The Barons of Bedford, Don Broco, prove yet again that they were always made for the big leagues at Wembley wonder gig.
Wembley’s OVO Arena feels charged long before Don Broco take their long-awaited victory lap tonight. This is their night, a milestone year in the making, and they've brought with them an undercard that feel less like support acts and more like a miniature Slam Dunk Festival packed into one arena. By the time the headliners are anywhere near stepping out for their glorious turn as gods of the arena, Wembley is already vibrating.
Magnolia Park open with chaotic force, snapping the crowd to attention as Misfits and Omen thunder across the venue with surprising ease. Halfway through, the Florida crew detonate a crowd-wide “Fuck Trump!” chant that Wembley gleefully takes to, with the night's first wall of death erupting shortly after. It sets an early precedent: this isn’t going to be a normal warm-up.
YONAKA are next, wasting zero time and slamming straight into Predator as vocalist Theresa Jarvis asks, “Are you lot here to start something tonight, London?” Judging by the roar back, the answer is obvious. Their set feels super-charged, as if they’ve been quietly promoted to co-headliners without telling anyone. Huge choruses ricochet around the arena, with Call Me A Saint and Problems landing with precision-engineered impact.
State Champs keep the energy spiking, leaning hard into their buoyant pop-punk bounce. Mine Is Gold and The Constant ring out as waves of crowdsurfers glide overhead. Frontman Derek DiScanio spends the whole set beaming, admitting this is their first time in this storied venue, while bouncing around as though powered by pure serotonin. It's a sugar-rush of hooks and bright energy, the kind of feel-good chaos that gets Wembley grinning uncontrollably.
But this is Don Broco's night, and they do it as if they're planning on going home with the deeds to this place.
The Bedford heavyweights erupt onto the stage with Cellophane, flipping the atmosphere from buzzing to volcanic in mere seconds. Rob Damiani, dressed like a man headlining at 9 but entering the Matrix at 10, grins with a full awareness of the scale of the moment. With the neon-slick visuals and ferocious pacing, it feels like Broco have built their own sci-fi universe inside Wembley.
From Come Out To LA, to Gumshield, to the skyscraper stomp of Technology, Broco showcase their unrivalled knack for turning alt.rock eccentricity into arena-sized spectacle. Manchester Super Reds No. 1 Fan sets off an eruption loud enough for a Premier League trophy lift, while Pretty puts Damiani’s now-iconic stomp front and centre, like he’s clearing the final level of dance mat.
Then comes the curveball: a brand-new track, True Believers. It hits like an asteroid to the face, easily one of the heaviest songs they’ve ever made, finding Rob’s vocals morphing into visceral screams, while Si Delaney drops a filthy riff that turns the pit into a human blender.
Just when it felt like the night couldn’t twist again, Broco pull out their most human move. For You Wanna Know, Rob and Si wander into the seated stands, leading an acoustic sing-along from within the fans themselves, before heading back for Anaheim and a stripped-back Further with Yonaka’s Theresa.
The arena becomes one bouncing organism for Fingernails and Everybody, but T-Shirt Song remains the defining Broco moment. Fans have arrived at Wembley with spare shirts ready to spin, and watching over 10,000 people whirl them in unison is a giddy, cinematic sight – one that leaves the band visibly moved.
On this return visit to Wembley, Don Broco don't just headline: tonight, they owned it completely. And in doing so, cemented themselves as one of the UK’s most formidable arena rock bands.
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