HALESTORM +BLOODYWOOD + KELSEY KARTER @ O2 ARENA 26TH NOVEMBER 2025
“I am the fire” is far more than just a song title; it is a primal battle cry, a mantra screamed into the void, and on the night of 26 November at London’s O2 Arena, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy. The atmosphere inside the cavernous O2 wasn’t simply hot; it was seething with anticipation — the air thick with the kind of volatile static electricity that makes the hair on your arms stand up long before a single amplifier hums to life.
When the lights finally died, plunging thousands into darkness, and Halestorm appeared as razor-sharp silhouettes against a massive, backlit backdrop, they didn’t just perform a concert. They ignited an inferno. From that breath-snatching first second, it was undeniable: they are the storm, they are the fury, and without question, they are the fire.
The evening’s fuse was lit by the rebellious spirit of Kelsy Karter & The Heroines, whose transformation from Download Festival underdog to swaggering, rock ’n’ roll titan was staggering. Cast your mind back to that grey, rain-sodden battlefield, where Karter stood soaked and shivering yet singing with a defiance that clawed at our hearts.
Fast forward to tonight, and she prowled the O2 stage with a cigarette-and-whiskey swagger, dripping with dangerous confidence that demanded worship. Her vocals on Liquor Store on Mars and a soaring, desperate rendition of Aerosmith’s Cryin’ hit the back of the arena with polished, gritty perfection. She didn’t just survive the storm — she consumed it and spat it back as pure power.
Then came a tectonic shift with the arrival of Bloodywood. To call the New Delhi metallers a “band” feels laughably insufficient; they are a seismic riot of the soul. Their fusion of throat-shredding riffs, rapid-fire Hindi/Punjabi rap flows, and the thunderous pulse of the dhol created a sound so visceral it felt like the arena floor might crack open.
Gaddaar and Dana Dan whipped the crowd into a frenzy, but the emotional gravity landed during Yaad, dedicated to a fallen brother. In a single moment, thousands fell silent. It wasn’t a song — it was collective mourning, raw and devastating, before the riffs returned to carry the grief away in a tidal wave of rage.
But as electrifying as the supports were, the night — and our hearts — belonged to Halestorm.
Lzzy Hale is a force of nature; a Valkyrie in leather and thigh-high boots delivering vocal gymnastics that defy mortal logic. She shifted from demonic growls to crystalline, glass-shattering highs without breaking stride. The chemistry between her and Joe Hottinger remains Halestorm’s secret weapon — telepathic, intimate and forged over decades. During Love Bites (So Do I), Joe’s fretwork locked in with Lzzy’s rhythm guitar to unleash a wall of sound that rattled bones from the barrier to the rafters.
The setlist traversed the emotional spectrum — unleashing new heavy hitters while honouring the anthems that built their empire. I Miss the Misery detonated like a confetti-coated explosion, turning the arena into a swirling blizzard of catharsis. Yet the emotional knockout punch came with How Will You Remember Me?, Lzzy isolated at the keys, stripped bare of distortion and armour, revealing the vulnerability beneath the scream.
Then came the madness: Arejay Hale’s drum solo. A spectacle. A circus. A one-man blistering freakshow of kinetic chaos. Bounding across his kit like a caffeinated Muppet, he somehow escalated the ridiculousness further by producing his giant drumsticks — comically oversized, yet wielded with technical proficiency that bordered on sorcery. Commanding the crowd to open a mosh pit during a drum solo was genius, proving Halestorm may take the music seriously, but never themselves.
The encore hit like a detonation. I Am the Fire unleashed towering flames synchronised with Lzzy’s screams, a literal wall of heat scorching the front rows. A crushing cover of Ozzy Osbourne’s Perry Mason paid homage to their roots before the night closed with Here’s To Us. As fists punched the air and the final chords dissolved into the ether, something shifted — tectonic, primal, undeniable.
Watching Halestorm isn’t witnessing a gig — it’s surviving a collision of elemental forces. Lzzy gives you permission to be loud, messy, unapologetic. Behind her, Joe, Arejay and Josh Smith provide the thunder that lets lightning strike. We stepped out into the icy November night, but the cold couldn’t touch us — we were armour-plated by the afterglow. We didn’t just watch the fire.
We walked out burning.
WORDS AND PHOTOS: LOUISE PHILIPS
GALLERY
