The X Factor 30th Anniversary
Here we go again — the self-confessed non-‘rocker’ reviewing a rock gig. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I don’t do labels. I’m not here to tick genre boxes or pretend I’ve spent my life worshipping at the altar of heavy metal. So yes, there may be die-hard rockers out there thinking, “What does she know?” And you know what? Fair enough. I haven’t memorised Blaze Bayley’s discography, I don’t know his blood type, and I couldn’t tell you his favourite curry order. But what I am is a lifelong music junkie — hopelessly devoted to sound in all its beautiful forms. One minute I can be raving like it’s the 90’s, and the next – waving my Union Jack at the Last Night of the Proms — personally, I find consistency is overrated and I prefer to fall in love with music, not categories. My journey into the rock scene was entirely unplanned — a reluctant dive into the deep end after being asked to review a rock festival earlier this year. That’s where I had my first date with Blaze Bayley and his phenomenal band. It was less of a casual introduction and more a baptism. The band — the powerhouse that is Absolva — features the ridiculously talented Appleton brothers (Luke on bass/vocals and Chris on guitar/vocals), the thunderous Martin McNee on drums, and the newest but now permanent addition, the jaw-dropping Tom Atkinson. These guys are criminally underrated and anyone who hasn’t seen them should definitely try them out.
So, here we are – I’m back at the iconic KK’s Steel Mill, a venue that’s quickly become another one of my musical sanctuaries. If venues were substances, KK’s would be a Class A. It’s addictive, euphoric, and dangerously good. The layout, the lighting, the acoustics, the staff — everything about this place screams passion and professionalism. It’s the kind of venue that makes you feel like you’re part of a family and I love it. The merch stand was doing well, with Blaze T-shirts worn like battle armour by fans who clearly knew they were in for something special. The crowd gathered early, claiming the prime viewing spots. There was a palpable energy in the air — a mixture of nostalgia, excitement, and something a little deeper. It felt like a homecoming for the metalheads. Blaze, the local legend who’s survived more storms than a British summer barbecue, was about to drag me, (willingly) — through one of Iron Maiden’s most misunderstood eras: The X Factor.
The night kicked off with Absolva, who wasted no time launching into UFO’s “Doctor Doctor” — a classic curtain-raiser for Maiden fans. The crowd erupted, and I found myself uncontrollably smiling, thinking “I’m glad I came. And I meant it. Then Blaze stepped onto the stage, joining his A class collaborators for “Sign of the Cross.” From the moment he opened his mouth, the room changed. His voice — gritty and raw, and soaked in emotion, filled every corner of the venue. There’s a vulnerability to Blaze’s delivery that’s rare. During my short journey on the rock-path, I haven’t really heard anything like it. He doesn’t just sing words — he sings like he’s lived them. You can hear the battles he’s fought, the losses he’s endured, and the victories he’s claimed.
As the set unfolded, it became clear that this wasn’t just any rock gig, it was a reclamation. Blaze was taking back his narrative, shining a light on a chapter of Maiden history that’s often overlooked. And the crowd? They were right there with him, fists raised, voices loud, hearts open. Watching the smiles of the audience while they shouted out lyrics with eyes closed was pure joy.
I may not be a rocker by label, but this gig reminded me why I love music so fiercely. It’s about connection. It’s about truth. And Blaze Bayley — with his band of warriors were delivering both in spades. “And let’s not overlook the facial expressions — if there were an award for Most Dramatic Performance by Eyebrows and Jawlines, these guys would sweep the ceremony. I just love the passion they exude.
Pelting his way through tracks “Lord of the Flies,” “Man on the Edge,” and “2 A.M.” were delivered with such sincerity and weight. “The Edge of Darkness” was a standout for me, dark, cinematic, and gripping. And when he reached “The Unbeliever,” it was like an exorcism of doubt and defiance. An absolute gem. Treating the audience to rare B-sides like “Judgement Day,” “I Live My Way,” and the haunting “Virus.” Deep cuts, but raw, emotional, and deeply personal. “I live my way” was a favourite, again, resonating with the moral of the story. His candid storytelling between songs added even more weight, especially when he addressed the challenges he’s faced, from online impersonators to the struggle of staying true to himself in an industry that often overlooks its heroes.
