Review & Photography by Manny Manson for MPM
The O2 Academy Birmingham had been straining at the seams long before the doors opened, the kind of anticipatory pressure you can feel in the concrete under your boots and in the jittering conversations that ricochet around a sold-out venue when people know they’re about to witness something they’ll remember for years.
Birmingham has a way of responding to nights like this, of turning itself inside out with excitement, of reminding you why it’s one of the UK’s spiritual homes of rock. Tonight was no exception, because tonight was the long-awaited return of Three Days Grace with Adam Gontier back at the helm, and the city had sold the place out months in advance just to welcome him home to the microphone that once shaped an entire era of 2000s heavy radio. Before that explosion, though, Los Angeles’ own Badflower were set to rip the doors off the place, bringing their unfiltered post-grunge emotionalism to a crowd who’d come early, packed early and were ready to go early because word travels fast when a band this good is opening.
Badflower have always stood slightly outside the neat lanes of their American contemporaries, emerging out of LA in 2013 with Josh Katz’s pain-stained, confessional songwriting and Joey Morrow’s jagged, melodic guitar style marking them out as something far darker and more honest than the dime-a-dozen radio-rock acts that passed through the same clubs they cut their teeth in.
Anthony Sonetti’s rhythmic taste and precision, along with Alex Espiritu’s expressive, driving bass approach, means the four of them operate almost like a pressure cooker, steam building until a release becomes inevitable.
That very same feeling took over the room the second they walked out under the strobes and hammered straight into Drop Dead, the snarling opener from their 2016 EP Temper, a song built on a mixture of disdain, vulnerability and bitter sarcasm that sets the emotional battleground Badflower thrive in. Josh Katz delivered the lyrics like he was wiping something toxic off his skin, snarling one moment and sounding wounded the next, with Joey ripping angular chords that matched the tension. The crowd immediately leaned forward, already locked into the emotional wavelength. When it finished the crowd immediately started chanting “DADDY” this was as directed by Katz’ ‘Call Me Daddy’ logo on his vest, he eventually twigged and called the crowd weird through a beaming smile.
Number 1 followed, that razorblade-sharp cut from their 2025 album No Place Like Home, a song that always felt like both a self-therapy session and a middle finger to the expectations placed on modern bands. Live, the bitterness becomes more theatrical, but never insincere. Josh spat the lines with the same self-loathing swagger that made the song explode online when it dropped, while Anthony and Alex locked into a pulse that felt as if it were about to trip into chaos but never did. Joey’s guitar tone sliced through the air with uncomfortable clarity, like a reminder that Badflower don’t come to soothe; they come to expose.
Don’t Hate Me shifted the emotional spectrum, one of the standout tracks from 2021’s This Is How the World Ends, and its strangely tender push-and-pull between apology and accusation wrapped the room into something more contemplative. Josh’s voice cracked in the right places, the tremor real, not staged, and that authenticity is exactly why Badflower land so hard with fans, their pain isn’t packaged, it’s shared. Family was next, and if you know that song, you know what it does. Easily one of the rawest cuts they’ve ever recorded, also from This Is How the World Ends, the track turns childhood trauma into a blunt instrument. When Josh reached the breaking points of the chorus, the entire room felt like it was holding its breath. It’s one thing to stream that song privately; it’s another to watch it unravel in real time, surrounded by strangers who are all recognising the same scars.
After that emotional gutting, Move Me from 2017 leaned into quieter, slower, bruised territory, almost like a plea in the dark. Joey Morrow’s guitar lines in this song always feel like they’re trying to keep the vocal from drowning, thin threads of melody stretched across a void. Live they became even more fragile, every plucked harmonic hanging in the air like a confession. The crowd responded with phone lights raised in salute. Stalker from 2021’s This Is How The World Ends,returned the set to something darker, heavier, more uncomfortable, the kind of sinister slow-burn that Badflower intentionally write to make you squirm. On record, it creeps; onstage, it lunges, so much so that Katz decided to walk through the crowd and rip the song from the mosh pit in front of the sound board. Alex drove the low end harder than the studio cut, and Josh played the role with unnerving commitment, stepping closer to the crowd as the lyrics blurred lines between obsession and delusion.
