There’s something about the Eden Project that makes gigs feel like they’re happening on another planet — maybe it’s the glowing biomes, maybe it’s the Cornish air, or maybe it’s just the fact that you’re watching chart-topping acts in what feels like a giant greenhouse with better acoustics than most arenas. Whatever it is, it worked its magic again on June 25th, when Tom Walker and The Script rolled into town and turned a drizzly Cornish evening into a full-blown celebration.
Tom Walker kicked things off with the kind of husky, heartfelt set that makes you want to call your mum and tell her you love her. Armed with just a drummer, a keyboardist, and that unmistakable voice, he opened with “Head Underwater” and immediately had the crowd swaying like seaweed in a gentle tide. “Just You and I” — written for his wife, he told us — landed like a warm hug, and by the time he reached “Leave a Light On,” the Eden crowd was in full voice, belting it back like they’d been rehearsing all week.
He joked about a failed singalong in Germany where no one knew the words — no such problem here. Cornwall knew every syllable, and Walker looked genuinely chuffed. It was a stripped-back set, but it didn’t need bells and whistles. Just a bloke, a voice, and a few thousand people singing like their lives depended on it.
At 9pm sharp, the lights rose, the drizzle stopped (as if on cue), and The Script strode onstage to the opening chords of “Hall of Fame.” If you’ve ever doubted their ability to command a crowd, this was the night to eat your words. Danny O’Donoghue was in full frontman mode — part preacher, part pop star, part stand-up comic — and the crowd lapped up every word.
The setlist was a greatest hits parade with a few Satellites-era curveballs thrown in. “Superheroes” and “Rain” came early, setting the tone, while “Six Degrees of Separation” and “The Man Who Can’t Be Moved” brought the emotional heft. “If You Could See Me Now” hit particularly hard — a song that’s always carried weight, but in the Eden setting, with the stars just starting to peek through the clouds, it felt almost sacred.
Danny, ever the showman, didn’t just sing — he connected. He told stories behind the songs, cracked jokes about trying on Glasto outfits, and even shared a tale about getting a black eye in a sparring session (“I told her I had festivals coming up!”). But the moment that really stuck? When he phoned his brother Ian and had the entire Eden Sessions audience sing him “Happy Birthday.” It was daft, sweet, and totally disarming — the kind of moment you don’t get at your average arena gig.
Let’s talk about Eden for a second. This place isn’t just a venue — it’s a character in the story. The sound was flawless, the staff were friendly, and the whole thing felt like a mini-festival without the mud and overpriced noodles. There’s something surreal about hearing “Breakeven” echo off a giant biome while sipping a local cider and watching a couple slow-dance next to a palm tree.
The Script closed with “Hall of Fame” (yes, again — bookending the night like pros), and as the final notes rang out, you could feel the collective buzz in the air. People didn’t just enjoy the gig — they felt it. From the singalongs to the stories, the birthday serenade to the emotional gut-punches, this was a night that reminded everyone why live music matters.
It wasn’t just a concert. It was a communal exhale, a celebration, and a reminder that even after nearly two decades, The Script still know how to write the soundtrack to people’s lives — and deliver it with heart, humour, and a hell of a lot of charm
Tom Walker kicked things off with the kind of husky, heartfelt set that makes you want to call your mum and tell her you love her. Armed with just a drummer, a keyboardist, and that unmistakable voice, he opened with “Head Underwater” and immediately had the crowd swaying like seaweed in a gentle tide. “Just You and I” — written for his wife, he told us — landed like a warm hug, and by the time he reached “Leave a Light On,” the Eden crowd was in full voice, belting it back like they’d been rehearsing all week.
He joked about a failed singalong in Germany where no one knew the words — no such problem here. Cornwall knew every syllable, and Walker looked genuinely chuffed. It was a stripped-back set, but it didn’t need bells and whistles. Just a bloke, a voice, and a few thousand people singing like their lives depended on it.
At 9pm sharp, the lights rose, the drizzle stopped (as if on cue), and The Script strode onstage to the opening chords of “Hall of Fame.” If you’ve ever doubted their ability to command a crowd, this was the night to eat your words. Danny O’Donoghue was in full frontman mode — part preacher, part pop star, part stand-up comic — and the crowd lapped up every word.
The setlist was a greatest hits parade with a few Satellites-era curveballs thrown in. “Superheroes” and “Rain” came early, setting the tone, while “Six Degrees of Separation” and “The Man Who Can’t Be Moved” brought the emotional heft. “If You Could See Me Now” hit particularly hard — a song that’s always carried weight, but in the Eden setting, with the stars just starting to peek through the clouds, it felt almost sacred.
Danny, ever the showman, didn’t just sing — he connected. He told stories behind the songs, cracked jokes about trying on Glasto outfits, and even shared a tale about getting a black eye in a sparring session (“I told her I had festivals coming up!”). But the moment that really stuck? When he phoned his brother Ian and had the entire Eden Sessions audience sing him “Happy Birthday.” It was daft, sweet, and totally disarming — the kind of moment you don’t get at your average arena gig.
Let’s talk about Eden for a second. This place isn’t just a venue — it’s a character in the story. The sound was flawless, the staff were friendly, and the whole thing felt like a mini-festival without the mud and overpriced noodles. There’s something surreal about hearing “Breakeven” echo off a giant biome while sipping a local cider and watching a couple slow-dance next to a palm tree.
The Script closed with “Hall of Fame” (yes, again — bookending the night like pros), and as the final notes rang out, you could feel the collective buzz in the air. People didn’t just enjoy the gig — they felt it. From the singalongs to the stories, the birthday serenade to the emotional gut-punches, this was a night that reminded everyone why live music matters.
It wasn’t just a concert. It was a communal exhale, a celebration, and a reminder that even after nearly two decades, The Script still know how to write the soundtrack to people’s lives — and deliver it with heart, humour, and a hell of a lot of charm
