The Warfield

Blood Orange shows don’t come around often, and when they do, they’re worth clearing your calendar for. Devonté Hynes has a knack for turning a live set into something that feels both intimate and quietly radical. His arrangements are lush but never fussy, and the way he weaves together strings, synths and guitar lines is as much about mood as melody. At The Warfield, expect a setlist that moves fluidly between genres, with moments that linger on vulnerability and others that pulse with understated confidence. Hynes doesn’t just play songs; he builds a world for the night, inviting you to listen a little closer. If you’re after a show that rewards attention and leaves you thinking about it long after, this is the one to catch. Arrive early—his openers are usually chosen with care.

Arlo Parks has a way of making even the most cavernous venues feel like a late-night conversation with a friend. Her lyrics cut through the noise, honest and unguarded, but it’s the subtlety in her delivery that lingers. If you’ve caught her live before, you know she doesn’t rely on spectacle—she lets the songs do the heavy lifting. This show lands at a moment when her sound has grown more confident, but the intimacy remains. Expect a setlist that moves between the gentle ache of “Black Dog” and the shimmering optimism of her newer tracks, all stitched together with that signature warmth. It’s rare to find a performance that feels both quietly powerful and genuinely welcoming. If you’re after a night that trades bombast for real connection, this is the one to circle on your calendar.

Peter Hook and the Light don’t just revisit the past—they make it feel urgent again. Hook’s basslines are instantly recognizable, but what’s striking is how these songs land in a live setting now: raw, unvarnished and still pulsing with the same restless energy that shaped post-punk in the first place. The setlists are generous, often digging deep into Joy Division and New Order’s catalogs, but there’s no sense of nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. Instead, you get a sense of someone reclaiming his own history, playing these tracks with a mix of reverence and bite. It’s not a tribute act, and it’s not a greatest hits parade. It’s a rare chance to hear these songs as living things, played by someone who helped invent them, in a room full of people who know every word. If you care about this music, you’ll want to be there.