral, subcultural loyalty that feels almost entirely absent in modern rock.

Inside, the legendary music venue was actively sweating, with condensation dripping down the walls before a single note was played. The Barfly isn’t merely a music venue; it is a vital piece of British rock history, an iconic incubator where countless musical legends have cut their teeth on its notoriously sticky floors. It remains the beating, gritty heart of Camden’s alternative scene, making it the absolute perfect crucible for what was about to unfold. When the house lights finally cut out, the sheer volume of the 200-strong scream was terrifying, a deafening, plaster-cracking hysteria straight out of the 1960s. Plunging straight into Lost In Translation, the music venue instantly detonated. Operating on a foot-high stage with zero barricade, Leith didn’t just perform; he went to war, violently thrashing his mic stand as the crowd hurled every single word back into his face.

Any lingering ghost of industry gossip regarding brotherly infighting was immediately flattened by the sheer force of their musicianship. Danzig’s guitar cut through the punishing humidity like a serrated edge on Hang On to Yourself and No Love in LA, while Barrett’s keys provided a sweeping, cinematic anchor to the chaos. During Little Bastards and Showbiz, the sticky floor dissolved into a joyous, surging crush of euphoric bodies.

But the real magic of this band lies beneath the leather and bravado. Stripped of their usual arena-ready lighting rigs, the trio were left completely exposed for Dying in a Hot Tub and Feel Something, Great. The resulting shift in the music venue was intense. Fans at the front were openly weeping, clawing desperately at the stage just to touch their idol. He leaned right into the crush, his own face perfectly mirroring their raw, unshielded emotion. It was a staggering exchange of intimacy between a band and a fanbase that unconditionally adore one another.

Refusing to dwell purely in nostalgia, they then used the suffocating heat to debut The Unholy One. Deeply theatrical and dripping with a heavy, magnetic menace, the track demanded total reverence from the music venue, a stark reminder that Palaye Royale are still actively sharpening their knives.

The true moment of unhinged rock mythology arrived during Mr. Doctor Man. Deciding the tiny wooden riser was no longer sufficient, Leith threw himself straight over the front row. He surfed across a frantic sea of hands, eventually hauling himself onto the sticky wooden bar at the back of the venue. Kicking aside empty pints and towering over the chaos, he screamed the chorus over a music venue that had descended into total, glorious bedlam.

Emerging from the wreckage before the encore, the band paused to survey the music venue. There was no rockstar posturing here. They spoke to the crowd with a grounded, fierce humility, acknowledging that their impending 2027 Wembley Arena headline slot is entirely built on the blood and loyalty spilled in sweaty, 200-cap music venues exactly like this one.

A cathartic run through Lonely temporarily turned the music venue into a desperate choir, followed by a ragged For You and a breathless final reprise of Lost In Translation. When the doors finally spat the exhausted, drenched crowd out onto the cool Camden pavement, the sudden silence of the street was disorienting. Palaye Royale are undeniably bound for the stadiums, but they just proved their heartbeat is still violently tethered to the underground.

Live review and photography of Palaye Royale @ Barfly, London by Louise Phillips Music Photography on 7th October 2026.

Violet Grohl Brings Raw Intimacy To Camden’s Barfly For Second London Night

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena (Louise Phillips)

As they turn from the rain to head inside, the brotherly warmth and fondness between them is undeniable. The fractured tensions and bitter rifts that once threatened to tear them apart have entirely healed. Moving together inside an impenetrable bubble of excitement, the three brothers are utterly united, ready to claim their future and unleash their triumphant new album, Amsterdamage.

Inside, Wembley Arena is unnervingly quiet when completely empty, its sheer scale swallowing sound whole. Fast forward exactly six months, and this cavernous concrete shell will be vibrating with the deafening roar of twelve thousand ecstatic fans. But right now, as we sit for our interview among the vacant seats, it’s just three brothers looking out over the empire they’re about to claim. As the fiercely beating heart of Palaye Royale, they don’t seem remotely fazed by the sheer size of the room. When you’ve spent years sleeping in your mother’s car and playing grocery stores just to scrape together enough cash for food, headlining the UK’s most famous arena is the ultimate vindication. Yet despite the impending stadium glory, they refuse to lose their grounded perspective. “Mentally, we’re still in our mom’s car,” Remington admits with a wry smile, looking out across the empty arena floor. “There’s never that moment of like, ‘oh, we made it’ because we’re always going to want a little bit more”.

