Certain bands weave themselves into your life in a way that time never quite manages to undo. For me, The Offspring are one of those bands. They are the soundtrack to a hundred car journeys, teenage years, and moments of sheer release when nothing other than a snarling guitar riff and a shouted chorus will do. So, when they announced their UK arena tour with Simple Plan as support, the Manchester date at the AO Arena was a non-negotiable. I had seen them before, but never in a room quite this big, and there was an immediate sense that this one would be special.
The AO Arena is vast, the kind of venue that intimidates lesser bands. But that night, from the moment I arrived, it was already buzzing with life. Merch queues snaked through the concourse, clusters of fans traded stories of old tours, and the atmosphere carried that blend of anticipation and casual chaos that only a rock show can muster. Inside, the stage setup was simple and direct: amps stacked, lights set, every clue suggesting this would be a night focused squarely on energy rather than spectacle.
Simple Plan hit the stage to cheers that rang louder than I expected for a support slot. They wasted no time kicking off with I’d Do Anything, instantly pulling everyone back into the early 2000s era of pop-punk where they first made their name. The crowd, ranging from grinning thirty-somethings reliving their youth to kids barely old enough to remember MTV2, responded in kind, shouting every word as if no time had passed at all.
Right away, it was obvious that these guys have played enough arenas in their careers to know exactly how to work an audience. Frontman Pierre Bouvier bounded across the stage with boundless enthusiasm, microphone held aloft like a battle flag. His energy was infectious, and by the time Shut Up! and Jump arrived, the front half of the arena was already pogoing in unison.
Musically, they sounded tight, polished, and exactly as you’d expect. The twin guitars cut crisply through the mix, the drums hit with studio precision, and everything was balanced. For a support band, their sound filled the AO Arena impressively, and even if you weren’t their biggest fan, the sheer contagiousness of their energy was hard not to admire.
The Offspring – Federica Burelli
Halfway through came Jet Lag and Addicted, both greeted with warmth and nostalgia. There’s something about the way those songs wrap simplicity around sincerity that still works live, two decades on. Even tracks like Your Love Is a Lie and newer cuts such as Nothing Changes slotted into the set comfortably.
If anything, the only problem was that it went on too long. Support sets often work best when they feel sharp and punchy, but this one stretched toward nearly an hour, matching The Offspring’s runtime more closely than it probably needed to. It was not that the songs dragged individually, but by the time Summer Paradise rolled around, the momentum began to lag slightly. Simple Plan are pros, but they are pros with a very distinctive emotional pitch, and it does not shift much through the course of a long set.
Still, there were plenty of moments of pure fun. Hearing the What’s New Scooby Doo? theme in the middle of an arena show is objectively ridiculous, but nobody cared because it was brilliant. Even the security staff could be seen laughing as thousands of people screamed the chorus to a cartoon intro from two decades ago. It was one of those moments where irony gives way to collective joy.
The band also pulled out a surprising snippet of Wonderwall, presumably a one-night treat since we were in Manchester, thrown cheekily into the end of the set before closing with Perfect, their eternal anthem to adolescent disappointment and growth. The crowd sang loud enough to nearly drown the band out, lights waving across the arena in genuine affection.
Simple Plan walked off to cheers that were both polite and affectionate. They had done the job of a support act well, maybe too well. They had reminded people of how important their songs once were, and while the set might have overstayed its welcome slightly, it set the stage perfectly for what was to come next.
As the lights faded again, a new kind of electricity filled the air. The hum of excitement was palpable; the kind of anticipatory buzz that comes when you know the next band has defined entire eras of rock for multiple generations. I could feel how much they meant to the crowd and to me. The Offspring aren’t just a band with hits; they are a band whose songs seem to give shape to rebellion itself. Hearing Self Esteem or The Kids Aren’t Alright for the first time can change something in a person, and I was about to hear them again, live, from a band I’ve carried in my heart since forever.
The stage burst into light and they hit the ground running with Come Out and Play, that instantly recognisable Middle-Eastern-inspired riff cutting sharp through the room. The scream that went up from the audience was deafening. It was one of those perfect openers, a statement of intent and a full-speed jolt of energy within seconds. Dexter Holland looked every bit the veteran he is, calm, confident, but utterly in control of the chaos around him.
The Offspring – Federica Burelli
His voice, for the most part, sounded great. Clear, distinct, and as sneeringly melodic as ever. There were moments later in the set where the higher registers sounded strained, but here, in the early stretch, he was pitch-perfect. Want You Bad and Looking Out for #1 followed, and it was immediately clear that this was going to be a set packed wall to wall with songs that still meant something to people. The nostalgia was pure, but the energy fresh.
The band played like a unit honed by decades of experience. Noodles, always the showman, grinned through guitar solos like they were private jokes. He dashed across the stage, traded riffs with Dexter, and flicked pick after pick into the crowd like confetti. Behind them, the rhythm section held everything locked in tight, driving forward without pause, the kind of musical muscle memory that only comes from a lifetime of touring.
