The Molotovs Detonate The Bodega – Live Review

THE MOLOTOVS DETONATE THE BODEGA: NOTTINGHAM SURRENDERS TO A FULL-BLAST ROCK ’N’ ROLL UPRISING

Last night in Nottingham, time bent, sweat flew, and guitars screamed as The Molotovs — a gang of three teenage anarchists armed with six strings and zero chill — turned The Bodega into a warzone of decibels, denim, and dopamine.

What was meant to be a simple tour stop became something else entirely. A street party crashed into a riot into a spiritual awakening — and all because this young trio refuses to treat rock ’n’ roll like a museum exhibit.

FROM VINYL TO VENOM

Hours before the chaos, The Molotovs unplugged and unfurled their more delicate side at Rough Trade Nottingham, celebrating the release of their debut single ‘Today’s Gonna Be Our Day’. It was jangling guitars, rich harmonies, and grins so wide they could’ve cracked vinyl — the acoustic calm before the feedback storm.

And when night hit and The Bodega’s lights dropped, the revolution began.

The band walked on to roaring applause, a blur of silhouettes backlit by stage haze. Mathew looked like he’d stepped straight out of Paul Weller’s wardrobe — sharp lapels, sharper cheekbones — while Issey could’ve been plucked from a Vogue shoot in 1979, dripping cool and defiance in equal measure. The pair looked razor-sharp, ready for battle, guitars slung low and expressions locked somewhere between mischief and menace. Then the opening riff to ‘More More More’ screamed to life, and the crowd erupted.

THE SOUND OF YOUTH ON FIRE

Forget polish. Forget pretension. This wasn’t just a gig — it was a hostile takeover. ‘Get a Life’, ‘Wasted Youth’, ‘Johnny Don’t Be Scared’ — each song hit like a brick lobbed through a stained-glass window. When they tore into ‘Suffragette City’, the pit went limb for limb.

There’s Sex Pistols energy coursing through their veins — raw, snarling, gloriously unfiltered. But beneath the spit and distortion, there’s melody: a Britpop shimmer, a Mod soul heartbeat. It’s Strummer meets Weller, slugging it out under a strobe light.

And between the sonic punches, the band proved they’ve got theatre and banter in spades. At one point, Mathew lobbed a t-shirt into the crowd, mock-taunting the raised hands. “You lot aren’t getting this — it wouldn’t fit anyway!” he smirked, drawing laughter and fake protests from the pit. Spying the grey-haired faithful manning the front row, he called for youthful reinforcements: “Oi, where are the young ones? Get up here!”

As the crowd shifted and teens surged forward, he grinned and added, “Apologies for being an ageist… and a fattiest.” And with the timing of a stand-up comic and the snarl of a punk prophet, he launched into ‘Pop Star’ — the crowd, now a writhing mess of hair and limbs, losing it entirely.

THEIR PUNK PEDIGREE? ABSURDLY REAL.

They’ve already racked up over 500 gigs — street corners, support slots, sweaty club floors — and convinced Marshall Records to sign them while still in their teens. The Libertines tipped their hat. Blondie let them open. Billie Joe Armstrong spotted them going wild in the pit.

But it’s The Sex Pistols who’ve gone full circle.

In March 2025, Frank Carter fronted the reformed Pistols at a special Teenage Cancer Trust show at The Royal Albert Hall, and who did they invite to open? The Molotovs. Carter didn’t mince his words:

“The Molotovs brought a fiery burst of energy to the stage. Their enthusiasm is infectious, and they’re a perfect reminder of the exciting new wave of talent coming through the UK scene.”

Then there’s Paul Cook, who joined them on stage at Bush Hall to thrash through ‘God Save the Queen’. The crowd didn’t just lose it — they rewrote punk’s family tree on the spot.

THE SINGLE THAT SOUNDS LIKE A NIGHT OUT YOU’LL NEVER FORGET

‘Today’s Gonna Be Our Day’ — released on the day of the gig — isn’t just a debut single. It’s a Molotov manifesto. Paired with ‘No Time to Talk’ on the B-side, it’s a ragged, adrenaline-soaked preview of what’s to come.

Live, the track became a celebration — an explosion of unity and unfiltered joy. Midway through the final chorus, The Molotovs were joined on stage by their support act Soaked, sending the night into glorious overdrive. Mathew handed his guitar to Brendan, Soaked’s frontman, who jumped straight into battle mode — trading riffs with Issey as Mathew stormed the mic, belting vocals with his arms stretched skyward.

It was punk communion — two bands tangled in feedback and fury, grinning like they’d just hijacked the industry and thrown its rules in the skip. In the heat and intimacy of The Bodega, it wasn’t just a finale — it was a shared memory, wired into every skull in the room.

WHAT COMES NEXT? WORLD DOMINATION, OBVIOUSLY.

This summer, The Molotovs are rolling through the UK on a blitzkrieg of sold-out dates — one pub stage and festival tent at a time. But come September, the mission goes global.

They’re heading across the Atlantic to tour the U.S. with The Sex Pistols, bringing their feedback-fueled crusade to New York, Chicago, L.A. — every city begging for a little danger. Grab tickets and stay tuned here. It’s not just a tour. It’s an uprising. And The Molotovs are marching at the front with matches in one hand and a Marshall cab in the other.

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