“Euphoria”: Don Broco Ignite Their Most Thrilling Era Yet
There’s a moment in “Euphoria”—right before the guitars crash in—when Don Broco hold your breath hostage. It’s that electronic, vocal-led preface, a shimmering invitation that feels almost spiritual in its restraint. Then, without warning, they rip the floor out from under you in the way only Don Broco can: big riffs, pounding drums, a bassline with enough swagger to start a bar fight, and Rob Damiani preaching a hook built to echo through every club, arena, warehouse, and festival field they’re about to topple. “Gonna live forever!” he shouts, and for a moment, you believe him—not because immortality is real, but because the feeling is.
That’s always been Broco’s magic trick. They make you feel something—louder, brighter, heavier, freer. Call it adrenaline therapy. Call it chaos with a conscience. Every era of this band has carried a different badge: the pop-rock sheen of Automatic, the tech-rock bravado of Technology, the genre-agnostic sucker-punch of Amazing Things. But 2025 Broco? They’re punching into somewhere deeper.
What hits hardest is the emotional honesty under the theatrics. “Euphoria is about chasing that rush of the first time,” the band said. And that’s a very human hunger. We all chase our first spark—first love, first stage dive, first song that tore you apart. Most of us lose the feeling. These guys wrote a soundtrack for finding it again.
Musically, the track is a masterclass in Broco’s patented alchemy: dance-floor grooves laced to metallic muscle, pop hooks camouflaged inside alt-rock armor. Matt Donnelly’s drums are a precision-guided missile system, Simon Delaney’s guitars slice through the mix like chrome-plated lightning, and Tom Doyle’s bassline is so disgustingly good it should come with a warning for prolonged exposure. The band plays with the swagger of a unit that knows exactly who they are—and exactly how big they can get from here.
And then there’s that chorus. Arena-sized. Festival-proof. Built for sweat, smiles, bruised ribs, and communal catharsis. The kind of hook that turns strangers into temporary family.
“Euphoria” isn’t just a song. It’s a spark. A jolt. A reminder that rock still has places to go when a band is brave enough to kick down its own walls.
Live forever? Maybe not. But this feeling might.