There is a breaking point in the timeline of every legendary rock band, the exact moment their own mythology either eats them alive, or they drag it kicking and screaming into reality. For Palaye Royale, a band built on blistering theatricality, razor-sharp fashion, and non-stop touring, that breaking point violently hit last December. The devastating loss of their mother, Stephanie Rachel, didn’t initially pull the brothers together. Instead, the sheer, suffocating weight of the grief violently fractured their foundation.

“We were about to disband in December. It was really bad,” Sebastian admits. Gone is the swaggering bravado of an arena rock guitarist; his voice is raw and brutally honest. “It was the first Christmas we never even said ‘Merry Christmas’ to each other. We went a few months without speaking. It got to a point where we were talking to each other through lawyers, which is fucking stupid for brothers”. He pauses, reflecting on the complex dynamic of their bloodline. “We’re brothers. Yeah, we’ve been fighting. We’ve loved each other since the day we were born. We just didn’t like each other…”.

“The silence was toxic,” says Remington as his demeanour shifts and he grows noticeably quieter as he digs into the painful memory of that bitter winter. “After our mom passed, we all had to deal with it in separate ways,” the frontman says softly. “We had so much anger and animosity toward each other”.

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena (Louise Phillips)

Their critical intervention didn’t happen in some sterile Los Angeles boardroom. It happened in a 14th-century windmill planted in the middle of the Dutch countryside. Chris Greatti, the band’s longtime producer and undisputed “fourth brother,” packed them up, relocated them to the Netherlands, and laid down the law. The ultimatum was brutal but entirely necessary: they had to get in a room, actually speak to each other for the first time in months, and genuinely listen to the music they had been making.

“After listening to it, nothing seemed to matter anymore except for the music,” Remington remembers. You can still hear the disbelief lingering in his voice. “This process healed us in a way that is unexplainable. If we didn’t have the record, we probably would have broken up”.

“Art and creation is what heals the soul,” Sebastian adds, reflecting on the brutal necessity of their conflict. “You can communicate with the person you hate the most in a creative way. Pressure makes diamonds. This album was a saviour album for us. It’s a rebirth. It feels like our debut album”.

The atmosphere inside the Dutch windmill offered a rare, unpressured sanctuary for this rebirth. “We didn’t rush,” Emerson explains, detailing their creative freedom. “We split up the writing trips over three months, for two weeks at a time… it was just the boys, and our producer Chris, and a lot of alcohol, a lot of fun, and we were just sitting there and not forcing something”.

What they dragged out of that isolated windmill was Amsterdamage, their triumphant sixth studio record. The title itself is a perfectly jagged reflection of their journey. “We’re all a little damaged, baby,” Sebastian laughs. “I remember just singing the word Amsterdamage. It’s been with us for almost 8 years now, and it kind of felt like the most appropriate album title for this”.

Remington echoes this sentiment of vital self-rescue when explaining the album’s lyric, I Saved Me From Amsterdam. “It’s about trying to bring yourself out of that hole because I can’t really rely on other people to, you know, to save you,” he says. “You have to make that conscious choice. You’re like, okay, it’s time to clean up my own mess and, you know, change for the better”.

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena (Louise Phillips)

The record is chaotic, visceral, and unapologetically alive. Originally, they walked into the sessions expecting to write a breezy, psychedelic pop record. “We went into a windmill thinking we were gonna come out and start doing some Beatles, Sgt. Pepper stuff,” Remington laughs.

The universe, however, had completely different, far darker plans. Day one of their writing sessions coincided with the global news that heavy metal god Ozzy Osbourne had died. The mood in the ancient stone room instantly turned. “It got really heavy,” Remington points out.

“It was very haunted,” Sebastian agrees. That heavy, mournful energy found its way straight into Bat Without Wings, a sprawling, intense track that forced the band to push their absolute technical limits. Sebastian proudly declares it features “one of the most face melting solos of all fucking time”. “In the realm of energy and emotions… Ozzy’s soul was travelling through the atmosphere,” he explains. “We tapped into that. If you’re going to step up to that plate, you better do it well”.

