225. London Grammar
The O2 Arena
14 November 2024
Occasionally, a gig falls into your lap like a benevolent gift from the music gods, or, more accurately, through a link of my friend and co-worker. This tenuous link came with access to a corporate box. Thus, my oldest friend, coworker and I found ourselves in the lap of gig-going luxury, even if the drinks were over-priced, we had a clear view of the stage, and the smug knowledge that we didn’t have to fight for a spot next to a bloke in a Stone Island jacket filming the entire show vertically.
There was a question that my best mate and I both had: how the hell did London Grammar become an arena band? Don’t get me wrong, we both liked them, adored them even. But the idea of their glacial melancholy filling the aircraft hangar that is the O2 felt... ambitious.
Still, the evidence of their evolution was right there before the main act even appeared: Lauren Mayberry (Chvrches) was the support. A few short years ago, that would’ve been the other way around. Mayberry, all spark and synth, delivered a punchy set that reminded us how sharp her pop instincts still are.
However, as the lights dimmed, and London Grammar made their entrance, they looked like they belonged there. The stage was a minimalist dream: sleek, elegant, drowning in light and mist, like a Scandi furniture advert with better vocals. And then Hannah Reid opened her mouth. Good lord.
That voice. That voice. It filled the O2 like liquid gold. All doubts evaporated. From the opening notes of “Hey Now”, the place was transfixed. Reid didn’t need to move much, she just stood there, regal, her voice doing the heavy lifting of three pyrotechnic budgets and a laser show.
The sound was immaculate: lush, crystalline, and heartbreakingly intimate, even in a room that could comfortably hold several small European nations. Songs like “Rooting for You” and “Wasting My Young Years” had that ghostly stillness that only truly great live acts can conjure.
Then came the moment of the night: the trio reappeared on a small platform stage right in the middle of the crowd for an acoustic set. No frills, no lights, no echoing bass, just them, a guitar, and Hannah’s voice, floating effortlessly above it all. You could hear a pin drop and the sound of my best mate quietly muttering “bloody hell” under his breath.
“Strong” stripped bare was devastatingly beautiful; “If You Wait” felt like a prayer. It was the kind of moment that makes you forget the scale of the venue, suddenly it was just three musicians and a song that could break your heart in half.
Back on the main stage, they leaned into the bigger, bolder material from Californian Soil, all shimmering synths and cinematic scope. The visuals were gorgeous, huge LED waves, refracted light, and bursts of colour that turned the O2 into an art installation. Hannah looked confident, commanding; the once-shy singer who could barely make eye contact was now leading an army of disciples.
By the encore, a thunderous “Lose Your Head” followed by a soaring “Baby It’s You”, there was no doubt left. They weren’t just holding their own; they were owning it.
As we shuffled out of the venue, it struck me, when we both went to see this band all those years ago at Brixton, where it was not at all certain that they’d never scale up. Turns out we were wrong.