Rubikon open proceedings, and when they were last here a shade over a couple of years ago, frontman Jae Sims joked that because the band had been together 25 years he’d seen all their dicks. Tonight, he updates the line — now it’s assholes. Growth, of a sort. Good to know.
More pertinent is the fact they’ve got a new record out, and most of their tight half-hour set is drawn from it. There’s a groove running through everything they do, with definite Alice In Chains vibes hanging in the air — weighty riffs, dark edges, and songs that feel like they’re built to punch rather than polish.
“Down” wrestles with the feeling that something just isn’t sitting right, before things properly explode with “Welcome Mat” from the new album — all pressure and release, exactly what you want this early in the night. “Lose It All” and “Leave It Alone” keep the momentum rolling, the band sounding locked in and hungry.
Sims closes with the bold promise: “No better fans, I promise you that.”
It’s said half as a challenge, half as a grin — but judging by the reaction, Rubikon have done more than enough to earn their place on this bill.
Michael Monroe finishes his set and it’s impossible not to think back to where it all started — tonight, and really every time he steps on a stage. “Dead, Jail or Rock ’n’ Roll” lands like it did back in 1989 — the moment I first heard it and realised I had a new hero. Some songs never loosen their grip, and this is one of them.
“Motorvatin’” still sounds gloriously sleazy, the kind of dirt-under-the-fingernails rock ’n’ roll that made falling in love with Hanoi Rocks feel inevitable. By the time “Old King’s Road” rolls around, Monroe and his band aren’t just a group — they’re a gang, pure and simple, locked in together by attitude and intent.
There’s a moment of genuine warmth as he talks about Wolverhampton, before introducing “Rockin’ Horse” — “the home of Slade,” and the first band he ever saw. The song itself feels even more punk than on the album, which is currently sitting at number one in the rock charts, and it’s played like that position is something to be both defended and celebrated.
“Last Train to Tokyo” is glam perfection — everything you could possibly want wrapped up in one song — before “Underwater World” strips things back just enough to let the sax cut loose and steal the air from the room. From the new album, “Shinola” stands out as its high point: frustration vented with a grin, driven by love, as he puts it — a perfect summary of his entire career, really.
“Hammersmith Palais” is introduced with obvious affection, and rightly so — what a punk album “Demolition 23.” was, and still is. That sense of connection tightens further during “Disconnected,” the video for which was filmed in this room. When he sings “I’m still not fakin’ it,” it harks straight back to that wonderful album from 37 years ago without sounding remotely like nostalgia.
“Don’t You Ever Leave Me” brings a rare moment of tenderness, before Monroe pauses ahead of “Tragedy” to say, simply, “what a band.” He’s not wrong — harmony, danger and fun all colliding in exactly the right way.
For “Ballad of the Lower East Side,” Monroe and Steve Conte sit together on the stage as it begins, letting the song breathe before it kicks in properly and lifts the room with it. Then comes the inevitable rush of memory: “Malibu Beach Nightmare.” He kisses the sax, grins, and says, “say hello to my little friend” — and instantly, we’re all forty-odd years younger again.
They sign off with a riotous cover of “Up Around the Bend,” and it fits perfectly. This isn’t a victory lap or a legacy act going through the motions. This is Michael Monroe still chasing the same feeling he’s always chased — and somehow, impossibly, still catching it.
Buckcherry hit the stage to an intro tape that makes their intent crystal clear: “We put the danger back in rock ’n’ roll.” It’s a big claim. Then “Lit Up” happens — and, yeah, it still does exactly that. It shocked 26 years ago and somehow it still shocks now. It’s ludicrous, cartoonish even. I don’t even like taking Rennies, so don’t love the cocaine. But Buckcherry have always existed in that exaggerated, larger-than-life space, and they own it completely.
From the 2025 album they’re here to promote, title track “Roar Like Thunder” is nasty in the best way — the sort of song where, if this band moved in next door, you’d seriously consider moving house. “So Hott” follows and, no, it isn’t — but it is pure Buckcherry. Stevie D is stalking the stage in a fur coat, Josh Todd’s claiming to be “hard as a rock,” and it’s all ridiculous and entirely on brand. At least he hasn’t got the flu like last time.
“Ridin’” is the reminder that when Buckcherry are good, they’re brilliant. Todd — stick-thin, shirtless, and running on pure energy — is a superb sleazy frontman, and he knows exactly how to work a room. “Let It Burn” keeps that undercurrent of danger they promised at the start bubbling away nicely.
“Come On” can’t sound more AC/DC if it tried, but it’s also another cut from the new record, sitting comfortably alongside “Roar Like Thunder” as part of what they’re here to sell.
“Say Fuck It” is introduced as being “for the real Buckcherry fans,” which gets exactly the response you’d expect — even if I am one, and don’t particularly like it. “Gluttony” makes complete sense — of course Buckcherry would write a song about excess. “Sorry” briefly pulls things inward, Todd offering the line “music is the only thing that consistently made us happy,” a rare moment of reflection before they snap straight back into character.
“Good Time” restores the natural order, Todd hammering his tambourine like it owes him money. “Blackout” brings the funk, the cowbell, and a groove that honestly feels like it could be put to work on a stripper pole without breaking a sweat.
And then there’s “Crazy Bitch.” Before it kicks off, Todd throws out a mantra — “live with passion, do what you love” — then teases the crowd with a cheeky snippet of “Proud Mary,” as if to underline that this is all supposed to be fun. Seconds later, the room detonates. Speaking of stripper poles… this song was basically built for one. No point pretending otherwise.
I first saw Buckcherry on their second-ever UK show, at Wembley Arena 27 years ago. Look — we’re all old enough to know better now. But if you’re going to grow old, you might as well do it disgracefully. And Buckcherry remain more than happy to help with that.