Amsterdamage isn’t just a record about surviving; it’s proof of a massive spiritual evolution. Sebastian explains it best: “every album is a snapshot, but this one feels like the ultimate payoff for a decade and a half of grinding. It almost feels like we’ve taken our alchemy of what we’ve learned… and we’ve created this body of work. It almost feels like we’ve graduated in a way, spiritually, creatively,” he says.

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena (Louise Phillips)

That graduation brought something back to the band that they hadn’t felt in years: genuine, unadulterated joy. The heavy, suffocating aesthetic of the past has been gleefully abandoned. They are consciously “taking ourselves less seriously now,” Sebastian notes. “I’m gonna wear some fur coats and leather pants and have some fucking fun,” he grins, praising the new album artwork for finally showing the brothers just having a genuinely good time. He praises the massive support from their new team, though he ultimately points a finger upward when assigning credit for their survival: “I think our mom from heaven has been orchestrating this, for sure”.

To really figure out what makes Palaye Royale tick, you have to look closely at London. They might hail from the neon sprawl of Vegas, but the damp, rain-slicked streets of the UK have always been their real spiritual home. They’ve taken the torch of British rebellion and sprinted with it. “We just wish we were British,” Sebastian laughs loudly. “I’ve got the fucking Union Jack tattooed on myself. I love it here”.

“I’m very much a Britpop kid at heart,” he continues enthusiastically. “Oasis, Blur, The Verve, Stone Roses, The La’s… that’s me. That’s what pulled me through my teenage years”. He’s completely obsessed with the aesthetic of the 70s punk scene, too. “It’s funny because punk is supposedly about not caring about anything… but it was actually highly stylised. You look at them wearing those pink outfits with the green tartan… it’s just the most iconic visual representation of what the punk rock era was”. This deep reverence for UK punk makes their recent festival appearances alongside the newly reformed Sex Pistols all the more surreal. “It’s the sickest thing ever,” Sebastian beams, praising frontman Frank Carter as “the best person to do that”.

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena (Louise Phillips)

In one of those weird, perfect twists of fate, Paul Weller himself essentially kickstarted the band’s entire existence. Their mum, shooting as a rock photographer in the ’80s, raised her kids on T. Rex and The Small Faces. Along the way, she bumped into Weller, who gave her a piece of advice that changed everything. “Weller actually told our mom to let us drop out of school,” Sebastian laughs. “She took him so seriously, and here we are. Thank you, Paul!”.

That massive gamble worked out. Their history in the UK is insane. Back in 2017, they booked the 200-cap Camden Assembly and basically invited 100 journalists before fans could even buy a ticket. It sold out in 24 hours. Promoters told them they were crazy to immediately upgrade to KOKO, warning they’d lose money. They sold that out too. “You guys were the first ones to really believe in us as much as we believed in ourselves,” Sebastian notes with sincere gratitude. “So, we love London. It’s a home to us, and we’ll always come back”.

This refusal to be musically pigeonholed is perhaps the band’s greatest weapon. “It’s the chameleon side of things,” Sebastian notes, perfectly summarising their genre-fluid appeal. “We can go on tour, like, play Slipknot, and the next night play with Dua Lipa. For a band to be able to do that and, you know, be the heaviest band in the pop world and the softest band in the heavy world… people just genuinely respect the live show”.

Whether they’re staring down Wembley Arena or tearing the roof off the legendary 100 Club, they absolutely refuse to lose that feral, sweaty club energy. “When we learned what to do on an arena stage and festival stages, and then you bring it to a club that’s the size of the 100 Club, it’s just rowdy,” Sebastian says. “When you go back, it’s like ten years compounded of excitement. The stage is a lot smaller, so you gotta run around a lot less. On the big stage, you need a lot more oxygen”. Remington takes the stamina required for these massive shows completely seriously. “I’ve been training for this whole new era, doing jumping jacks to the album just to train my body,” he laughs.

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena (Louise Phillips)

It’s an undeniably heavy crown to wear. Palaye Royale fans are young, deeply devoted, and frequently looking for a way out of their own dark places. Emerson treats this platform as a massive, sacred responsibility. After seeing some of the bleak trends on the Warped Tour, an environment he noted was “heavy on, like some kind of satanic demon,” he made it a personal mission to push the fans toward art and philosophy.

