I’m a Spaniard living in Scotland, so Madrid felt like the perfect middle ground: close enough to home to feel personal, far enough to still feel like a trip. The way they announced the tour was pretty iconic: a group of chaotic musicians serving drinks at a bar in L.A., breaking the internet in a way that may or may not have been approved by their PR team.
But of course, the universe had to add a little tension, a little drama. Everything that could go wrong, did. Flights were messy, hotels overpriced, one friend dropped out mid-planning. There was a weather alert for floods, the Madrid subway collapsing under commuter chaos, and to top it off, the next day was the 12 de Octubre parade, which I won’t get into, but it isn’t exactly my crowd.
We started calling it the cursed tour date. And yet, somehow, the curse broke.
We all managed to get floor tickets, found a cheaper (and genuinely nice) hotel, and woke up to the kind of sunny, cinematic morning that makes you believe in plot twists. Meeting up that Friday night felt surreal. After months of counting down the days, it was finally happening.
Saturday was pure serotonin. We walked around El Retiro, trying to act normal while half-joking about bumping into Sebastian from Palaye on his morning run. By 2 p.m., we were in the queue – a little sweaty and half-running on adrenaline. A couple of my friends had been picked for Palaye’s street team, handing out flyers to convert the uninitiated. Out of boredom, we took turns helping. Honestly? Kind of fun. Nothing like selling your favourite band to strangers and watching them fall in love too.
Walking into a venue will never not feel like coming home. The bass from the pre-show playlist shakes your chest, the lights flicker just enough to sync with your blinking, and you do that silent telepathic scan with your friends: where are we standing, how close can we get, what’s the strategy?
Despite queuing a bit later, we scored a solid spot. People had been camping out since Wednesday – which is insane, but also… respect the commitment to the cause. Watching the crew set up the scene felt like witnessing the quiet magic before the madness.
Then the lights dropped, and Weathers walked in.
Confession: I had no idea who they were before this.
But, also: I haven’t shut up about them since.
With the first chords of “Happy Pills”, I could feel the whole crowd collectively going “oh, these guys!” and suddenly everyone was singing, dancing, jumping along. You could feel the room shift from curious to obsessed in real time.
They’re that kind of band you can feel the love between on stage: the shared spark, the “let’s make this fun” attitude. Frontman Cameron Boyer owned the stage with pure theatre-kid energy: expressive, confident, throwing himself into every lyric. A real showman. Every move – the spins, the jumps, the dramatic gestures – had the crowd locked in. His vocals were incredible live, and the momentum never dipped for a second.
The setlist was perfect from start to finish. I added it to my playlist immediately, no skips. They had us screaming the lyrics to “Where Do I Sign?”, losing our minds over their pop-punkified cover of “Pink Pony Club”, and building up excitement during their new unreleased song “Ugly”, which I cannot wait to hear in studio form.
By the end, their eyeliner was running, knees hitting the floor, and the crowd completely in sync with them. You could tell they were genuinely having fun, and that electricity just radiated. (Side note: go stream Are We Having Fun Yet?, the album, because yes. We are.)
Weathers’ set was one of those moments that catches you off guard: that electric “what the hell just happened?” feeling, in the best possible way. I got home and listened to their full discography. They’re the sort of band to remind me why I love live music so much. I would love to catch them on tour someday.
Safe to say, I walked out converted.
Ah, Palaye Royale. My forever band.
This was my sixth time seeing them live, and like every other time, it felt brand new. With Palaye, you never know what to expect apart from crazy amounts of adrenaline and deep emotion. I swear every time is different. The setlist changes constantly, the atmosphere never repeats, and the crowd and environment make it feel brand new – like you’re seeing them for the first time all over again.
They opened with “Death or Glory” instead of the usual “Nightmares”, and the second those first notes hit, my friends and I collectively lost it. Full-body screaming. “Gotta support the support act”, they say, huh? We were literally singing along to every single lyric. However, I would like to apologise to whoever was standing near us. Hope we weren’t too loud.
We ended up next to a group of older rock guys who were absolutely loving it. Watching them headbang and grin through the whole set made me weirdly proud. We ended up talking to them about the band like proud parents, introducing them to the madness of Palaye Royale.
By the time “Fucking With My Head” came on, I was going a bit too hard. Halfway through the song, I realised two things simultaneously: my voice was half gone, and I was dangerously close to full-on dehydration. And I still had two hours ahead of me. It was, truly, in that moment she realised she’d fucked up. But it was worth it. Absolutely worth it. Please never take it off the setlist; it’s always so fun.
The thing about Palaye is that they possess the stage. They take it like it’s holy ground and turn the crowd into a congregation. Emerson came down to the pit to mosh with fans. I wasn’t close enough to join, but I hope to catch him in the mosh pit sometime during the UK tour.