Heroin, one of the most haunting pieces from OK, I’m Sick, turned the room cold. It’s a song not about literal substance addiction but about toxic love, dependency and the kind of relationships that feel euphoric until they destroy you. The Birmingham crowd knew every line, and the way Josh paced the stage, as though reenacting every emotional collapse embedded in the writing, turned it into a performance nobody was prepared for and still singing leapt into the crowd and was surfed around, above the fan’s heads, before asking to be steered back to the stage. The Jester, another deep cut from Ok, I’m Sick, brought the tempo up but kept the emotional teeth sharp, bathed in an eerie green light. It’s a sneer disguised as a singalong, and Joey’s riffs ripped through the PA like they were being dragged out of him.
Ghost, the breakout single from OK, I’m Sick (2018) and probably the song that brought the most casual fans into the fold, arrived like a collective exhale, but a painful one. It’s a track rooted in mental collapse, and when the lights washed the room pale and Josh delivered the chorus with that almost exhausted resignation, hundreds of voices joined him, turning the refrain into a catharsis. It’s become an anthem for people who hide their darkest moments in plain sight, and tonight it felt like it belonged to everyone in the room.
Katz called out to the crowd asking if they would like to see the band return as the headline act, the crowd, now firmly in the bands pocket roared as one to the affirmative, Katz then said you’d better buy a Tee shirt so you remember who we are! He then said cheers and thanks you’s and goodbye ‘s before launching straight into the set closer, 30, the solitary single from 2020, the snarling, punk-laced panic attack, it’s a song written at the intersection of anxiety, aging, dread and absurd humour. The band tore through it like they were on fire, Josh practically laughing through some of the lines while Joey shredded in a way that felt unhinged but in total control. The crowd erupted at the final hit; fully aware they’d just seen a support set that could have headlined its own tour. Badflower walked off drenched, exhausted, triumphant, leaving the stage trembling for what was coming next.
Because tonight wasn’t just another Three Days Grace gig. It was the return of Adam Gontier, the voice, the pen and the emotional cornerstone of the band’s identity from their formation in Norwood, Ontario back in 1995 all the way through Transit of Venus in 2012. His departure in 2013 reshaped the band entirely, with Matt Walst carrying the mantle through Human, Outsider and Explosions. But fans never stopped dreaming of a reunion, never stopped imagining the original power returning, never stopped wondering how songs like Home or Pain or Never Too Late would feel with Adam back in the centre of it all. Tonight, Birmingham didn’t have to imagine anymore.
When the lights dropped and the band walked out, the noise was feral, a kind of roar that short-circuits your senses. Adam stepped to the mic like he’d never left, Matt Walst now at his side adding backing vocals and additional guitar rather than replacing him, Neil Sanderson settling behind the kit like a general taking command, Brad Walst planting his bass stance wide enough to anchor the building, and Barry Stock, that mountain of riffs and leather, stepping forward with the calm confidence of a man who knows exactly how dangerous his guitar can be. Screens either side of Sanderson’s kit flashed “HERE!” – “WE!” – “GO!”
They detonated into Dominate, the blistering opener from Alienation (2025), a song written during the Walst era but now reborn with Adam’s venomous, serrated delivery transforming it entirely. It felt heavier, meaner, more forceful, as if the track itself had been waiting for him. The chorus hit like a wrecking ball, the crowd losing their minds at how seamlessly Adam blended into material he hadn’t originally recorded. Barry’s guitar tone was a chainsaw dragged across sheet metal, and Neil hammered the double-time accents with military precision.
Animal I Have Become was next, from the band’s 2006 breakthrough album One-X, and you could feel the shift in the room. This was history crashing back into the present. The first verse alone nearly drowned Adam out, the crowd screaming every word back at him as if they needed to prove they’d carried these songs in their bones for two decades. Adam delivered it with the same tortured grit he had in 2006, dripping with that familiar frustration and self-destruction that made the song a global anthem. When the chorus hit, the floor shook. Pure catharsis.
