Live Report: "I'm In A Band!" Hayley Williams triumphs at the National Stadium

If the record was a public reckoning, tonight is its live counterpart: an evening of hard-won freedom from one of alternative music's most compelling frontwomen.

Released in typically unconventional fashion, Ego Death at a Bachelorette Party first appeared as 17 standalone songs hidden behind a code available through purchases from Hayley Williams' haircare brand, Good Dye Young. When the tracks later landed individually on streaming services, fans were encouraged to build their own versions of the album before Williams settled on an official running order.

The album is her most vulnerable work to date, unpacking mental health, the end of her relationship with Paramore bandmate Taylor York, the shadow of her first marriage and life beyond Atlantic Records. On stage, those stories become far bigger.

Opening with 'Mirtazapine', Williams immediately throws herself into the emotional deep end. Built on hazy shoegaze guitars and an alt-rock pulse, the song transforms the antidepressant into a temporary saviour, a "genie in a screw-cap bottle" offering relief to a heart that feels like a "sinking stone."

Williams seems completely at home in the close surroundings of the National Stadium. The proximity strips away any remaining barrier between artist and audience, making every lyric land with startling intimacy. Alongside her touring band, the Parafour, she delivers songs that feel both meticulously rehearsed and emotionally unpredictable.

'Showbiz' is the night's first gut punch. Arms stretched wide, she sings, "Our silhouettes kiss, guess that's showbiz," without a hint of restraint, before the mood shifts completely.

The warm amber lights give way to an aggressive wash of crimson for 'Disappearing Man'. Heartbreak hardens to fury as Williams tears through snarling guitar riffs, turning "You could really have anyone, and you had me, why'd you let go?" into an accusation rather than a lament.

The dreamy haze of 'Zissou' is shattered when she storms to the edge of the stage to scream, "I don't like wasting my time," jolting the audience out of its trance during a track that uses deep-sea metaphors to explore a relationship where one person wants to explore deeper emotions but the other hesitates to jump in.

'Ice in my OJ' arrives like a release valve. Williams spits venom at the "dumb motherfuckers" she's made rich before delivering the bridge with conviction: "I'm in a band!"

It's a line that lands like a manifesto. After decades of misogyny, endless questions about her legitimacy and years of being reduced to "the girl in Paramore", she reclaims the narrative spectacularly.

The stage itself tells part of the story. White sheets drape everything from the drum kit to the keyboard, resembling the remnants of a wedding dress torn apart - a striking visual metaphor for an album haunted by memories of marriage, loss and reinvention.

'Kill Me' finds Williams stalking the stage with confidence before she blows a kiss to the crowd and settles behind the piano.

"Good evening! It's the final night of the tour," she smiles.

"Of course we had to end it here. You guys are always so loud...alright...you better cry."

She follows with the beautifully understated 'Blood Bros', as phone lights slowly illuminate the room. Acoustic guitar and piano intertwine beneath one of the evening's gentlest vocal performances, creating a rare moment of stillness.

Remaining at the piano beneath a single spotlight, Williams introduces the album's title track with a simple dedication: "This is for Nashville."

Before beginning, she reflects on the strange contradiction of success.

"I feel very lucky. I play music for a living, I get to be with people, I get to bring people together. The bad thing about that is that when things are going well, I get a really bad feeling. So here's to being in the present and enjoying ourselves."

'Glum' explodes with anxious urgency, while Brian Robert Jones and Joey Mullen's harmonies add fresh emotional weight to its frantic chorus. The song recalls the restless energy of Paramore's earliest records without ever feeling nostalgic.

An eerie piano introduces 'New Believer', as Williams quietly wrestles with faith and doubt before delivering a haunting cover of Nina Simone's 'Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood'. She turns away from the crowd, manipulating her shadow into devil horns against the backdrop, another theatrical flourish in a performance filled with carefully considered imagery.

The mood lifts with 'Love Me Different'. Bright guitars disguise lyrics about self-worth and healing, making it one of the evening's most optimistic moments.

She dedicates Sinéad O'Connor's 'Mandinka' to "all the Irish artists who use their voice," adding, "Fuck this genocide," before launching into a powerful, emotionally charged rendition that earns one of the loudest ovations of the night.

A recording of her grandfather, Rusty Williams, in 'Good Ol' Days' provides another deeply personal callback to 'Crystal Clear', a track from Petals for Armour, before the encore gives way to 'Discovery Channel', whose playful nod to Bloodhound Gang offers one final change of pace.

There is only one possible closer. 'Parachute' has quickly become the defining song of this era, and the deafening response that greets its opening notes confirms it.

Williams sings of imagined futures, loss, and letting herself fall, while Jones's backing vocals push the song towards its emotional peak.

Throughout the evening, she revisits old wounds. She transforms her heartbreak into connection, creating a performance that feels less like looking backwards than stepping into whatever comes next.

For once, it really is the Hayley Williams show - and Dublin witnesses it at its most fearless.