“I saw the impression it was making on the youth… because these kids are looking for a light in the darkness and a path to follow,” Emerson explains. “I felt it was our duty to encourage art and philosophy. Go read an Alan Watts book, go draw, spray paint something, make something. Find yourself. Get off your phone, and don’t be scared to have a conversation. A Palaye Royale show is a safe place for like-minded individuals to be creative”.

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena (Louise Phillips)

Sebastian echoes this deep connection, noting that the community even drives their renowned aesthetic. “It’s also our fans, like, show up to our shows, and they inspire us to dress better, you know?” he laughs. “Like, we’ve done a VIP or something, and someone dresses [like a] better version of Emerson than myself… we’re just so grateful to find extended family and create safe places with music and love”.

To hold all that weight, they have to keep their own heads straight. Sebastian unplugs, puts his phone on ‘do not disturb,’ and goes running so he has “no one to blame besides myself”. Emerson turns to drawing and writing poetry to “pull the scary shit out”. For Remington, the piano is his ultimate lifeline. “Every negative thought that I have, I can sing to my piano,” he says. “Songwriting really is a version of therapy”.

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena

Palaye Royale - Press Event @ Wembley Arena (Louise Phillips)

Palaye Royale went through absolute hell and came out the other side. They survived sleeping in cars, industry warnings, and a grief so crushing it nearly ended their brotherhood for good. But sitting here for our interview in the cavernous expanse of Wembley, waiting for the storm to hit, they are untouchable. As they gear up to drop Amsterdamage on the world, their final message is totally stripped of the usual rockstar pretence.

“Life is beautiful,” Remington says steadily. “Even if you’re broken, you can heal. It just takes time, love, and support. One of the final lyrics on the album is, ‘Love Is All You Need’. Life is going to knock you down at any point, and you just have to realise it’s worth living”.

Interview with Palaye Royale and photography by Louise Phillips — October 2026.

Palaye Royale Bring Death, Glory, Fire And Musical Mastery To London’s OVO Arena Wembley

Listen to the opening of NIGHTBLOOM, the phenomenal new record from Butcher Babies and undeniably their best work to date, and you can actually hear the ground shift beneath you. It happens on the very first track, Lost in Your Touch. Before the crushing guitars kick in, before the drums shatter the silence, when there is just a breathtakingly beautiful singular opening lyric: “Does she get lost in your touch like I do?”

Butcher Babies

Butcher Babies (Press)

It’s a startlingly intimate question, and a massive departure from the face-melting aggression the band built their formidable reputation on. But for frontwoman Heidi Shepherd, that vulnerability isn’t some calculated creative choice; it’s the sound of a fearless artist tearing down every boundary that ever held her back.

The first thing that strikes me about Shepherd is that she possesses a real warmth and is, despite her many years in the cut-throat music business, refreshingly down-to-earth. And this is never clearer than when I ask her about the stunning opening track. Heidi explains, “With that opening, you know what you’re getting into with this album,” her voice radiating sincerity. “You know it’s going to be a personal type of, ‘Oh, we’re digging in here. Buckle up.’”

NIGHTBLOOM marks a monumental era for Butcher Babies. It is their first record since the departure of co-vocalist Carla Harvey. Recorded without the safety net of dual vocals for the very first time, Shepherd was left to carry the emotional weight of the vocal duties entirely on her own shoulders. Yet, she wasn’t in isolation, as she stepped into the studio alongside her bandmate and partner, guitarist Henry Flury, and the album became a total rebirth for the band. It acts as a searingly honest autobiography of a woman who, at 41, is finally unafraid to confront her darkest demons, addressing her trauma with raw, unfiltered bravery.

The catalyst for this evolution arrived after Shepherd navigated an exceptionally bleak chapter in her life, culminating in a decision to begin therapy for the first time in her late thirties. Grappling with a mental space so dark that she experienced thoughts of no longer wanting to be here, it was only after starting these sessions that she began writing the album. The intense process of unpacking her past provided the volatile emotional fuel for NIGHTBLOOM.

