Live Review: Million Dead - Academy 2, Manchester
5th December 2025
Support: Deux Furieuses and the Meffs
Words & Photos: Rich Price
Manchester was cold, wet and miserable outside, but inside Academy 2 the room was already warming up. A curious mix of the young and the bald, I’m definitely in the latter category, were filing into the venue for a night many thought might never happen again. Tonight marked a brief reformation and a more official farewell for Million Dead, their first show in Manchester in twenty years.
Both support acts were minimalist punk duos, each consisting of just guitar and drums. First on stage were Deux Furieuses, an enjoyable opener with a chilled-out feel, but lyrics with a biting edge and a surprisingly weighty tone coming through the PA.
They locked into tight post-punk grooves that warmed the room quickly. Ros on guitar and vocals and Vas on drums exchanged glances and smiles throughout the set, clearly enjoying every second. The venue was about a third full when they started, but filling quickly, and by the fourth song Human Animals people were already clapping along.
Next up were The Meffs, who shifted the energy up a gear instantly. They had thirty minutes to entertain us and they wasted none of it.
By song three, Fire, the crowd was fully along for the ride, whistling and whooping. Their love for Manchester was obvious and warmly returned. A story about having just had fresh haircuts segued into a crowdsurf race between their hairdresser and photographer two minutes into Stamp It Out. Twenty seconds there and back, a very one-sided contest, and absolutely joyous to watch, with huge smiles across the room.
Lily Hopkins on lead vocals and guitar brought bags of sneering attitude when singing, followed by humble, sincere chatter between songs. Anti-fascist and anti-genocide comments were met with loud cheers. Broken Britain Broken Brains was a standout, and Clowns closed the set with the crowd completely primed. I want to see them again. So did everyone else, judging by the long, solid applause. Hard, loud, raucous and impossible to ignore Britpunk. I’ll happily admit I’d not heard of them before, but they made a fan of me tonight. When Frank Turner later described them as one of the best punk bands currently touring, he wasn’t wrong.
By the time Million Dead began setting up, the chatter level jumped up yet another gear. People were so hyped that even the bloke doing the line check got applause. Fair enough too, as he checked every instrument, every vocal mic, every monitor. The wholesome energy in the room was palpable.
A show of hands later confirmed what many suspected. Most of the crowd had discovered Million Dead after they’d stopped playing. Only around a quarter had seen them before 2005. Despite being old, I fell into the late discovery category myself, so this really was a dream come true.
This was their first and biggest headline set in Manchester in around twenty years, and they absolutely tore the place apart. Every song was old, and Frank Turner joked that we shouldn’t worry, they weren’t about to drop a new album on us. Freed from his guitar, he was all movement, intent and adrenaline.
Bass player Julia Ruzicka, the first bassist on stage all night, was giving it everything. Both guitarists stood either side delivering the riffs. The performance was raw, tight but unpolished, played with total commitment.
From the opening song, crowd surfers came flying forward, catching security off guard. People scrambled to get back into the pit, only to be sent round the side, and in one case down the stairs and out of the building.
The room moved as one, shouting every word. Frank Turner admitted he was relearning some lyrics and becoming aware of how much rubbish he used to talk in his twenties. The crowd ate out of his hand, the singing nearly drowning him out at times.
Just before To Whom It May Concern, it emerged that the catalyst for the reunion came from an entirely unexpected source, an e-book centred around Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Million Dead returned not just to play, but to spread joy. It worked. It was emphasised that this was it, they’d never play again after this tour, to much booing, prompting Frank Turner to fire back in good humour, “Don’t you fucking boo me.”
On a freezing December night, Academy 2 became a furnace of noise, sweat and gratitude. They smashed it, simple as that. One for the ages. I wore a huge grin for the entire set and spent a small fortune on merch as a fitting tribute to a great night.
Photo Credits: Rich Price Photography
