The Manchester AO Arena erupts as Wolf Alice take the stage beneath a cascade of silvery metallic fringe, its glimmering glam-rock tendrils instantly transporting the room into a 1970s dreamscape. Ellie Rowsell appears as though she’s floated in from another dimension entirely. Above her, a colossal reflective silver star and disco ball catch every shard of light. It’s theatrical, nostalgic, and unmistakably the band’s new incarnation. Rowsell’s stage wear mirrors this newfound confidence with soft shimmer and quiet glamour: a black spandex leotard adorned with red hearts like playful armour, paired with knee-high boots. She looks utterly liberated; a visual reflection of the band’s current stride. Rowsell is a compelling frontwoman for anyone, but especially for the teenage girls (and women) scattered through the arena, holding power without pretence; relatable in that rare way that genuinely matters.

Thorns opens the night with an opulent, piano-led swell, dreamy and cinematic. Rowsell’s voice is pure and aching as she steps into the spotlight. From there, Bloom Baby Bloom bursts in on plonky keys that quickly ignite into ferocity and adrenaline-fuelled commotion. She saunters down the star-pointed runway, her voice flicking effortlessly between velvety softness and guttural rock-scream bite. White Horses sees drummer Joel Amey take the lead in an unexpected turn. The synth motif pulses, propulsive and airy, as Rowsell joins him for a dreamy harmonic duet. She picks up her guitar just as Joff Oddie urges the crowd to wave in sync, and the room obliges, arms swaying in soft motion.

From the band’s colossal second album 'Visions of a Life', Formidable Cool slinks in with noirish swagger before Just Two Girls lifts everything into sun-washed joy. Its brassy ’70s guitar and light falsetto carry the audience into a rush of elation – a reminder of 'The Clearing'’s warm retro glow. The delicate Leaning Against the Wall is gorgeously skippy, acoustic riffs tumbling like stones skimming across water. From 'Blue Weekend', How Can I Make It OK? unfurls in shimmering, shoegazey waves, Rowsell’s gorgeous high notes delivered with a kind of Fleetwood-Mac-in-a-dream quality. Then comes one of the night’s most striking visuals: The Sofa. On the giant screens, Rowsell appears as if captured through a jeweller’s lens, displayed on a revolving red disc, filmed from above, glowing with quiet elegance. The piano melody carries her impressive soprano as the crowd sways in something close to reverence. Sparks of light float across the room, revealing the true scale of 22,000 fans in unified stillness.

A jump back to their debut, 'My Love Is Cool', brings Bros, snapping everyone into earthier exuberance. “It’s Friday night. I need you to jump up and down for this!” bassist Theo Ellis shouts, and the arena erupts. Lit in turquoise-red shimmer, the track drops to just vocals midway through, thousands chanting the chorus as one. You’re a Germ blasts in, grungy and ferocious, before melting into the tender, communal release of Safe From Heartbreak (If You Never Fall in Love). Rowsell pulls the band close and cues the crowd: “On the count of three… scream, ‘you fucked with my feelings’!” Manchester obliges with gleeful catharsis. The song’s folk-tinged fragility shines each time the band drops out and the audience steps in. Safe in the World drifts by with soft-rock ease before Bread Butter Tea Sugar bounces in, its chiming piano motif evoking a sunny ’70s sitcom intro before spinning into a buoyant carousel rhythm. Oddie and Ellis lean together for a playful head-rub, then tear into their solos. The band’s genre-hopping doesn’t scatter their sound; it ignites it. What really lands, though, is the connection crackling between them all night – glances turning into cues, smiles into signals, gratitude communicated in quick nods and easy gestures. It’s unspoken electricity, and it powers everything.

Then the temperature spikes. Sirens. Blue and red strobes. An eruption of movement. Yuk Foo detonates. Rowsell struts across the stage, knee-high boots, megaphone in hand, spitting white-hot fury. It’s a punk exorcism, a ‘fuck you’ in 4/4 time. Straight into Play the Greatest Hits, the band barrels full-tilt, high-octane and untamed. The crowd, standing and seated, rocks out in unison. Silk cools the room into moody, shadowy textures, its harmonies folding gorgeously beneath Rowsell’s shifting dynamics. Then Play It Out strips everything back: just her and long-time session keyboardist Ryan Malcolm under a single spotlight and the glittering backdrop. It’s a quiet, introspective moment of self-acceptance. But serenity doesn’t last. Giant Peach explodes forward, raw and abrasive, clearing the path for Smile, where glitter-eyed fans scream every word. The energy turns electric, and though Rowsell’s glitter eyeshadow is streaked down her cheeks, she wears it like a badge of the night’s glorious chaos.

After nineteen songs sweeping through a decade of Wolf Alice’s shape-shifting catalogue – grunge snarls, dream-pop shimmer, folk-tinged hush, full-tilt rock – the encore pulls everything together. The Last Man on Earth sends the night into emotional free-fall. Phone lights ripple across the arena like starlight. Rowsell, overwhelmed, tears glistening, looks out at a band fully aware of how far they’ve travelled, from Mercury wins to global tours to this glowing moment in an arena. Their connection feels unbreakable, almost sacred. Finally, Don’t Delete the Kisses – their biggest track to date – arrives in a rush of blissed-out synths. It’s delirious, euphoric, communal; the arena becomes one giant voice, chanting and swaying.

Wolf Alice can be found at their website | Instagram | and Facebook

Sunflower Bean can be found at their website | Instagram | and Facebook

Bria Salmena can be found at their website | Instagram | and Facebook

All photos by Melanie Smith – Louder Than War | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Portfolio

Words by Clare de Lune.
Check out her Louder Than War author profile here.