INTRODUCING: FINAL THIRTEEN

Northern Ireland’s Final Thirteen are fast carving out their place in the alt-rock underground, fusing razor-sharp hooks with bruising guitars and raw, emotionally charged intensity. Since bursting onto the scene in 2024 with debut single “Why You Sacrifice Me Now,” the band have built serious momentum through follow-up releases “Say Please Stay” and “Go,” earning international radio play and backing from Kerrang! Radio, RGM and Right Chord Magazine.

Known for their high-octane live shows, Final Thirteen have taken their explosive energy across Ireland and the UK, packing out venues in Belfast, Dublin, London, Glasgow and Edinburgh. Now stepping into a bold new era with a revitalised lineup — AX (vocals), JD Burns (guitar), Matty G (bass) and Brendy Healy (drums) — the band are sharpening their sound and leaning heavier than ever, with a run of new releases set to mark their most intense chapter yet.

1.Your music blends metal, alt-rock, and indie, balancing aggression with vulnerability. How do you make sure the emotional weight of your songs isn’t lost amid the sheer power and intensity of the sound?

We never treat heaviness as the point—it’s the vehicle. If the emotion isn’t cutting through, the distortion doesn’t matter. A lot of the time it’s about restraint: letting a lyric breathe, pulling instruments back at the right moment, or allowing something ugly and exposed to sit right next to something loud. The aggression is there to protect the vulnerability, not bury it. If it doesn’t feel honest in the room when we’re writing it, it doesn’t survive to the stage.

2.“Nicky’s Song” is an incredibly personal release, born directly out of grief and loss. What was it like turning something so raw into a song, and how has performing it live affected your relationship with that experience?

Writing it felt less like songwriting and more like documenting something that had already happened. There wasn’t much distance or metaphor—it was just truth, and that was terrifying. Playing it live has changed it completely. It’s still painful, but it’s no longer isolating. Hearing a room fall silent, or seeing people connect to it in their own way, turns the grief into something shared. It doesn’t fix the loss, but it gives it meaning beyond just carrying it alone.

3.Tracks like “Pyromania” and “Wide Eyed Lullabies” tackle big, uncomfortable themes — political rage, media manipulation, addiction. Do you see your music as a form of confrontation, catharsis, or conversation?

Probably all three, depending on the day. Sometimes it’s confrontation—calling out things that feel dishonest or harmful. Sometimes it’s catharsis—getting the noise out of our own heads before it eats us alive. But ideally, it’s a conversation. We’re not interested in preaching or pretending we’ve got answers. We’re just trying to be honest about the mess we’re all living in and invite people to sit with that for a few minutes.

4.You’ve entered a new chapter with a revitalised lineup and a push toward heavier, sharper territory. How has the chemistry between AX, JD, Matty, and Brendy changed the way you write and perform?

There’s a level of trust now that makes everything hit harder. Everyone brings something different, and no one’s trying to dilute that. Writing feels more instinctive—ideas get pushed further, faster, and we’re not afraid to let things get uncomfortable if that’s where the song wants to go. Live, it’s tighter but also more chaotic in the best way. There’s this shared understanding that once we’re on stage, we’re all in it together, no safety net.

5.Your songs often sit at the intersection of pain and hope. When listeners come to a Final Thirteen show or record, what do you hope they leave feeling — fired up, understood, healed, or all of the above?

All of the above, honestly. If someone leaves feeling less alone than when they arrived, we’ve done our job. Maybe they’re fired up, maybe they’re drained, maybe they just needed a place to let things out for an hour. We don’t think music has to fix people—but it can hold space for them. If our songs give someone permission to feel whatever they’re feeling, that’s everything to us.