Pentatonix at the O2 Arena, London Making a Giant Venue Feel Effortlessly Intimate
- Alan Bryce
- 2 hours ago
- 4 min read
O2 Arena, London — 26th April 2026
IMAGES / WORDS ALAN BRYCE
I arrived at the O2 on Sunday evening ready for many things, including queues, overpriced drinks, and the low level anxiety that comes from being in a building designed to be large rather than friendly. The O2 does not whisper. The O2 booms. It echoes. It has opinions about sound. And Pentatonix looked at this vast, echo happy dome and said, essentially, Yes. That will do nicely.
Five people. No instruments. Not even a polite tambourine lurking on the side of the stage. Just five humans, a lot of confidence, and what appeared to be an unspoken agreement to make the impossible look extremely fun.
They didn’t explode onto the stage; they wandered on with ease, like guests very sure they’d brought enough food for the party. From the opening notes, it became clear this wasn’t going to be a night of careful appreciation and gentle clapping. The harmonies landed cleanly and confidently, reshaping the air in the room. The O2, which usually treats sound like a suggestion, behaved itself. Everyone noticed.
Scott Hoying acted as the cheerful master of ceremonies, singing like a man who deeply enjoys his job and would like you to enjoy it too. His voice has that bright, reliable lead quality — the kind that can organise chaos without sounding bossy. He grinned often, and it wasn’t the “screen smile” of someone doing crowd work; it was the grin of someone genuinely delighted that this was all happening again.
Mitch Grassi, meanwhile, sang like the laws of physics were optional. His high notes floated, dove, reappeared, and generally behaved like they were having a very good time. Watching him move through runs and harmonies was like watching a ribbon dancer who has accidentally learned how to sing perfectly. Impossible, but somehow happening right in front of you.
Kirstin Maldonado provided the emotional centre of gravity. Her voice was strong, warm, and calm — the sound equivalent of a reassuring hand on your shoulder during a wildly ambitious group project. Whenever a moment threatened to tip into spectacle for spectacle’s sake, she grounded it, pulling it back into something human and relatable.
Kevin Olusola spent the night quietly reminding everyone that the human body is an unfairly capable machine. His beatboxing didn’t feel like imitation so much as invention — rhythms appearing from nowhere, disappearing just as quickly, always accompanied by an expression that said, Yes, I know this is ridiculous. It was impossible not to laugh at how good it was.
Then there was Matt Sallee, whose bass notes felt less like sound and more like supportive infrastructure. Every time he dropped into the low end, the venue seemed to settle into itself, reassured. His voice didn’t shout for attention; it simply existed, confidently, holding everything together like the world’s friendliest sonic glue.
The thing that made the whole night feel light and airy was how little Pentatonix seemed interested in showing off. This is music that should, on paper, feel very impressive and a bit exhausting. Instead, it felt like being invited into something joyful and well prepared. Songs came and went without fuss. Covers arrived like old friends — familiar, welcome, and slightly re imagined without being taken apart for parts.
At one point, the crowd was invited to sing, and thousands of Londoners happily discovered that enthusiasm can be mistaken for accuracy if everyone commits. It worked because Pentatonix let it work. No patronising smiles. No conducting with exaggerated arm gestures. Just space. Trust. And a little gentle guidance when needed.
Production wise, nothing got in the way. The lights did their job without demanding applause. The screens showed faces when faces mattered and otherwise stayed polite. Some of the most powerful moments came from pauses — those brief silences where everyone leaned forward instinctively, waiting to see what would happen next.
By the time the final stretch arrived — big songs, familiar endings, the communal glow of a room that knows it’s had a good night — nobody seemed eager to leave. Phones stayed down longer than usual. People laughed. People hugged. People walked out humming like they’d been accidentally enrolled in a choir.
Leaving the O2, I expected the usual aftermath of an arena show: ringing ears, mild disorientation, an urgent need for quiet. Instead, I felt oddly refreshed, as if I’d been given noise rather than assaulted by it. My ears were fine. My face, however, hurt slightly from smiling.
Pentatonix didn’t overpower the O2.
They didn’t wrestle it into submission.
They just stood there, sang beautifully, and made a very large building feel unexpectedly friendly.
And if that’s not a win, I’m not sure what is.
Setlist:
(As per ‘Setlist.com’)
Dreams (The Cranberries – cover)
Daft Punk medley
90’s Dance medley
Can’t Sleep Love x Killing Me Softly
White Winter Hymnal (Fleet Foxes cover)
Mitch solo (aka Messer)
Creep (Radiohead cover)
Hey Jude (audience participation)
Solo Kevin x Matt (Cello and Drums)
Papaoutai (Stormae cover)
Solo Kirstin
Where The Hell Is My Husband? (RAYE cover)
Solo Scott
The Love medley
Heaven On Earth
The Sound of Silence (Simon and Garfunkel cover)
Golden x Midnight Sun
Sing
Encore:
Hallelujah (Leonard Cohen cover)
Run To You
Bohemian Rhapsody (Queen cover)
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