“I attribute all of that to therapy,” she notes. “I didn’t necessarily have a full outlet for all of these emotions and suppressed memories. I was flooded with all of this emotion, and I knew I needed my outlet to be my music.”

Writing alongside Henry Flury, the creative process became an exercise in absolute artistic liberation. Stripped of all previous restrictions, the pair locked themselves in their studio and let the floodgates fly wide open. “It would just spill out of me,” she says of typing the lyrics in those intensely private sessions. “It would spill out of me onto the keyboard, and it was in that moment where I was like, I’m feeling these emotions, writing these songs. I have to let it out, I have to do this.” The result is a breathtaking, emotionally heavy record that bleeds signature Butcher Babies aggression into genuine melodic vulnerability.

No track exemplifies this quite like Black Clouds Over Georgia. A musically daring departure featuring a trap beat, a country influence, and an unrelenting guitar solo from Henry Flury that converses directly with the vocals, the song forced Shepherd to revisit the exact moment her first marriage ended. Growing up in the strict Mormon Church, Shepherd was forced into a mould that never quite fitted. Married in the Mormon temple at a staggeringly young age, a union she knew in her gut was wrong, her divorce at twenty was viewed as an unforgivable failure.

“In the religion that I grew up in, a divorce was looked at as just… you don’t do that,” she says. “I remember telling my mom, like, ‘Maybe I’ll just have a baby and that’ll fix the relationship.’ Things that I look at now and I’m like, oh man, that would have been the worst idea ever. But I remember just thinking, ‘I can’t fail.’ Now, looking at it, those broken pieces led to so many beautiful things in my life.”

During those oppressive early years, Shepherd survived by running. A fiercely talented track-and-field athlete who competed in the Junior Olympics and ran on her college team until breaking her back, running became her physical escape while heavy metal became her spiritual sanctuary. She recalls taking the keys to her college running track at night, pulling her car up to the fence, leaving the headlights on, and running in endless circles while clutching a skipping Discman playing Linkin Park. “I would just let all the emotion out by myself at night on that track with my headlights just on me,” she remembers.

That instinct to turn to music for survival bleeds into every corner of NIGHTBLOOM. Music saved her from a severe eating disorder in the band’s early days. “I knew that if I had continued, I would not be able to sing,” she admits. “It was damaging my vocal cords. It was damaging everything… that is what gave me the courage and the ability to quit… doing what I was doing to my body.”

It also pulled her back from the abyss of December 2019, a period chronicled on the gut-wrenching live favourite, Last December. “There were just thoughts of not being here anymore,” she confesses. What gave her the will to live during that dark time were recurring, nightly dreams of being on stage, a visceral reminder of her purpose. “Every night I had the exact same dream of being on stage,” she recalls. “And that literally reminded me of my purpose and reminded me that I’m supposed to be here. There’s still more for me to do.”

When she performs that older track live today, the arenas fall completely silent. Back in the vocal booth for the new material, legendary producer Howard Benson guided Shepherd to bleed a little more onto the page. The result is a collection of fierce survival anthems like Black Dove, the heaviest track on the album, where she fearlessly declares: “You said I’d break, but I’m still here.”

She isn’t merely surviving anymore; she is commanding her own story and offering a lifeline to her audience. Far from being triggered by reliving her trauma under the spotlight, she embraces the catharsis. “I really, truly believe that when I get to play these songs live, it’s just another form of my therapy,” she explains. “And so, when I’m up there singing these songs, it’s turning these negative experiences into something positive, and it offers these beautiful new memories.”

Butcher Babies

Butcher Babies (Press)

This profound connection was vividly apparent on a recent European tour, where she spotted a fan who had been relentlessly throwing down, circle-pitting and moshing with wild abandon. But when the opening notes of Lost in Your Touch rang out, everything changed. Shepherd initially thought something was wrong in the pit because his friends were suddenly holding him up. Shepherd assumed he had an injury as he was sobbing uncontrollably, yet whilst he was visibly bawling his eyes out, it was the emotion of the track that hit him and led to the outpouring of emotion.

After the song finished, Shepherd looked right at him from the stage and asked if he was okay, to which he shouted back, “Yes! Thank you!” Later, he approached the merch booth to explain that the song meant the world to him, and the moment she sang it, he just felt it completely.

