Written by Olivia Ross
Photos by Isla Kerr
I could pretend that this review is completely unbiased, grounded in journalistic integrity and objective criticism. But that would be doing Hayley Williams’ music a disservice. Her songs are too heartfelt, too sincere, to be reduced to a detached assessment. Instead of hiding behind neutrality, I’d rather be honest about what her music means to me, and judging by the crowd at Glasgow’s O2 Academy, to countless others.
Hayley’s recent solo album, Ego Death At A Bachelorette Party, is one of her most compelling releases to date: creatively adventurous, searingly honest and impossible to stop replaying. I’ve connected with the loneliness and heartbreak woven throughout these songs in more ways than I’m brave enough to explain, returning to them whenever I need comfort, clarity or simply the right lyrics to scream about every man who’s ever let me down.
So it came as no surprise that seeing Hayley perform on the first of two sold-out nights at Glasgow’s O2 Academy proved every bit as life-affirming as I’d hoped. Long before she took to the stage, queues snaked around the venue as determined fans squeezed towards the barrier, each desperate to secure the best view.
Even before the first note was played, the staging hinted that this would be something special. Hanging lamps floated above crisp, white drapes as spotlights transformed the stage into something resembling a recording studio. Despite its scale for a mid-sized venue, the production never overwhelmed the room. Instead, it made the Academy feel surprisingly intimate, as though we were being welcomed into Hayley’s world rather than simply watching from afar.
The roar that greeted her entrance was enough to send chills through the room. From the jaunty opening notes of ‘Mirtazapine’, Glasgow sang every lyric with the conviction of people who’d lived inside these songs for months. It was as though thousands of individual stories suddenly became one shared voice, and as a result, there was barely a moment to catch a breath.
Water projections rippled across the white drapes during ‘Zissou’ while Hayley glided effortlessly across the stage, before ‘Hard’ became one of the night’s most cathartic singalongs. If anyone needed reminding that Hayley is far more than an exceptional songwriter, ‘Kill Me’ provided it. The staggering vocal performance was a masterclass in both power and control, and was one of many moments that will be hard to forget.
Then everything slowed.
Settling at the piano, Hayley warned the audience: “Well, I hope you’ve had fun, but it’s time to cry now.”
The laughter that followed quickly gave way to silence. A sea of yellow phone lights illuminated the Academy as every lyric of ‘Blood Bros’ lingered in the air a little longer than before.
Whether it was through candid conversations between songs or moments of collective vulnerability, Hayley returned to one idea again and again: live music is a lifeline. Gathering in rooms like this with people who understand, she explained, is one of the few things that makes her believe in something. Looking around the room, it was hard not to feel the same.
That feeling crystallised during ‘Love Me Different’. Before the final chorus hit, she asked everyone to take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and picture what they wanted to invite into their lives. Love. Peace. Healing. Whatever they needed most.
It should have felt cheesy. Yet, in a world that often feels relentlessly cynical, thousands of strangers willingly inhaled and exhaled together. For a fleeting moment, nobody seemed self-conscious. The outside world disappeared, replaced by the comforting reminder that none of us are as alone as we sometimes think.
Before leaving the stage, Hayley offered one final piece of advice: “I hope to see you again, but until then, take care of you, baby.” Somehow, it felt exactly like what everyone needed to hear.
Beyond her versatility as a performer, songwriter and vocalist, Hayley Williams has an extraordinary ability to make people feel less alone. For just over an hour, Glasgow’s O2 Academy became a place where thousands of strangers found comfort in the same songs, shouted the same lyrics until their voices were hoarse and remembered exactly why live music matters. I arrived expecting a brilliant show. I left reminded that the best music doesn’t simply sound good, it makes you feel seen.
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