Some gigs feel like routine stops on a tour. Others feel like communal events with their own emotional gravity. Tonight falls undeniably into the second category. Long before the first chord, you could sense the anticipation in the Academy: a mix of political passion, nostalgia, and genuine excitement that has always followed the Levellers, now strengthened by Grace Petrie’s growing reputation as one of the UK’s most compelling modern folk voices.
Walking into the venue, there was a warmth that felt almost pre-planned. Fans chatted about past gigs, swapped memories of festival sets, and welcomed newcomers into conversations. It was the kind of atmosphere that only artists with deeply loyal followings can cultivate — a reminder that music scenes aren’t built overnight but through years of shared experiences.
Grace Petrie’s set was the kind that surprises people who haven’t seen her before. She doesn’t rely on spectacle or theatrics; instead, she builds the room through storytelling, razor-sharp wit, and disarming sincerity. From the moment she stepped onto the stage, she had the crowd’s full attention — not because of volume or dramatic lighting, but because she speaks the way people think, and sings the things many are afraid to say.
Her songs about anxiety, identity, and injustice hit with an intimacy that felt rare in such a large room. Between tracks, she joked about touring life, difficult political times, and the strange contradictions of being a folk singer with something to say in a world saturated with noise. The humour made the heavier moments land even more powerfully; she moved the room from laughter to thoughtful silence without ever feeling contrived.
It was clear that many in the audience already knew her work well — the quiet hum of recognition when certain chords began, pockets of people singing along softly, nodding at the political punchlines. But for those encountering her for the first time, there was that unmistakable atmosphere of discovery: the sense that you’re watching an artist who means every word, and who stands firmly within a tradition of British protest folk without ever feeling stuck in it.
Her set closed on a note that balanced defiance with hope, a recurring theme in her work. Rather than whipping the audience into anger, she left them reflective, energised, and connected — a perfect emotional setup for what followed.
The Levellers didn’t so much begin their set as ignite it. The moment the lights shifted and the first burst of fiddle cut through the room, the atmosphere surged from warm engagement to full-throttle exhilaration. The audience, a blend of longtime devotees, lapsed fans returning for the anniversary tour and younger listeners drawn in by the band’s reputation, erupted into movement almost instantly.
What stands out most about the Levellers in 2025 is how they maintain the raw, communal energy of their early years while performing with the confidence and tightness of a band that has weathered decades together. Their sound remains a distinctive fusion: folk instrumentation delivered with punk immediacy, wrapped in rock dynamics. It’s a combination that shouldn’t work as well as it does, yet somehow feels even more relevant now than in the 1990s.
Throughout the set, the band moved between soaring anthems, gritty politically charged numbers, and moments of quieter introspection. The crowd responded to each shift with genuine enthusiasm. For the faster tracks, the room pulsed as though a single organism — arms raised, bodies shifting, voices overlapping. The slower songs brought a calm intensity, with hundreds of people stood absolutely still, absorbing every lyric.
The chemistry between band members was unmistakable. Their interactions — quick glances, playful gestures, subtle musical cues — signalled the kind of trust that can only come from decades of playing side by side. They seemed genuinely happy to be there, feeding off the audience’s energy, pushing themselves harder with each song.
The lighting and stage design added to the sense of occasion without overwhelming the authenticity of the performance. Patterns of gold, red, and electric blue swept across the stage in sync with the music, highlighting key moments without distracting from them.
By the final portion of the set, the venue had transformed entirely. The crowd, having shifted through moments of reflection and exhilaration, was now fully unified in song. If you stood back and looked around, you saw something rare: a room full of people, young and old, political and apolitical, fans from different musical eras, all singing the same words at the top of their lungs. It was the kind of collective moment that defines why people return to live music again and again.
The pairing of Grace Petrie and the Levellers wasn’t simply practical — it felt intentional, grounded in a shared philosophy of what music can do. Both use their art to connect, challenge, and comfort. Both create spaces where community forms naturally. Both treat political engagement not as a slogan but as an act of care.
Seeing them on the same bill made that connection even clearer. Petrie set the tone with personal depth and political sharpness; the Levellers amplified it with energy, defiance, and celebration. The result was a night that felt cohesive, meaningful, and emotionally layered.
This wasn’t just another date on a tour — it felt like a gathering of people who came for more than entertainment. They came for connection, catharsis, and the sense of belonging that emerges when an audience shares a space with artists they trust. Grace Petrie offered honesty and courage.
The Levellers delivered joy, energy, and emotional release.
Together, they created a night that will linger in memory long after the amplifiers have cooled.