“I knew in that moment when I saw him, that we were healing together,” Shepherd says, her voice catching with emotion. “No one is immune from that emotion. I think it’s just changing my show from being like, melting faces to maybe glueing them back on.”

By standing on stage and singing her deepest traumas aloud, she is quite literally giving her fans permission to feel, an unspoken assurance that it is okay to hurt, and that they are understood. It is a profound connection that Shepherd embraces completely. “I love that… permission to feel,” she reflects warmly. “Yeah, and I feel it when they look at me and they get me and they understand. Hearing their stories when they come up to the merch booth… anytime I feel like, ‘Oh, maybe it’s a lull in the set, maybe we should keep it upbeat,’ I’ve got those several people that come up afterwards and tell me their story. It’s just like, we’re all here together.”

She talks of the band’s reinvigorated energy, of the unadulterated joy of locking eyes with Henry Flury on stage, and of taking NIGHTBLOOM on the road in 2027. She speaks not as a veteran of the metal scene, but as an artist entirely unburdened and ready to fly.

“I do feel like this is a rebirth for us,” she declares. “This Butcher Babies has been reborn. We are almost viewing this as a debut album, even though it’s not. I feel like I have a new lease on life. It’s like it’s a new band in its infancy. We’re still babies.”

With NIGHTBLOOM, Heidi Shepherd has forged her pain into armour. Fearless, resilient, and utterly authentic, she has created a sanctuary in the heavy metal landscape, a place where she, and every single fan listening in the dark, finally has permission to feel.

Interview with Heidi Shepherd of Butcher Babies by Louise Phillips — September 2026.

Evanescence Create A Sanctuary Of Sound, Spectacle And Survival At The O2

Gary Numan @ Hammersmith Apollo

Gary Numan @ Hammersmith Apollo (Louise Phillips)

Before the main event, the Apollo witnessed the passing of the torch or perhaps more accurately, the igniting of a new, darker flame. Raven Numan, Gary’s daughter, took the support slot and commanded the stage with a poise that betrayed her years. Dressed in a striking gothic aesthetic that felt like a high-fashion nod to her father’s early industrial roots, she delivered a stunning set of brooding, electronic noir.

Opening with Children Of The Bad Revolution, Raven immediately established her sonic territory, a landscape where the cinematic scope of Lana Del Rey meets the industrial grind of Nine Inch Nails. Tracks like Magnolia and Inside Of You showcased a vocal delivery that was both ethereal and commanding, floating over thick, synthesized basslines. Just A Number and Pretty When I’m Hurt brought a sharper, more biting energy, proving she can snarl just as effectively as she can soothe.

The set reached its emotional and sonic zenith with In This Twilight, her brand-new single and a cover of the Nine Inch Nails closer from Year Zero. Released just weeks ago on 7th November and produced by long-time Numan collaborator Ade Fenton, the track is a masterclass in reinterpretation. Where Trent Reznor’s original is buried in serrated, caustic static, Raven strips the song back to reveal its haunting, melodic core. It was a moment of perfect circularity Reznor, the student of Numan, now being reinterpreted by Numan’s own blood. Live, it transformed the Apollo into a cathedral of shadow, her voice floating over the music with a feminine, ethereal vulnerability that felt painfully relevant to the week’s events. She closed with Here For Me, leaving the stage not as a novelty act, but as a formidable artist in her own right.

When the lights fell for the headliner, the roar from the 5,000-strong crowd was deafening, a wave of protective solidarity. Numan appeared, flanked by his band, and launched into This Wreckage. The song’s opening drone has always sounded like a warning, but tonight, lyrics like “I’ll leave if you go” hit with a devastating new weight.

The Telekon album is known for its dark, claustrophobic textures, and the production leaned into this perfectly. The stage was often bathed in the album’s signature red and black livery, save for a striking deviation during Sleep By Windows, where the band was washed in a sickly, jaundice yellow. It was a rare moment of Numan picking up the guitar for a track that felt disorientating and beautiful.

Technical gremlins tried to derail Remind Me To Smile, but Numan handled the glitch with a rare, human grin, a crack in the “android” armour that only endeared him further to his beloved fans. Deep cuts like Remember I Was Vapour and the driving I Dream of Wires were played with a muscular intensity that belied their age and thrilled the crowd.