So Called Life, the lead single from Explosions (2022), kept the energy brutal. Its frenetic, claustrophobic tension took on an entirely new dimension live, Adam leaning into the fractured sense of overwhelm baked into the lyrics. Matt’s backing vocals filled the high harmonies with unexpected warmth, and Barry unleashed an avalanche of distorted chugs that made the song feel almost industrial at times. The crowd knew every beat, the newer material mixing seamlessly with the older cuts because the voice tying it all together was finally the same one fans had grown up with.
Break followed, from Life Starts Now (2009), one of the band’s most uplifting yet deceptively heavy singles. It has that unmistakable Three Days Grace quality where positivity is delivered like a punch to the throat. Adam’s performance straddled that line, fierce but triumphant, and Neil hammered the snare with such force the transients felt like sparks in the air. Brad’s bass shook the railings, and Matt filled the choruses with guitar that layered perfectly beneath Barry’s melodic lead lines.
Adam addresses the room saying that they’d spent 3 days in Birmingham and have loved it, in fact they are thinking of moving here to call it Home, a cheeky segue into the next song: Home, the haunting juggernaut from their self-titled, 2003 debut album, arrived like a ghost walking back into the room. The moment Adam hit the first verse, the emotional weight shifted, it was like hearing the song the way it was always meant to be performed. Raw. Bitter. Unfiltered. His voice cracked slightly on the last repetition of the chorus, not from weakness but from emotional memory. Barry’s guitar solo tore through the centre of the room, a mixture of anger and control.
Adam then gave a run down on the band’s history, praising Matt Walst for keeping the band going when he left, and ultimately letting him rejoin. The Mountain, from Outsider (2018), came next, and with Adam upfront it felt like a manifesto, his delivery turning the frustration into something volcanic. The chorus exploded across the room, Matt harmonising alongside him like they’d been singing together for twenty years instead of reuniting the band’s eras, as Adam got the crowd clapping along.
Mayday, introduced as the first single from 2025’s Alienations, maintained the urgency, the siren-like rhythm of the track giving Neil a chance to lock into a relentless stomp that shook the floorboards. The audience erupted during the breakdown, dozens of bodies moving in chaotic unison, Barry throwing flames across the fretboard.
Pain arrived like a seismic wave, one of the crown jewels of One-X, and the entire O2 Academy lost its collective mind and as one sang every word. Adam’s voice carried that same wounded resilience that defined the song from day one, singing through a “ribbon” microphone which gave his voice that distinctive edge, and the crowd, they joined in screaming the iconic “I’d rather feel pain than nothing at all” line loud enough to override the PA. Brad pounded the bassline like he was trying to crack the foundation, and Barry’s guitar had never sounded sharper.
Kill Me Fast, another from Alienation turned the set darker again, Adam leaning into its suffocating emotion, the lyrics taking on a new edge with him delivering them live for the first time. The crowd where asked if they liked the newest song the band had released, and how they felt about hearing the oldest, again the fans needed no encouragement as they launched into, I Hate Everything About You, the snarling cut from Three Days Grace (2003), now with Adam’s venom added, transformed into something even more aggressive and explosive, Matt and Adam trading vocal textures like a tag-team. The phones where up the fingers where pointing as the crowd tried to lift the O2 into a new postcode, and boy did they try.
Time Of Dying from One-X erupted next, Adam delivering one of the best choruses of the night, a perfect storm of desperation and defiance. The energy in the room was nuclear; the crowd were bouncing like a jumping Tigger plushie plugged directly into the mains. Matt asked the crowd how they were doin’, said how about another new one, with that the keyboard intro to Apologies from Alienation (2025), struck up and gave a momentary breather but didn’t soften the punch, its sombre introspection deepened now by Adam’s unmistakable emotional timbre as he and Matt shared the verses. They both stood on the riser harmonising as another crowd surfer sails over the heads of those on the barrier. The Lights briefly go off, Matt encourages the crowd to chant “THREE DAYS GRACE,” then asked he crowd to follow Badflower and to go check ‘em out.
