Two decades since they swaggered into the indie spotlight with Up All Night, Razorlight arrived at Liverpool’s O2 Academy on a bank holiday Sunday night and proved emphatically that their fire hasn’t dimmed, it’s simply matured, tightened, and found fresh fuel. The original line-up, now reunited with drummer Andy Burrows back in the fold, tore through a career-spanning set with the urgency of a band still out to prove something, and the cohesion of one that’s weathered the highs and lows together.
Opening with the familiar twitch of Rip It Up, the band immediately set the tone – jagged, joyful and played with a precision that never once felt clinical. Johnny Borrell, still a blur of charisma and conviction, led the charge through early noughties staples like In The Morning, Stumble and Fall, and Golden Touch, each received like hometown anthems, each still crackling with that peculiar mix of romantic frustration and swaggering confidence that defined British guitar music in the mid-2000s.
There’s something quite remarkable about hearing these songs in 2025. Razorlight’s early material always had a kind of wide-eyed desperation to it, an urgent need to connect, to climb, to matter. Tonight, that urgency is still there, but it’s tempered by a seasoned clarity. On Before I Fall to Pieces, Borrell leant into the line “I don’t think that it’s clever to sit around and talk forever,” like someone who’s learned the value of brevity through living it.
Tracks from Planet Nowhere, their 2024 comeback LP, nestled effortlessly alongside the old guard. Dirty Luck was lean and razor-sharp, with a synth sheen courtesy of Reni Lane that gave it a nervy, modern pulse. Zombie Love, meanwhile, bristled with hooks and harmonies, its chorus hammering home a sense of melodic craftsmanship that’s always been Razorlight’s secret weapon. Where some reformed indie bands sound like imitations of themselves, Razorlight sound like a version 2.0, leaner, wiser, and still swinging.
And then there was America. Nineteen years on from topping the UK charts, it remains a haunting highlight. A song that once felt like a requiem for transatlantic disillusionment, but now lands with a different kind of weight. The vocal delivery is less affected, more reflective. It’s grown with its singer, and with its audience.
What’s striking throughout is how cohesive the band sound. Carl Dalemo’s basslines still provide a muscular backbone, Ågren’s guitar work moves deftly between choppy stabs and widescreen flourishes, and Burrows who’s always had something alchemical about his rhythms. Together, they sound like a band reborn, not merely reformed.
There’s a touch of poetry in the fact that Razorlight’s biggest success came in an era obsessed with The Next Big Thing and yet here they are, outlasting many of their peers and sounding more vital than they did in their wilderness years. The new material confirms they’re not just a nostalgia act, and the classics remind you why they ever mattered in the first place.
For one night in Liverpool, it wasn’t 2005 again, it was better. This was Razorlight in full command of their past, their present, and a future that, on this form, still feels golden.
Go Places Do Things 