However, the emotional epicenter of the evening was undeniably Please Push No More. A song written about the suffocating pressure of fame, it was transformed into a eulogy. Numan’s voice cracked, his composure fracturing as he fought back tears. It was here that the beautiful, symbiotic bond between Gary and his “Numanoids” truly shone. This fanbase, many of whom have grown up alongside him, didn’t just watch; they held him. Every time his voice wavered, the crowd swelled to fill the silence, a collective safety net woven from forty-five years of devotion. It wasn’t just applause; it was a thousand people saying, “We have you.”

The support on stage was equally beautiful. His band, longtime guitarist Steve Harris and bassist Tim Slade formed a protective phalanx around their frontman. Throughout the heavier numbers, there were subtle glances exchanged, moments where they seemed to play just a fraction louder or stand a little closer, anchoring Numan when the grief threatened to pull him under. It was a touching display of musical brotherhood, a silent promise that he wouldn’t have to carry the weight alone.

The setlist offered no respite from the intensity. The Aircrash Bureau and a trio-of-keys performance for the B-side Photograph kept the mood somber, while the rarity Like A B-Film surprised die-hards with its inclusion. I’m An Agent saw Numan attacking his guitar with visceral anger, channeling his grief into six strings, before the main set concluded with the one-two punch of I Die: You Die and We Are Glass. The former, with its chaotic double-cymbal crashes, felt less like a pop song and more like a riot.

Returning for the encore, Numan dipped back into the Tubeway Army catalogue, stripping away the Telekon polish for the punkier grit of My Shadow In Vain, Friends, and Listen To The Sirens.

But it was the finale, Down In The Park, that lingered longest. Opening with a stark piano intro that emphasized the song’s inherent loneliness, it built into that colossal, towering wall of synth noise. As the final notes decayed, Numan stood at the edge of the stage, looking drained but bolstered. This wasn’t the polished, robotic Gary Numan of 1980. This was a man grieving in real-time, using the music he created 45 years ago to navigate the worst week of his life. A local boy, a brother, a father, and a legend home at last. In the ringing silence that followed, the applause felt less like an ovation and more like a collective embrace, proving that even in the darkest darkness, the music still guides us home.

Live review and photography of Gary Numan @ Hammersmith Apollo, London by Louise Phillips Music Photography on 21st November 2025.

Blackie Lawless Reigns Supreme: W.A.S.P. Ignite Eventim Apollo With Shock-Rock Fury

W.A.S.P. @ Hammersmith Apollo

W.A.S.P. @ Hammersmith Apollo (Louise Phillips)

From the moment the lights dropped, it was clear whose stage this was. Despite having a stellar band of incredible musicians by his side, all performing with razor-sharp precision and undeniable power, it is Blackie Lawless who unequivocally owns the show. His voice is ageless, ripping through the classic anthems with the same venom and power that first captivated fans decades ago. You’d be hard-pressed to name another frontman from the era whose vocal cords have defied the passage of time so completely. He embodies the rock god persona, a theatrical, unshakable force, moving with an edgy, timeless stage presence that instantly elevates the performance from a concert to a spectacle. He’s a natural-born, killa showman—a master of the dramatic pause, the snarling delivery, and the commanding gaze that makes even the largest arena feel like an intimate venue.

Support Act: Armored Saint Fights the Sound Gods

The stage was first warmed up by the legendary Armored Saint, a band whose pedigree and catalogue deserve a flawless sonic presentation. Sadly, the sound gremlins seemed to have taken up residence on their side of the stage. Despite the immense energy and enthusiasm poured out by frontman John Bush and the band, the mix was plagued by severe issues for the majority of their set. Bush’s powerful, gritty vocals were often swallowed whole by a muddy low-end, and the normally crisp, dual-guitar attack struggled to cut through the mix, reducing complex riffs to a muffled roar. The drums, too, lacked the necessary punch and clarity, making it a struggle to truly appreciate the sheer force of their classic material like Can U Deliver and Reign Of Fire. It was a frustrating experience for both the band and the audience, as you could see Armored Saint delivering a world-class performance, but the technical constraints hampered their ability to fully connect. Despite the sonic adversity, their professionalism shone through, and they battled on like true metal veterans, earning a deserved ovation from the crowd who appreciated their grit in the face of poor engineering.

