LIVE REVIEW: Busted & McFly – M&S Bank Arena, Liverpool – 08/10/2025

Something like this has been a long time coming. Although calling what Busted and McFly have a ‘rivalry’ is overstating things (outside of this tour’s premise, anyway), operating in the exact same circle will inevitably draw between them. At their respective starts, they were both poised to fill the ‘British pop-rock boyband for kids’ niche, and have wound up on career paths with similar rises and falls since. More importantly, they’ve all achieved legit celebrity status in the UK, thus keeping them afloat through cultural osmosis alone. Hell, between both bands, three members have been crowned winners of I’m A Celebrity…Get Me Out Of Here!, the pinnacle of prime time, easily-digestible reality TV slop. More recently, with both making appearances at Download and Slam Dunk, they’ve been retconned (almost simultaneously) to be among the formative names in British pop-punk.

And even amongst all of that, there have been inevitable crossovers. There’s McBusted, of course, in which the two bands were mashed together with more grace than their name to rather efficiently piggyback off each other’s star power. They also collaborated on Busted’s reworked greatest hits album, and at McFly’s 21st birthday show last year, Busted ‘gatecrashed’ as a stunt to promote this very tour. There lies the root of this run, it would seem, where McFly and Busted duke it out across an impressive number of dates, as a means of further lubing up each’s perpetually running nostalgia machines. Not that that’s ever been an issue; on tonight’s second date in Liverpool, a predominantly older crowd would suggest that ageing out of these two is not something to entertain. Nonetheless, it’s a big event, perhaps one of the biggest that these kindred spirits of British pop music have ever been a part of.

Even so, they’re not pretending to be anything they’re not. With McFly especially, you’d expect something a bit hokey and corny in the form of an intro video paraphrasing the prologue of Romeo & Juliet, or an intro tape of Bohemian Rhapsody and Livin’ On A Prayer (with lights flashing in time and all) to stoke the rockstar flames they sport at the minute. To conject a little, you almost feel like they might have piloted some of the showier aspects on this run. The diamond-shaped stage has mic stands around the perimeter to give anyone anyone access to any vantage point; there’s a trapdoor in the centre where the drums rise out of. A band who’ll kick their set off with the hair-metal throwback Where Did The Guitars Go? might want to dial into that vibe a small bit. And dial in they do, with the first of many flying guitar solos from Danny Jones, and a bigger, bolder sound pumped into almost every nook of their repertoire.

The boyish jubilance of old hasn’t been washed out, though, nor should it. It’s the key factor to the glitter of Star Girl or the surf-rock of That Girl, both landing in quick succession with a real ripping atmosphere coming from them. As pejorative and dismissive as the ‘boyband’ tag can be, every effort on McFly’s part has gone towards blowing off that negativity and keeping staples of many a youth intact. It’s what keeps the light, acoustic warmth of Obviously and All About You fixed, and the quasi-bluesy sizzle of Room On The 3rd Floor’s guitar as a nice addition. At a length further, it’s the fuel behind Red, where Jones ditches his guitar to go full cock-rock frontman, against the tighter thrum and lowered, twisting lighting rigs beaming out thick, hard reds. He also stands on the crowd’s hands for the final chorus, as if to hammer down one final time that this is, indeed, his moment.

It’s also worth noting how incredibly quick the turnaround times between songs are. It’s an exceedingly efficient performance, especially for the number of on-the-fly changes in gear and styles there are. Barely a moment passes between the petering out of All About You to the opening organs of Transylvania, and again into the hotter, fittingly fire-accompanied groove of Lies. Even for a big pop production, the ship isn’t normally this tight; there’s barely a flaw or loose seam in the facade to be found. It’s the optimum outcome for a scenario like this—a glossy, high-value, comfort-food experience that rattles along with no obvious lulls. It even climaxes in perfectly-crafted form, as Tom Fletcher takes to the piano for The Heart Never Lies, building and building in power-ballad swell until its shower of sparks for the final crescendo. For McFly’s clear intent, a perfect end to a perfect set.

No time to dwell too much on that, though, as the lighting rig is lowered down to engulf the stage for the briefest of intermissions, and rising again for Busted to kick into Crashed The Wedding. Straight away, you see that it’s more outwardly ‘rock-centred’ half of tonight’s bill, and not just for the zeal in letting the pyro fly nice and early. The energy is less bubbly and kinetic; there’s the first instance of swearing; Charlie Simpson comes sporting a Pantera vest. He, specifically, deserves a mention, as the one who’s always been the odd man out, and definitely feels it here. His drastically different voice can struggle to find its pocket compared to bolder, more vivacious compatriots, often getting caught by the muggier arena sound. Also, You Said No’s opening gambit “You’re so fit and you know it” was always an awkward fit for him at best, and after years of being hewn in metal and post-hardcore, it hasn’t gotten any less so.

