An ominous, synth-driven hum filled the room at Islington Assembly Hall, a restless Friday night crowd buzzing beneath it. Then — silence. A heartbeat later, the guitars of Thanks A Lot burst to life as Stephen Jenkins strode onto the stage in crisp white trousers and a beanie, his guitar hung low, his every movement theatrical. The room erupted. Without a word, Third Eye Blind were off and running — all muscle, melody and memory.
Stephan Jenkins of Third Eye Blind @ Islington Assembly Hall
For a band whose biggest hits are pushing 30, there was no sense of nostalgia fatigue. The energy from both stage and floor was immediate and alive. Dust Storm followed, bathed in red light, its jagged rhythm section cutting through the humid air. By the time the jangly chords of Never Let You Go arrived, Jenkins had already handed half the vocals to the crowd. Hundreds of voices sang back every word of the 1999 classic — a pure, time-warp moment that turned the old art deco hall into a slice of California summer.
During Narcolepsy, Jenkins dropped into preacher mode. “Everybody here from the front to the back, from the bottom to the top — find somebody you don’t know and say, ‘I’m glad you made it!’” he instructed, pacing the stage. The moment was half sincere, half absurd — pure Jenkins. When one fan shoved a phone in his face, his tone snapped: “Turn that fucking thing off.” Then, with a grin, he slipped into a knowingly awful English accent: “Helloooo Londan!” and launched right back into the song.
A blistering medley of The Kids Are Coming (To Take You Down), a surprise cover of TV On The Radio’s Wolf Like Me, and Company Of Strangers gave the night a shot of 21st-century adrenaline before crashing into a ferocious Graduate. Irishman guitarist Kryz Reid (whose birthday it was today) shredded through his wah-wah pedal like a man possessed, the crowd feeding on the band’s infectious energy.
Kryz Reid of Third Eye Blind @ Islington Assembly Hall
That energy briefly wobbled when a scuffle broke out near the front. “Are you guys fighting at my show? Don’t you fucking dare!” Jenkins barked. “We travelled across oceans to be here just for this. I mean it — all of us together as one.” The tension dissolved as quickly as it appeared, applause washing over the stage in solidarity.
When the dust settled, the 61-year-old Californian took a breath and looked out across the room. “Hey everybody, thanks for having us,” he said warmly. “Circumstances made it so that, at the very last second, we just decided to play a show in London. Every place was booked and The Islington actually accommodated us, so we’re very, very happy to be here.” The cheers that followed were deafening.
He continued, candid as ever. “There’s absolutely no reason for us to be here — we don’t have a new album out. We’re supposed to, but I haven’t finished the lyrics. It’s part of how I am Stephen, is to kinda fuck it up.” The crowd roared with laughter. “So we’re really just here for pleasure,” he smiled. “We’re gonna play some old songs, some new songs, and we’ll go right up until they make us stop.”
From there, the night deepened into a setlist that felt like a love letter to the band’s past. Crystal Baller — all shimmering melancholy and crunch — hit like a forgotten favourite. Palm Reader and Wounded shimmered with that unmistakable late-’90s alt-rock DNA, while Losing A Whole Year saw even the security guards fighting the urge to join in.
Then came a quieter turn. Shipboard Cook unfolded into an extended acoustic outro, the rest of the band slipping offstage as Jenkins remained alone under soft light. Still strumming, he began to talk. “We haven’t played London in so long that many of you probably don’t know the words to this song,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. Because you were meant to sing this song. I imagined it being sung in a pub — by a room full of people who don’t really know the words, who aren’t singing in tune, just trying to cheer up a mate who just got dumped. That’s the only thing that fucking matters.”
The crowd responded with boisterous affection, though their first attempt earned a mock-scolding. “That was terrible,” Jenkins laughed. “I don’t feel cheered up yet at all!” A second, louder chorus filled the room — ragged, joyful, perfect.
Next came Like A Lullaby, a new track Jenkins noted had already found its way onto U.S. radio but not so in the U.K.. “They only wanna hear old shit here, which is fine,” he joked, before handing song choice to the audience. The response was instant and unanimous: Slow Motion. Its acoustic delivery was hushed and heartfelt — a moment of quiet nostalgia in an otherwise electric night.
The band returned for Motorcycle Drive-By, that slow-burning anthem of longing, building from whisper to wall-of-sound catharsis. Then came Jumper, its familiar chords met with a roar that nearly drowned out the band. Jenkins didn’t have to sing a word — the crowd did it for him. And of course that marching band outro, Brad Hargreaves’s precision drumming far more impactful tonight than on the record.
Brad Hargreaves of Third Eye Blind @ Islington Assembly Hall
Before Semi-Charmed Life, Jenkins shared an absurd little “micro song” inspired by his last London visit. “Oi, Oi, London-O. Fish ’n’ Chips and Shepherd’s Pie. Free breakfast in the morning, we fight at night,” he crooned in a hilariously bad Cockney accent, laughing as the crowd joined in before the unmistakable riff of Semi-Charmed Life sent the venue into overdrive, the ultimate sugar-rush anthem, before surprising fans with a rare airing of London. “I don’t wanna go to London!” Jenkins shouted as the audience screamed the line right back at him — irony fully intact.
As the clock neared curfew, Jenkins wasn’t ready to let go. “We’ve got a couple minutes before they turn on the lights,” he said. “We’re not on tour right now, but when I finally finish the lyrics and we make the new album, it would mean the world if we could be invited back to London.” The band then eased into the wistful How’s It Going To Be, Jenkins’ voice rich with emotion, the crowd swaying in unison.
Even then, the lights stayed down. “They didn’t turn the power off, they didn’t turn the lights off, so fuck it,” he grinned — before the band launched into God Of Wine, their closing benediction. It was a perfect finale — atmospheric, aching, and utterly sincere. “We’ll see you again,” Jenkins promised, bowing to his audience before slipping into the wings.
Third Eye Blind’s return to London wasn’t about promotion or nostalgia. It was about connection — raw, imperfect, and entirely human. For one night, Jenkins and company turned a small north London hall into a room full of strangers singing like old friends. And if the frontman keeps that promise, London will be ready for more.
Live review & photography of Third Eye Blind @ Islington Assembly Hall by Kalpesh Patel on 3rd October 2025.
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