Remington, as always, was pure madness in human form. He couldn’t do his usual climbs (there was nothing to climb), but of course, he still found a way to risk his life. At one point, he was walking on the crowd and jumped down from the balcony during “Mr Doctor Man”. Shoutout to photographer Mac Praed, the unsung hero who, as always, catches him and rescues him from the crowd back to the stage.
Sebastian was impeccable on guitar; he had everyone worked up, motioning for the crowd to move, sending that wild energy from the stage straight into the pit. There’s something about his calm focus that balances Remington’s manic frenzy – it’s like he’s conducting the storm rather than being caught in it.
Logan and Dave: flawless. Absolute pros. Driving every song forward with precision and power, giving the chaos its backbone.
“Dying in a Hot Tub” was, of course, beautiful. The crowd collectively took out their phone torches to light up the place. It will always be one of my favourite songs live; having everyone move to it together never gets old.
And then “For You” to close: a chorus echoing through the venue, everyone singing as one before the lights dropped.
A little bittersweet to see them go. Time goes so fast when you’re having fun. But the ending felt right – they gave us everything. I’m so ready for the Death or Glory UK Tour next week: multiple shows, multiple breakdowns, no regrets.
When Yungblud hit the stage, I felt the crowd’s push before I even saw him. The crowd went feral. Everyone surged forward; it was total madness. My first coherent thought: holy f*cking rockstar.
The lights flashed blinding white, the signature Idols aesthetic, and then those first lines for “Hello, heaven, hello.” Confetti exploded. The mayhem began.
He’s magnetic, you know? That kind of artist whose personality bleeds through every lyric and every gesture. Strutting around the stage with wild confidence, he’s the textbook definition of a rockstar, both on paper and in real life. A mix of Idols tracks and older hits kept the crowd on a constant high.
“Funeral” and “Fleabag” were personal highlights. I’ve been listening to him since 2020, but live, they hit like a revelation. When it came time for “Fleabag”, there was that tense, collective excitement: people holding up signs, hoping to get picked to play it with him. You could feel the anticipation spike. And then he pointed. He picked a guy from the crowd who sprinted onto the stage and threw his arms around Dom in the biggest hug ever. I might’ve teared up a little.
Dom handed him his guitar and pick, lit a cigarette, and let the guy take over. The energy was electric – two strangers sharing a song, one of them the artist himself. It was pure connection; no barrier between fan and performer, just music and emotion perfectly in sync.
And let’s talk about the band. His touring musicians are phenomenal. Every note, every chord, perfectly tight but still full of life. It felt less like a concert and more like a full-blown rock opera.
Unfortunately, the room had turned into a literal oven. Between the crush and the heat, we eventually retreated to the side, cold water in hand, still dancing. Sometimes survival is punk rock, am I right?
Then came one of the most beautiful moments of the night: Yungblud’s cover of “Changes” by Ozzy Osbourne, a tribute to his friend and the father of heavy metal. The crowd became one voice – everyone from the pit to the top seats singing “I’m going through changes”. I tried to film a 360 video but ended up just crying and smiling instead. It felt like time stopped for a second, like we were all part of something bigger than the noise. And I remember thinking: this is it. This is the whole point of life.
Music brings people together – strangers, fans, families, all from different cities and languages – just to feel something real.
Dom got emotional too. You could see it – that moment of realisation that the entire room was there for him, but also for what he represented: community, release, something bigger than any one person.
After that, the rush kicked back in. “Loner”, “Fire”, and a few more from Idols had everyone jumping again. Now that I had room to recover a bit and breathe, I went full on again – jumping, dancing and yelling my heart out. A lovely older French couple beside us took a photo of my sign (some sweet girl had given it to me, “Yungblud Saved This Zombie”, to hold up during “Zombie”). The lady found me afterwards and sent me the picture with a kind message I still reread sometimes. Beautiful stranger, if you’re reading this, thank you. Your kindness really stayed with me that night.
More confetti. Lights up. Stage down. And just like that, it was over.
We stumbled out, trying not to lose each other in the crowd, still buzzing. Outside, fans were gathered, waiting for Dom to come out. When he finally did, he climbed onto the roof of the venue – because of course he did – and waved down at everyone like some unhinged angel.
A true rockstar. In every sense.
Taxi back to the hotel, still stunned. The streets of Madrid felt too quiet after hours of noise and screaming, like the city was catching its breath with us. My voice was gone, my body ached, but I couldn’t stop smiling. We kept replaying every moment in the car: the lights, the songs, the way everything finally fell into place after weeks of chaos.
Three incredible acts. One unreal night. The kind you know you’ll still be talking about years from now. I’d relive it a thousand times if I could.
