Sometimes the universe decides to send you a sign, and what else can you do then but follow. A few months back I remarked to a friend how long it had been since I last saw a gig at Sheffield Arena. “All the major tours used to stop in Sheffield; what happened? I’m sick of trekking all the way to Leeds for shows, when Sheffield is right there!“. Lo and behold, later that very same day, Mumford & Sons announced their latest UK tour, and offered up precisely what I’d been asking for. Not one to question such a well timed coincidence, I took it instead as a sign that I was long overdue seeing the Mumford lads live. They feel like such an important cultural pillar of my generation, one of the big bands of our teenage years, the folky soundtrack of a simpler time since passed. Surely there’s no better time of year than the run up to Christmas for reigniting that youthful spark within; just the kind of energy I needed for my final live show of 2025.

Trudging my way to – and queueing outside of – the arena in the pouring rain certainly dampened my spirits a little, and dampened my coat considerably more. All the more reason to get a good spot at the front early doors, so the heat of the crowd could warm me back up again. The opening act also had a hand in warming up the crowd, by whisking us all away out West. Just in case the evening didn’t have enough banjos scheduled already, country artist Sierra Ferrell and her band had us covered. The band took to the stage dressed like The Good Ole Boys from The Blues Brothers, with their matching shirts and cowboy hats, while Sierra herself seemed to be getting into the festive spirit with her sparkly dress and angel wings. I have to say her set grabbed my attention more than I expected it to. ‘Cheatham County’ had a dark bluesy feel, ‘American Dreaming’ saw her bring Marcus Mumford on stage to sing backing vocals, while the spooky stomp of ‘Fox Hunt’ ended her set on a high, with a heavy jam session in the outro. While a lot of country music fails to translate well outside of the states, Sierra managed to cut through. 

Considering Mumford & Sons released an album earlier this year, and are already teasing the follow-up, I was surprised how little new music wound its way into the set. New songs ‘Run Together’ and ‘Rubber Band Man’ opened the show, the striking pyrotechnics of ‘Truth’ mad for an exciting mid-show centrepiece, and rather than ending on a fan favourite the band closed the show with one final new track, the slow burning ‘Conversation With My Son (Gangsters & Angels)’. For the most part however, the show prioritised the band’s early work from Sigh No More and Babel. Rollicking, crowd-pleasing folk numbers were the order of the day. The band knew their audience – folks who fell in love with them through tracks like ‘Little Lion Man’, ‘Hopeless Wanderer’ and ‘Roll Away Your Stone’ – and the eager Yorkshire crowd gave these tracks a warm welcome. 

I think warmth would be how I’d best describe the atmosphere of the evening. All the best parts of the show just radiated it. The endearing lighting rig that resembled a small town’s Christmas light switch-on, periodically descending from the rafters to bathe the stage in its golden glow. The way the band had everyone singing along when they took to the B stage for a cover of Simon & Garfunkel’s ‘The Boxer’. How the lads gathered round a single mic for a stripped back rendition of ‘Timshel’, or how Marcus sprinted right to the back wall of the nosebleeds during ‘Ditmas’, high fiving fans as he went. In an ideal world, moments like these would have been my lasting memory of the night. 

Sadly however, I think the thing I’ll remember most from the show was the frustration I felt at having my view obscured. Every few minutes an enormous camera rig, towering nearly 8 feet high, would trundle its way directly between me and Marcus’ centre stage mic. It had no cause to be that tall and invasive when a number of smaller static cameras were already in position covering the exact same view. In fact it had little cause to be there whatsoever, as less than half the set had a live feed to a big screen, for the most part the back wall remained black. The fucking thing wasn’t even doing anything constructive while swanning about in everyone’s way. I’ve been to dozens of arena shows over the years, most of them as close to the barrier as I can get, and not once have I ever had such an ill conceived and unnecessary obstruction to contend with.