Review

Somewhere between a dominatrix and a preacher, Nathy Peluso stands alone yet commands the center of the Roundhouse stage, she […]

Somewhere between the bassline of “Now U Do” and the synchronized absurdity of Janet Planet and Sugar Bones strutting like

Koenig’s in a bomber jacket. Or maybe he’s not. Maybe I made that up, but it feels true—like how “Harmony

The walls sweat before we do. The air thick with pre-impact tension, like the moment before a brawl or the

The train from Kings Cross brings a legion of bodies all moving in one direction. Thick-soled boots and the occasional

There’s something about Beabadoobee at Alexandra Palace that makes it feel like the ‘90s were never a decade but a

Something’s wrong with the air. It hums. It pulses. The walls of the O2 don’t breathe; they flex. The bassline

The ceiling is sweating, the walls are vibrating, and somewhere in the mess of bodies and beer-slicked floor, someone is

Did you stretch? Did you breathe in, breathe out, let the air sit in your lungs before the impact? No?

The O2 is a beast, cavernous and indifferent, but Deep Purple cracks it open like a sonic crowbar, peeling back