There was warmth in the crush as thousands of us piled inside Sheffield’s Utilita Arena as the heavens opened over South Yorkshire, all of us drenched in anticipation of what would become a memorable night in the company of Mumford & Sons.
It’s safe to say, there’s a certain stigma around Mumford & Sons, often an easy target for all the self appointed ‘kool’ crowd, more interested in posturing than acknowledging the bands songwriting and ability to entertain crowds en mass. It’s time to reject the idea that taste should be constrained by genre or perceived credibility, take a leaf out of Johnny Marr’s book eh.
Anyone with a genuine interest in music cannot deny that Mumford & Sons are masters of their craft, a status they have sustained for well over fifteen years, and tonight they’d prove it without question.
We arrived a few minutes into the set of tonight’s support act, Sierra Ferrell and were instantly transported into the deep, old country strains of Appalachian folk and classic Americana, echoes of Dolly Parton, hints of KT Tunstall and traces of Patsy Cline’s phrasing but without a shadow of a doubt, she is unique to herself. Backed by a stripped-back, traditional band, she held the room with quiet authority with takeaway hits including Money Train, Dollar Bill Bar and Fox Hunt – she’s been on repeat since we returned home. Marcus Mumford went on to say that she has one of the best voices he has ever heard, and on the evidence of that set, he was absolutely right.
The arena tightened and drew close as capacity was reached for Mumford & Sons, the sense that this was a lifelong moment for many, years spent singing along in kitchens, bathtubs, and on school drop-off runs, the anticipation was palpable.
Each song is built with purpose, honed by years on the road, and delivered with the confidence of musicians who understand both their influences and their audience. Hit followed hit, with Babel, Little Lion Man, Hopeless Wanderer and Lover Of The Light, all arriving surprisingly early in the set, a bold move that gave the crowd exactly what they came for, joyous dancing, massed singalongs, and a sense of collective release.
The crowd lapped it up. Mumford & Sons had the arena in the palm of their hands, the warmth moving both ways, a constant exchange of energy. Even a cover of Simon & Garfunkel’s The Boxer was folded seamlessly into the set, its familiar refrain sending the singalongs echoing around the room. Followed by White Blank Page, a song that, in all honesty, never seems to get the credit it deserves, full of raw hurt, heartbreak and betrayal, anger and despair, all compressed into four uncompromising minutes. Deep cut.
Ditmas saw Marcus Mumford break from the stage and head into the upper tiers, weaving through the arena and turning some fans’ nights into something unforgettable before finding his way back to the stage for The Cave, an anthemic sweep uniting the arena in full voice once again. The newer track Rushmere followed which was very well received, seemingly earning its place among the set’s heavyweights.
They also offered a brave, intimate version of Timshel, the band huddled around a single small microphone, stripping everything back and holding the vast arena in near silence. Followed by I Will Wait which was met with rapturous applause and the biggest singalong of the night, the whole arena in unison, thirteen thousand singing it back to them.
As the final notes faded, there was no rush for the exits, just the lingering glow of a crowd that knew it had witnessed something special, they are undeniable heavyweights, operating at the very top of what they do and proving, once again, why they have endured.