Blaze brought the music, but he also brought a message. Midway through the set, the guitars quietened, the lights softened, and Blaze stepped forward not as a performer, but as a person. He spoke openly and sincerely about mental health, reminding everyone that it’s okay to not be okay. No theatrics, no rockstar bravado. Just a man sharing his truth with a room full of strangers who suddenly didn’t feel so strange. It was the kind of moment that catches you off guard and not because it’s dramatic, but because it’s needed. In a world where we’re all stumbling through life with mismatched socks, overdrawn emotions, and a playlist of self-doubt, Blaze’s words landed like a warm hand on a troubled shoulder. A reminder that being human is messy, complicated, and often exhausting, and that’s perfectly fine. We’re all just doing our best with the tools we’ve got, even if some of those tools are duct-taped together with caffeine, misplaced humour, and a ropey sense of direction.
At 62 years old, standing tall and proud before a packed crowd, he shared not just his music but his hard-earned wisdom. “I’m living my dream — never give up, whatever happens, never give up,” he declared, fist raised in the air. And he didn’t just say it once — he meant it. Repeating the mantra with the conviction of someone who’s stared down the abyss and walked out singing, It felt like a group therapy session with a thunderous soundtrack. I’ll admit it — I got a little tearful. Not because his words are dramatic but because they were true. Life throws punches, but Blaze showed us that challenges can be fuel for growth — and this man has grown into a force of nature.
One of the most unexpectedly touching parts of the night was the free meet and greet. In an age where “VIP access” often means donating a kidney in return for a selfie and a laminated lanyard, Blaze’s decision to meet every fan — shake hands, take photos, share a laugh or two — felt almost rebellious. “This isn’t an added extra that comes with a price,” he said. “It’s in your ticket.” And you could tell he meant it. There was no rush, no awkwardness, no sense of obligation. Just genuine connection. Fans cheered. It was a masterclass in humility from a man who clearly hasn’t let the spotlight blind him. If anything, he uses it to shine light on others. There was a tangible sense of unity in the room, like we were all part of something bigger than just a rock gig. It was communal. And then, as if the night needed one more layer of legend, Chris Holmes of W.A.S.P. fame was spotted side-stage. It was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, but it carried weight — bit like watching Thor nod respectfully at Iron Man. A quiet salute from one metal warrior to another. It was lovely to see.
This gig was a celebration of resilience. Of music that dares to be different, from a man who refused to be defined by the chapter’s others tried to close. Blaze Bayley reminded us that metal isn’t just about volume — it’s about truth. It’s about grit. It’s about being honest standing in front of a crowd and saying, “I’ve been through hell, and I’m still here.” And on this night, he gave us nothing less than his whole heart. Unexpectedly, I felt connected to this feller, particularly at the point he reiterated “I’m doing my dream job, never give up”.
As much as I love the music itself, one of my favourite post-gig rituals is eavesdropping on the buzz as people spill out of a venue — that electric chatter, full of adrenaline and awe. Walking back to my car, I found myself behind a group of gents who were practically glowing with excitement, tossing out praise like confetti. “The things that guy does with that bass,” (clearly still recovering from Luke’s wizardry). “Chris and Tom were mesmerising together,” another chimed in, as if they’d just witnessed guitar telepathy (that’s pretty much what it looked like to be fair).“Martin was phenomenal,” someone added. And then came the cherry on top: “Blaze was the best I’ve heard him.”
It was like overhearing a love letter to the gig — spontaneous, sincere, and completely unfiltered. I honestly think, if Blaze had been walking behind them, he’d have floated home. I walked back to my car with a smile and I’m not even in the band.
There are gigs you attend, and then there are gigs that tattoo themselves onto your memory — not because of the pyrotechnics or the setlist, but because of the feeling they give you. Blaze Bayley’s return to Wolverhampton for The X Factor 30th Anniversary Tour was firmly the latter. It didn’t just commemorate a milestone, but it reignited a fire that’s clearly been burning in the hearts of metal fans for nearly three decades. And I for one, was lucky enough to be there.
The flames of excitement during this impressive ‘two and a half hour’ musical marathon didn’t extinguish with the final chord, they smouldered long after the doors closed. They clung to conversations in the car park, flickered in the eyes of fans still replaying every riff, and glowed quietly in the hearts of those who knew they’d just witnessed something memorable. The Blaze burned brightly.
Words and Photos by Shavorne Wilbraham