Still, you take the (comparative) rough with McFly’s pristine smooth, if only to bring out some more character. It’s arguably what’s brought about the resilience within Busted that’s defined their place on this tour, absent of singer / guitarist James Bourne due to illness with his younger brother Chris to fill in. It takes a handful of songs before he arrives onstage, and it’s hard to not view him as a perfunctory presence in the ranks of such an otherwise recognisable group. But everything also goes off without a hitch, and there’s no big-band archness or aloofness about it all. Sleeping With The Light On is dedicated to James with the crowd singing his first verse in entirety, and brought home by another shower of sparks for a rare, appreciated bit of schmaltz and poignancy.

Everywhere else, Busted are on the exact form you’d expect. You feel the pop-punk coming through further with them, be it in You Said No’s debts paid to blink-182, or the breakneck medley of Dawson’s Geek, Nerdy, Britney and Why, none of which are among their most ubiquitous hits, but pack panache in tightly and with extreme regularity. Add in all manner of scrawled imagery and graffiti backdrops—and a sprinkling of emo to Who’s David—and you’ve got an experience that’s dripping with nostalgia value and still holds up well. It’s nice to attribute some chunkier basslines from Matt Willis to that; it makes the bounce of Everything I Knew more substantive, and the puffs of fire accompanying Thunderbirds Are Go carry the slightest bit of edge. As more sparks bring What I Go To School For to a close, it rounds off a great showing from Busted, shorter on the romp of what came before, but delivering in spades exactly what you’d expect and want.

But we aren’t done yet, and full credit to McFly and Busted for knowing the normal co-headline shtick wouldn’t be enough. With as much oxygen has been given to the head-to-head aspect of this whole thing—as well as the decades-long relationship of both bands—leaving it there would be a missed opportunity at best and tantamount to laziness at worst. So, after another short reprieve, both Harry Judd and Eddy Thrower rise from under the stage, kits mounted, for a drum-off. It’s a good little moment, especially with the added fire and erratic lighting patterns that make for a more stimulating take on the now-limping arena drum solo. It’s the start of the ‘Vs’ portion, one that ends in surprisingly subdued fashion, thanks to a measured, gentle guitar duet from Charlie Simpson and Danny Jones for their respective bands’ 3am and Not Alone.

Though, given what’s sandwiched between, a bit of a comedown is unquestionably needed. The lion’s share of this little leg of the set goes to Dougie Poynter and Matt Willis, stood in the stands on opposite sides of the arena as duelling bassists on a rendition of the McBusted cut Hate Your Guts. That’s all well and good; the song has a nice punky rush, kept firm by the showmanship between them. What’s less good, however, is the taunting and pantomiming that lives down to what was most dreaded about that ‘Vs’ from the very beginning. To hear these two men play-jab about each other’s smells and dick sizes can feel like they’re still playing to ‘band-for-kids’ pose that they’ve done really well to outgrow. It’s the sort of cringe humour that takes a miles-wide berth from anything good-humoured à la blink-182, saved from true excruciation by being a shorter aside, though still longer than you’d hope.

It’s almost poetic, then, how much more value comes from collaboration. The final section of the night is precisely how you get the most from these specific two bands—you let them trade off to perform their biggest hits, then revive their very-well-known collaborative project to blow the roof asunder one last time. None of Busted nor McFly seem notably flagging as they cut through Air Hostess and 5 Colours In Her Hair, and after a quick beat that sees them all rise from the trapdoor together for What Happened To Your Band, it’s the capstone huge moment on a night that’s been stuffed them. It sounds tremendous and raucous, a testament to collaborative spirit that persists for the final two numbers. Shine A Light, otherwise a serviceable if sterile pop tune, leads with the charm and light exploding from it; Year 3000, on the other hand, has already been ordained into the annals of British pop, and with an extra band’s worth of meat on it (and a few huge confetti bursts to see it off), none of its greatness is lost.

So after all of that, who’s the ultimate victor in this battle? Well, in terms of individual performance, the vim and vibrancy of their showcase ultimately has McFly edge it. But let’s just look at things as a whole—here are two bands, beloved in overwhelming capacity, deep into careers that fluctuated wildly, but have now comfortably reached the top of their game. Whoever you’re here for, everyone’s a winner.

Words by Luke Nuttall