When Staring at the Sun arrived, the crowd reached full tilt. That song remains one of their most underrated, but hearing it live with thousands singing back every lyric felt like justice being served. It’s one of those moments where the band’s hybrid of punk ferocity and pop structure becomes undeniable.
And then came the surprises. Midway through the set, the covers started rolling in, beginning with Electric Funeral and Paranoid by Black Sabbath. Transitioning into a Crazy Train cover, a beautiful tribute to the legendary Ozzy Osbourne, to their credit, the band played them flawlessly. The riffs sounded thunderous, and the crowd loved recognising the snippets. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt a pang of longing for the deeper cuts from their own material that could have taken those slots. No Brakes, Have You Ever, maybe All I Want, there are so many Offspring songs that rarely appear live that it felt slightly wasteful seeing time filled by covers.
Then came more, in the Hall of the Mountain King, into a quick burst of I Wanna Be Sedated by The Ramones, which was pure chaotic fun and a clear nod to their influences and the music that shaped their DNA. But the show started to feel less like a structured show and more like an afterparty jam session played by one of the most recognisable punk bands of their generation.
The real power returned when they dove back into their own catalogue. Gotta Get Away and Gone Away carried a weight that silence cannot quite hold. The live version of Gone Away, especially, always lands like a punch to the ribs. Dexter’s voice cracked slightly under its high notes, but that only made it more affecting. Years and experience have added a new dimension to that song; it feels older now, more bruised but still standing strong.
Then came Why Don’t You Get a Job? and Pretty Fly (For a White Guy), both received with absolute pandemonium. You might expect those songs to sound kitschy after all this time, but live, they are reminders of just how sharp The Offspring were when it came to mixing punk rebellion with tongue-in-cheek humour. Everyone sang and danced; the entire arena became a one-off carnival of organised chaos. If you wanted proof that The Offspring still matters, you only had to look around and see thousands of people screaming “Give it to me baby” with laughter and joy.
The Offspring – Federica Burelli
The main set closed with The Kids Aren’t Alright, which remains one of the greatest songs of its era. The power in that chorus feels eternal. It is an anthem of disillusionment that somehow feels timeless. Manchester roared it back at them, fists pumping, heads shaking, life momentarily simpler under the volume.
They left for the briefest of pauses, and the stage lights changed to a softer, eerie glow, the opening chords of Lullaby creeping out under soft blue lighting. It was a beautiful palate cleanser, restrained but potent, setting up the ending everyone knew was coming.
As the first notes of You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid kicked in, the arena surged to its feet if anyone had somehow stayed seated before. If Pretty Fly was the laugh, this was the release. Dexter nailed his vocal lines here with confidence, bounding back across the front of the stage as the audience clapped perfectly in time.
And then, naturally, came Self Esteem. My favourite song of all time. I have heard it hundreds of times across recordings, live videos, car stereos, and phone speakers, but nothing prepares you for what it feels like in person. You feel it before you even hear it properly, that low bass rumble kicking in, the first bend of that immortal riff hanging in the air. The crowd’s reaction was something close to reverence mixed with chaos. People screamed the lyrics word for word, not just singing but screaming, releasing something that felt long held inside.
For me, it is always more than nostalgia. It’s the kind of song that grows with you; its bitterness turning into bittersweet understanding over the years. Hearing it live at the close of a show like this, at this scale, surrounded by others who clearly felt the same way, was overwhelming. By the end, there were smiles, shouts, sweat, and a kind of collective joy that only great live music can deliver.
When the final chord crashed and the band stood together to bow, the crowd noise was astonishing. Dexter looked genuinely moved for a moment before throwing a few more picks into the front rows and waving goodbye. The lights rose, and suddenly the sprawling concrete of the AO Arena came back into view, the enormity of what had just happened settling in slowly.
It was not a perfect show. Some moments felt rushed, the covers a minor diversion that broke pacing once or twice, and Dexter’s voice betrayed the years during the highest peaks. But perfection was never the point. The heart was. And there was heart to spare.
Simple Plan opened with charm, energy, and professionalism, seamlessly bridging early-2000s nostalgia with the present day, even if their set ran a little longer than expected. The Offspring closed with ferocity, humour, and gratitude that reminded everyone just how important they still are.
Walking out into the cold Manchester night, ears still ringing, one thought stayed anchored: punk, when played earnestly, never really ages. It simply changes form, grows greyer hair, but keeps the same stubborn soul. That night at the AO Arena proved exactly that. Both bands, in their own ways, celebrated not just their longevity but the power of songs to still make people feel young, alive and unashamedly loud.
For me, it was more than a gig. It was a reunion with the past, a joyful act of noise, and one of those nights where music manages, somehow, to feel like home.
