MIRIAM PARASKEVOPOULOU
Florence + The Machine returned to Athens for Ejekt Festival, delivering a night suspended between ritual, catharsis and pure musical ecstasy
For the first time, I found it genuinely difficult to put into words everything I felt during a Florence + The Machine concert. Let me confess from the start that I won’t be entirely objective: throughout this review, I’ll simply refer to it as Florence’s magical show. Not because I wish to overlook the extraordinary musicians standing beside her, but because this remarkable band functions as a perfectly tuned machine, delivering a performance of exceptional musical precision and artistic elegance.
Long before sunset, Telekom Center Athens was already filling up. Early arrivals were treated to performances by Greek artist Elena Leoni-whose work I’ve admired for years-who took to the Ejekt stage with her harp and undeniable stage presence. Holly Humberstone and Suede followed, gradually guiding the audience toward the evening’s climax. I won’t pretend I can critically assess their performances, as it was my first time hearing them live, but the audience’s enthusiastic response spoke for itself.
By the time darkness settled over Athens, I was standing in line for a much-needed drink refill when the Florence + The Machine symbol suddenly appeared on the two giant screens flanking the stage. My heart started racing. It felt like my adult self was finally ticking off one of those long-held dreams that somehow matter even more once you’re grown up. And perhaps that’s the beauty of fulfilling adult dreams-they carry with them a deeper recognition of who you’ve become. There’s something profoundly liberating about that.
The lights flickered like Morse code, and before I knew it I had somehow made my way closer to the stage. I lifted my camera just as the first notes-nothing but Florence’s unmistakable voice-filled the Attic sky. Then the lights flashed again, and a melody straight out of a dream unveiled the band.
The stage turned crimson. Drums, keyboards and bass locked into perfect harmony as the opening of “Everybody Screams” began. Florence emerged wearing a sheer burgundy gothic-inspired jumpsuit while her dancers swirled around her in flowing white skirts that seemed lifted from a medieval cabaret.
Then came “Shake It Out”, the ultimate anthem of release.
I cried. I sang. I drank (responsibly, of course).
That became the trilogy of the entire evening.
What fascinated me most was the way Florence transformed from song to song: the enchantress of “Everybody Screams”, the deeply human vulnerability of leaving the past behind, the supernatural force of “Which Witch.”
Equally captivating was the choreography. Her dancers moved like resurrected witches—lost souls returned to life by some ancient spell, determined never to be afraid again. They danced, shouted and celebrated their femininity alongside the ethereal presence that is Florence Welch.
What a setlist.
“Howl,” “What Kind of Man,” “Heaven Is Here,” “One of the Greats,” “Buckle.”
By the time “You Got the Love” arrived, it became clear that Florence’s voice wasn’t simply leading the music—it had become another instrument entirely. Even without The Machine beside her, she could stand alone in a vast stone amphitheatre and conjure melodies out of thin air. And we would still stand before her, almost hypnotised, singing with hearts flooded by light through “Spectrum,” “Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)” and “Hunger.”
“Never Let Me Go,” complete with its haunting a cappella section that sounded almost like an ancient incantation, became one of the evening’s most unforgettable moments. As the audience swayed together, arms moving from side to side, I captured a photograph on my phone that instantly became my wallpaper-and for a fleeting moment, I felt sixteen again.
Then came “Sympathy Is a Knife”, with Florence walking through the audience while repeating:
“So come on, come on, I can take it
Give me everything you got…”
It became one of the night’s most soulful experiences. Her voice felt like an embrace for every hand she held and every person she touched with her seemingly limitless energy.
After briefly disappearing backstage, she returned-slightly breathless but smiling-for “Dog Days Are Over,” sending the entire arena into ecstatic celebration.
Halfway through the song, just as she reached the unforgettable lyric,
“And I never wanted anything from you / Except everything you had and what was left after that too,”
she asked us to put our phones away.
She said she hated them.
She wanted us to live the moment.
And, somehow, everyone did.
It was only then, after more than four minutes of uninterrupted dancing, that I truly realised just how many people had filled Telekom Arena.
The concert closed with “Free” as colourful fireworks illuminated the night sky. Florence thanked Athens once more-in remarkably good Greek-telling us we were one of the warmest audiences she’d ever performed for and that we would always remain in her heart.
The lights came up. People slowly began making their way home. Then, somewhere on the stadium stairs, someone started clapping the rhythm of “Dog Days Are Over.” Within seconds, everyone joined in.
Before the concert, while talking about Ejekt Festival, we had been discussing The Cure and agreed that if humanity ever had to choose 200 songs to introduce itself to an alien civilisation, “Lovesong” would certainly be among them.
After this night, I think “Dog Days Are Over” deserves a place on that list too.
Florence, thank you for the light.