Then came one of the biggest surprises of the night, a cover of Radiohead’s Creep, transformed into a slow-burning avalanche of distortion and wounded sincerity. Adam, stood solo, with simply an acoustic guitar for support, belted out this fan favourite, it may only be a cover but the fans have made it their own. Adam’s voice carried the perfect mixture of fragility and grit, and when the chorus hit, the crowd simply joined in and made a great song, explosive.
Asking if there are any hard-core fans in, the room naturally erupted, we get told the band are from a small town in Onterio, a one horse kinda place where everyone knows everyone’s business. They wrote a song about growing up there and with the help of a special guest, Cale Gontier on guitar. Don’t Wanna Go Home Tonight from Alienation cracked the tension back open, an anthem-in-waiting Adam asked the fans to sing along if they knew it, the crowd responded instantly, like I said this is a very partisan crowd. Matt and Adam pace back and forth, harmonising with each when required, the song finishes and they ask for some noise for Cale. Matt screams for a mosh pit to get started as they dive into, I Am Machine from Human (2015), surged forward like an electrical storm, Adam’s delivery giving the song a colder, more internalized rage. He’s using just the top of his mic stand, a metal skeleton of a forearm and hand, very terminator like. As computer noises cry out in the background. The stage is full of bright, backlit smoke as the crowd fist pump to the songs demise.
“How the Fuck Are We Doin’” screams Matt, let’s see those party drinks in the air, empty hands raise as one, the drinks have long gone, spilt of drunk, either way the hands pump and point at the ceiling. He adds that the band are going to come back year on year as “Birmingham likes to party and they enjoy a bit of the good life as Ozzy would say.” The Good Life, another cheesy segue, from Life Starts Now (2009),practically turned the room into a party, its upbeat sarcasm conjuring every fist in the air. The stage is smoky as the bass rumble thunders out, crowd surfers are up again and enjoy a tumultuous ride to the barrier. The song finishes with a piercing growl.
Matt again asks for the moshpit to get busy as they race into Painkiller from Human, one of the band’s biggest post-Adam singles, brought all eras full circle. This was the first song Matt did with the band, now he and Adam were making it roar like a natural extension of their combined catalogue. It finishes with Matt standing on the risers with his arms outstretched, the crowd are ecstatic with the live rendition featuring both singers.
Adam says “we have a couple more for you, you want a couple more? “he continues “Music helps heal people” “It gets them through tough times” “people have reached out to the band saying just that” “in 2006 we put out an album, One-X, we’re going to play a song from that album, get those cell phone lights up.” Never Too Late followed, and if there was a moment where the night transcended a gig and became something historic, it was this. One of the most important songs in the band’s history, a track that has literally saved lives, delivered by its original voice to a room of thousands who sang it like a prayer. Adam stepped back from the mic at one point, letting the crowd carry it, visibly moved.
A Drum groove slams out as the crowd once again chant “Three Days Grace repeatedly”. The drum grove and melody have a slight Scottish flare to it as Matt gets the crowd chanting “RIOT “over and over. The Mosh pit is screamed for and one opens up in the middle of the room, the crowd are light in their loafers as the bounce along, “Let’s Start A Riot” is screamed, this, another one from One-X, is the perfect exclamation point to a night that felt like a resurrection. The crowd went feral, bodies moving, crowd surfers are going up but not getting far before being dropped back into the crowd, voices shredding, the band delivering the song with the power of a unit that has rediscovered its beating heart.
As the final dive-bombing guitar screamed out, and the chanting roared once more, Birmingham stood, exhausted, euphoric, unified. A sold-out room, months in the making, singing every word as if the songs had belonged to them from the moment they were written. And maybe they had. Tonight wasn’t nostalgia. Tonight wasn’t a reunion gimmick. Tonight was a homecoming, a reclamation and a rebirth, a reminder of how deeply music can carve itself into people, and how powerful it is when the voice that shaped an era returns to remind the world why these songs mattered in the first place.
Badflower lit the fuse. Three Days Grace detonated the building. And Birmingham will be talking about this night until Three Days Grace, keep their word and return for another sold out show….. or two.
