Kirsty Bosley reviews Biffy Clyro’s The Futique Tour as it rolls into Birmingham
Biffy Clyro in Birmingham, January 2026(Image: Kirsty Bosley)
I’ve been to a hundred million gigs in this city and, for the most part, regardless of whether it’s a death metal gig or some starry-eyed singalong with Lewis Capaldi, they all tend to follow something of a formula.
You’ll know it. It’s the big opener, probably something new. The warm-up leg, the instrumentals, the calm-down, the big cry, the lift, the build, the crescendo, the false finish and the encore.
Sometimes bands will scrap the encore, keen to prove they’re just too nonconformist for that, man. Biffy Clyro? They effed the formula blueprint off the second it landed on their desk in Glasgow. Scrap that, there’s probably no desk.
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The band’s journey to being in Birmingham, on the Utilita Arena stage tonight, is one that has followed a formula of its own: Scrappy punk rock throwdowns in small venues, in little tents at heavy metal festivals and onwards to anthemic lifts and whatever level of stardom comes with getting over with a Glastonbury crowd.
Ten albums, chart glory. Life. Pain. Love. Public displays of anguish and agony.
And tonight they took us through it all, with a setlist that must follow some kind of method, but it’s one I could never understand. And why would I need to?
It all kicked off with a rendition of A Little Love and Hunting Season, both from Futique, the 2025 album for which the tour is named.
The band – bassist James absent, currently on hiatus while he wrestles with demons – obscured by what appeared to be a blanket fort. Later, it’d become a ghost, but hold for that.
James’ absence was felt quite strongly, but it was more spiritual than musical; three minus one is no small number and his space was held with reverence, even with the strength of the excellent tour band and a bassist as skilled as Naomi MacLeod.
The emotion fluctuated all show. Golden Rule whipped up those who were less familiar with the newer stuff, Who’s Got A Match moving them and serving as proof that Simon Neil’s voice is practically completely and utterly faultless.
Shot One saw him ascend to the top of the multi-storey stage scaffolding to sing in profile before Space send emotions soaring – a set highlight.
Wolves of Winter did what it does best – discombobulate swaying dancers while throwing accelerant on to the mosh pit. Tiny Indoor Fireworks prompted a singalong that even those without rhythm could catch, and then, just as the crowd was up, Goodbye – among the most agonising of the new tracks – crushed them under a flood of blood red light.
“We’re missing one of our limbs,” Simon said of James, introducing Naomi. Later, Ben would later thank her too.
It sounded like her amp was turned up an extra notch for Friendshipping, perhaps to showcase her clear capability. Quite excellent. Celebratory pyro burst out for everyone, but in my mind, it was for Naomi.
Biblical inspired pure elation, naturally, while A Thousand and One send us nosediving immediately after. A set of ups and downs, highs and lows. And honestly, isn’t that life? You feeling great? Well, now you’re crying.
You want reality? Then here’s The Biff.
It was probably the most raw I’ve ever seen them, and it’s been 19 years since they first hit me in the chops at Download Festival. Back then, they were furious in an upstart way. The spring of a career.
Now, we’re seeing what feels like a confessional, the life and times. What is a career anyway when your job is cutting your heart out of your shirtless chest in front of strangers?
Bright stark white lights marked the start of Different People, the stunning string section are adding a the kind of heart-wrenching sound that only violins can.
A Hunger in your Haunt prompted more big audience woah moments, the kind that remind you this is an arena band. In the crowd, a swirling arm directed a circle pit, Download style.
Black Chandelier and Mountains took us up, Two People In Love stirring a sense of unease thanks to a giant eye on screen, its pupil dilating with every chorus burst.
The blanket fort descended again for Machines, stripped back and acoustic, a third of the stage obscured while images were projected on it like ghosts. Birmingham sang the first ‘take the pieces and build them skywards…’ and Simon let us.
We were given a minute to pull ourselves together before the opening WOO and confetti cannons of The Captain.
But there was no let up before Living Is a Problem Because Everything Dies, with Bubbles turning every inch of the arena – those filling it who had all piled in extra early to enjoy The Armed and Soft Play, might I add – into a dancefloor.
It was, in a word: wonderful.
And then, with no ceremony, no great big ‘this is our last song’ announcement or ‘we were only joking’ stage return, two thirds of Biffy Clyro and all their skilled companions performed Many Of Horror in a way that felt neither old nor tired. Spectacular.
The formula for this review now would be to end it all with some clever closing remark that fits the formula that these things tend to take. A round-off. A poignant closure.
But in the spirit of things, I’ll just write this.