A Legacy Forged in Blood and Iron

I still remember the first time I saw W.A.S.P. It was at The Marquee Club for their first UK appearance back in 1992, and they were, without exaggeration, the most thrilling band I had ever seen. For a 16-year-old me who thought I had this rock thing all sorted, it felt dangerous and exhilarating! Their performance back then was raw, uncensored, and utterly thrilling—a savage spectacle of blood, circular saws, phenomenal music, blood and gore and the kind of performance that made rock run through your veins.

The great triumph of this current tour is that Blackie Lawless, all these decades later, still channels that primal, exhilarating energy. The massive venue was absolutely packed, shoulder-to-shoulder, with a congregation of the dedicated faithful from the very front of the barrier to the back bar. This was a night for the proud, lifelong fans, and the collective roar of affirmation with every song felt less like applause and more like a declaration of loyalty. The crowd’s spirit from the very anarchic note was unbreakable.

Adding to the timeless spectacle was Lawless’s iconic attire. This is a man who still rocks his signature black leather and his classic white fringed boots. He wears the uniform of a rock legend because he is one; every stitch of leather, every swish of the fringe is a statement. He was born to rock, and every movement on stage, from the swaggering walk to the commanding microphone stand and rock star poses, reinforces that truth.

A Setlist for the Ages

And what a way to kick things off! The band exploded onto the stage with a furious I Wanna Be Somebody, a bold declaration that immediately set the tone for the entire evening. It wasn’t just an opening track; it was a gauntlet thrown down, demanding attention and receiving it in spades.

The energy from that first chord never truly dipped, as the band powered through fan favourites like L.O.V.E. Machine, The Flame, and Hellion, creating a relentless torrent of classic W.A.S.P. fury. Every riff, every drum hit, every soaring vocal was delivered with the kind of conviction that reminds you why these songs became anthems in the first place. But, this is more than just a nostalgic run-through of their much loved hits; it is a vital, ferocious display that proves Blackie Lawless is still clearly at the very top of his game. His commitment to the raw, visceral spirit of heavy metal is absolute, and his performance is a definitive statement: The legacy of W.A.S.P. is not just being preserved, it’s still being forged, night after powerful night. He doesn’t just play the classics; he inhabits them, delivering an electrifying masterclass in shock-rock showmanship.

The Encore: Legendary Finale

But if the main set was a masterclass, the encore was nothing short of legendary. After a brief tease, the band returned for The Big Welcome and launched into a series of blistering medleys. The seamless transition from Inside The Electric Circus into I Don’t Need No Doctor and Scream Until You Like It was a stroke of genius, keeping the crowd’s adrenaline at fever pitch. Then, to follow that with The Real Me / Forever Free / The Headless Children was a testament to the depth of their catalogue.

And just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, they brought it home with the iconic Wild Child and the absolutely anthemic Blind In Texas. That final double-punch left the crowd hoarse and buzzing, a perfect crescendo to an already incredible night. The encore wasn’t just a bonus; it was a perfectly crafted journey through some of their most iconic tracks, proving that W.A.S.P. knows exactly how to leave an audience begging for more. It truly was the best part of an already stellar show, cementing Blackie Lawless and his band as an unstoppable force in rock.

The Next Chapter: Album ONE Alive!

With the roar of Blind In Texas still echoing, the question now shifts to what comes next for this relentless heavy metal machine. The immediate future is clear: W.A.S.P. is following this run with their massive Album ONE Alive! Tour, an extensive world trek that sees Blackie and the band celebrating the 40th anniversary of their self-titled debut by performing the entire album in sequence. While that tour promises a definitive, immersive look back at the band’s savagely primal origins, the greater anticipation among the faithful is for new blood. For years, fans have been eagerly awaiting the next original studio album, hoping to see what the unshakeable Rock God has left to say after a lifetime of redefining metal. Judging by the sheer, undiminished power of this performance, Blackie Lawless still has more than enough venom and raw energy to shock and thrill. The legacy is solid, the history is being celebrated, and the world is waiting to see where he decides to lead the W.A.S.P. Nation next.

Live review and photography of  W.A.S.P. @ Eventim Apollo, London by Louise Phillips Music Photography on 28th September 2025.

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