Alex Warren is no stranger to reinvention—but even by his own unpredictable standards, the past couple of years have felt like something out of a daydream he forgot he was allowed to have. Once known for his viral TikTok presence and quick-witted online charm, Alex first dipped a toe into music back in 2021. The water, it turns out, was exactly where he belonged. A string of internationally successful singles followed, each one building quietly but steadily. Then came 2025’s Ordinary—a song that did anything but live up to its name. It didn’t just climb charts; it seemed to leap over them entirely, launching Alex into a new orbit. Suddenly, the intimate venues of yesterday felt like a distant memory, replaced by a fully sold-out global arena tour. Originally titled Little Orphan Alex Live, the show has since been reimagined as Finding Family On The Road—a name that feels less like branding and more like a promise.
Inside a packed Utilita Arena in Birmingham, the night begins with a different kind of spark. Claire Rosinkranz steps out to warm up the crowd, bringing with her a breezy confidence that belies her age. Signed at just 16 and now, at 22, already boasting two studio albums, she delivers a polished, easygoing set. Her sound floats effortlessly across the arena—bright, catchy, and warmly received. She chats with the audience like an old friend, her charm undeniable. And while she hasn’t quite landed that one defining, goosebump-raising anthem just yet, there’s a sense that it’s only a matter of time.
Then, a pause. The lights dim. And something shifts.
Before Alex even appears, the room is gently pulled into his world through a montage of childhood footage. Grainy clips flicker across the screen—small, intimate glimpses of a life that feels both deeply personal and universally familiar. There’s laughter, there are bikes, there’s the quiet magic of ordinary days. But there’s also loss. Alex has never shied away from sharing his story—the loss of his father at nine, and more recently, his mother—and here, those experiences are handled with a tenderness that hushes the entire arena. It doesn’t feel like a performance. It feels like being trusted with something fragile.
When the curtain finally rises, Alex stands centre stage, and with the opening notes of Troubled Waters, the spell breaks into something joyful. The audience doesn’t just listen—they join him, voices rising together in a singalong that feels less like a concert and more like a shared exhale. From that moment on, the night pulses with a sense of unity. It’s not just about the music; it’s about the space he creates around it.
And Alex, for all his newfound stardom, remains disarmingly human at the centre of it all. He pauses between songs to read handwritten signs, laughing, tearing up, responding in ways that feel completely unscripted. At one point, he halts the show entirely, refusing to continue until he’s sure that fans in the crowd who need help have received it. It’s a small gesture, perhaps, but one that speaks volumes. Gratitude radiates from him—not the polished, rehearsed kind, but something raw and real.
Throughout the set, more glimpses of his life unfold on screen. One particularly touching moment shows a message to his future children, paired with footage of his wife carefully painting his guitar for the tour. It’s intimate without being indulgent, a quiet reminder that behind the spectacle is a person still building a life in real time.
Then comes Save You A Seat. The mood shifts again, softer this time. As Alex watches a video of himself and his sister riding their bikes—filmed years ago by their father—his voice falters. The emotion catches, unmistakably real. For a moment, he steps back, unable to continue. And the audience, without hesitation, steps in. Thousands of voices carry the song forward, gently, collectively, until he’s ready to return. It’s not just a highlight of the night—it’s the kind of moment people hold onto long after the lights come up.
The energy builds from there, rising into the shimmering rush of Fever Dream, a track that feels tailor-made for arenas—big, bold, and impossible not to move to. It’s a natural peak, the kind that leaves the crowd buzzing.
But Alex isn’t quite finished.
He returns for one final song—Ordinary. And as the opening notes ring out, it’s clear why this is the one that changed everything. There’s something quietly powerful about it, something that lingers. As the last chords fade, the audience doesn’t just cheer—they glow, wrapped in the warmth of something genuine.
Because that’s what Alex Warren has managed to create here. Not just a concert, but a feeling. A reminder that even in the biggest rooms, with the brightest lights, it’s still the small, honest moments that matter most.
