09 July 2025 (gig)
12 July 2025
There’s something about watching Biffy Clyro beneath the looming domes of the Eden Project that feels almost mythic. On their first-ever Cornwall show, they didn’t just play Eden. They detonated it.
From the moment Simon Neil strode onstage, shirtless and grinning like a man who’d just discovered electricity, the crowd knew they were in for something special. The opening salvo, A Little Love, That Golden Rule, and Who's Got a Match? hit like a triple espresso to the soul. The band were tight, feral, and utterly magnetic, with Ben and James Johnston locking into rhythms that felt carved from bedrock.
The Eden crowd, a glorious mix of die-hards and curious locals, responded in kind. Arms aloft, voices hoarse, they roared back every lyric like scripture. Biblical and Re-Arrange offered a momentary breather, but even then, the emotional intensity never dipped. Neil’s vocals were raw silk, frayed at the edges, but still capable of soaring into the stratosphere.
The setlist was a masterclass in pacing. Wolves of Winter and Tiny Indoor Fireworks brought the chaos, while The Captain and Born on a Horse reminded us that Biffy’s eccentric streak is alive and well. Then came Space, a moment of hush so profound it felt like the Biomes themselves were holding their breath. Neil’s delivery was heartbreakingly tender, and for a few minutes, the gig transformed into a communal therapy session.
But Biffy don’t linger in the quiet for long. Different People and A Hunger in Your Haunt reignited the fire, leading into a thunderous run of Black Chandelier, Instant History, and Mountains. By the time Cop Syrup exploded into its final scream, the Eden Project was vibrating like a tuning fork.
The encore was pure catharsis. A Thousand and One and God & Satan offered a philosophical one-two punch, before Living Is a Problem Because Everything Dies reminded us why Biffy are the kings of existential rock. And then, Bubbles and Many of Horror. The former was euphoric, the latter devastating.
Nova Twins, who opened the night, deserve their own paragraph of praise. Their set was a riot of genre-defying brilliance — punk, metal, hip-hop, and sheer attitude. They didn’t warm up the crowd; they incinerated it.
As the final notes faded and the crowd spilled out into the Cornish night, there was a sense that something rare had just occurred. Biffy Clyro didn’t just play a gig. They carved a memory into the landscape.
