Bilmuri Turn O2 Victoria Warehouse into the World's Sweatiest Cult Gathering
- Luke Storey
- 2 minutes ago
- 4 min read
O2 Victoria Warehouse, Manchester 26th May 2026
WORDS / IMAGES LUKE STOREY (ShotbyStorey)
There are gigs where you stand politely, clap at the appropriate moments and wander home discussing the mix. Then there are gigs where the laws of physics are abandoned somewhere around the merch desk and everyone inside agrees, without saying it out loud, that for the next ninety minutes reality is optional.
Bilmuri belongs entirely to the second category.
The hottest day of the year had baked Manchester into submission before anyone even reached Victoria Warehouse. Walking into that building felt less like entering a concert venue and more like volunteering to be slow-cooked alongside several thousand strangers. Sweat was already dripping off walls before a note had been played. It was perfect.
Because if there was ever a band designed to soundtrack collective heatstroke, it's Bilmuri.
Before the madness truly unfolded, Australia's Thornhill reminded everyone they could easily headline rooms this size themselves. I'd caught them at Download Festival opening proceedings on a sleepy Saturday morning, but this was another beast entirely.
From the second they exploded into life, the floor erupted. Circle pits appeared before people had fully worked out where they were standing. Mosh pits swallowed whole sections of the audience. Every chorus became another excuse to throw yourself into complete strangers with reckless affection.
"Silver Swarm" sounded enormous. "Diesel" hit like someone dropping a shipping container from orbit, while "Obsession" and "Nerve" turned the warehouse into one giant bouncing organism. Their vocalist somehow balanced immaculate melodies with ferocious screams while barely stopping long enough to breathe.
It wasn't support-band energy. It was main-event confidence.
Then everything went dark. Not dramatic dark. Video-game dark.
A lone spotlight landed on saxophonist Gabi Rose, standing almost motionless before gently playing the unmistakable opening melody from Halo.
Suddenly every grown adult in the room was twelve years old again. For a few glorious seconds nostalgia wrapped itself around the building...
...before Bilmuri kicked the doors off reality with "Kinda Hard."
And that pretty much sums up the band. They lure you in with one emotion before smashing it over the head with another.
Country.
Metalcore.
Pop-punk.
Jazz.
Electronic music.
Hardcore breakdowns.
Banjo.
Saxophone.
Flute.
Memes.
Heartbreak.
Dick jokes.
Somehow all occupying exactly the same song without collapsing into parody.
Johnny Franck doesn't perform so much as conduct organised chaos. He talks to the audience like everyone's been mates for years, throwing out jokes, winding up the crowd, proudly referring to his devoted followers as "Hog Crankers" before repeatedly demanding they "crank it." They obliged. Repeatedly.
Manchester, he insisted, might actually be better than America.
By halfway through the set he was calling it his favourite city on the tour. Judging by the deafening response, the feeling was mutual. What struck me wasn't simply how loud the audience was. It was how every single lyric seemed to belong to them.
Not just choruses.
Verses.
Bridges.
Tiny vocal runs.
Thousands of voices shouting every word back until songs became conversations instead of performances.
The new material from Kinda Hard landed like established classics. There wasn't that awkward lull new songs often create. The audience had already absorbed them into the mythology. And Gabi Rose might genuinely be the coolest musician in heavy music right now. One minute she's delivering soaring saxophone solos over crushing breakdowns... .the next she's singing harmonies... then casually swapping over to flute because apparently one impossible instrument wasn't enough.
Watching a saxophone duel with down-tuned guitars should feel ridiculous. Instead it felt completely inevitable. Like every metal band should have realised years ago they'd been missing brass. The genius of Bilmuri is they never ask permission for any of it. They simply throw every ridiculous idea into the blender and somehow emerge with songs that hit emotionally as hard as they do physically.
"Rock Bottom" landed with genuine weight beneath all the humour. "The Worst Part of You" balanced melancholy with absolute mayhem. "Blindsided" was one of those moments where you stop trying to analyse anything and simply surrender to the noise. Even the bubble machines made sense. Most bands arrive armed with pyro, smoke cannons and walls of flame. Bilmuri answered with bubbles floating peacefully above hardcore breakdowns. It was stupid. It was beautiful. It was completely perfect.
Every member had moments to step forward, each solo adding another strange ingredient to the musical stew. Nobody was simply keeping time. Everyone contributed something unique, whether through technical brilliance, outrageous stage presence or simply understanding that this entire ridiculous enterprise only works if everyone commits 100 percent.
By the time "Better Hell" closed the night, Victoria Warehouse had become less of a venue and more of a support group for people addicted to musical whiplash.
Everyone looked exhausted. Everyone looked dehydrated. Everyone looked unbelievably happy. As the lights came up, soaked fans staggered toward the exits wearing expressions usually reserved for people who've survived natural disasters together. Maybe that's what being a Hog Cranker actually means. Not understanding exactly what you've witnessed. Just knowing you'd happily do it all again tomorrow.
10/10.
Some gigs entertain you.
Bilmuri completely rewires your brain.
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