Keanu Reeves plays bass. There, we said it. Now forget it. Forget the actor, forget the mythology, forget the weight of that ridiculous expectation that somehow, because he is Keanu Reeves, the bass should glow or levitate or speak ancient wisdom. That’s not what’s happening here. What’s happening here is three men onstage at O2 Forum Kentish Town, playing tight, unfussy, surprisingly earnest rock music, and an audience that’s half spellbound, half bewildered.
Dogstar walk on without fuss. No grand reveal, no self-important swagger. The room recognizes them immediately anyway—cheers start low and build in that weird, reverent way that happens when you’re not sure if you’re meant to treat this as a gig or a sighting. Then Blonde kicks in, and the conversation shifts. The first chords slice through the expectations like a blade. It’s upbeat, clean, confident. Reeves is locked in, a steady, meditative presence on the bass, completely uninterested in the fact that half the room has their phones up just to confirm, yes, that is Neo on stage. The moment they stop viewing and start listening, something clicks.
Bret Domrose is the nucleus here, voice carrying the weight of the band’s earnestness. His guitar lines roll out without urgency, without overcompensation, just right. There’s something refreshingly unpretentious about it—like watching a band that exists in its own pocket of time, unbothered by industry trends or nostalgia traps. Everything Turns Around tumbles out next, its optimism landing with the crowd in slow waves. Some people nod along instinctively. Others hesitate, waiting for something more dramatic, some kind of Hollywood moment that never arrives. That’s the thing about Dogstar: there’s no spectacle. Just songs. Just three men in a line, playing as if this is the most natural thing in the world.
But let’s be honest—there’s a tension here, an awkward push-pull between presence and perception. There’s a particular moment in Glimmer where Domrose leans into the mic with the kind of intensity that usually commands full engagement, but the room is still split between those who are here for the music and those waiting for Reeves to suddenly do something impossibly cinematic. But he won’t. He’s just playing his bass. Perfectly competently, by the way, with the kind of calm restraint that makes everything else hold together.
The sound is thick but breathable. Robert Mailhouse keeps the drums unfussy, propulsive. There’s a warmth in the way they play together, an undeniable camaraderie. They don’t perform at each other, don’t overdo the dramatics. No one’s trying to prove anything. The songs move as they do on the record—earnest, melodic, unhurried. This is not a show for the impatient. Breach sneaks up mid-set, a slow-burning highlight, weightier live than on record, the room finally shifting into proper synchronicity. It’s not about grandeur; it’s about the gradual immersion, the way a well-built song can slowly wrap itself around you.
The audience is a peculiar ecosystem. Hardcore fans who have stuck with Dogstar since the ‘90s, rediscovering them through the new album. The Reeves faithful, clutching their Matrix-era nostalgia like rosary beads, hoping for something more mystical. Casuals, drawn by curiosity. The ones who came thinking it would be a gimmick but are now, quietly, maybe a little begrudgingly, actually enjoying the music.
And then there’s the encore. The set builds in intensity, not through volume or tempo, but through the quiet confidence of a band that knows exactly who they are. Jackbox closes it out, an easy, driving closer. There’s no manufactured climax, no desperate attempt to leave a mark beyond the music itself. Domrose throws a casual “thank you” into the mic, Mailhouse lets the last cymbal crash linger just long enough, and Reeves—Reeves just smiles, tucks his bass against his hip, and walks off like he hasn’t just been the gravitational pull of an entire room.
Maybe you expected something more. Something flashier, wilder, something that bends the laws of expectation. But maybe that’s the trick—Dogstar is just Dogstar. No gimmicks, no overreach, no pretensions. Just a band, playing their songs, sounding good. And maybe that’s the most surprising thing of all.
Words & photos – Richard Isaac
“We Love Live Music” is a new platform dedicated to celebrating the energy, passion and joy in live music – thank you for visiting our site! You, the gig goers & festival goers, are a big part of the “We..”. So we’d love to hear from you, share your views or gig stories in the comments below the reviews, or tag us in your socials in your posts from the shows. Look us up on TikTok/IG/Facebook/YouTube where we’ll be posting regular content
