Yungblud’s 2025 breakthrough album, Idols, turned out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy — he wrote songs about worshipping his rock heroes, only to find himself embraced by those legends in real life. Ozzy Osbourne picked Yungblud for what turned out to be a career-shaking performance of “Changes” at his final concert, and Yungblud went on to record with both Aerosmith (for an entire EP) and Smashing Pumpkins.
The actor turned singer, born Dominic Harrison, won U.K. fame over the last eight years with his first three albums, which wandered from a bratty hip-hop/punk fusion to poppier moments. But after he dove into his classic-rock influences on Idols, he finally broke through in the States, scoring three Grammy nominations and booking a big 2026 tour. His newfound prominence and flamboyance — the eyeliner, the frequent shirtlessness, the leather pants — attract some vocal haters, but he’s gotten used to it. “A lot of people have a lot to say about me,” he says. “But that’s what I’m here for.”
You had to call off some gigs. How are you feeling?
I always get myself checked after every tour I do, especially after this year. I have a tendency to run and run until the wheels fall off. I think that’s how I’m built. It was the first time that I had medical advice. They were like, you got 18 months touring coming up. We think you should knock a couple gigs on the head at the end of this year. And I’m pretty grateful for that, to be honest, because it’s been such a mental year to be able to have the time to actually comprehend it and process it in my head. I go back out on tour in January and it runs till mid-’27 now. So I think it’s important to take that time and really process what’s going on and be grateful for it.
People forget that emotionally, success can sometimes be just as dangerous, if not more dangerous, than lack of success.
Especially if you don’t process it. You meet the people who are bitter in this industry towards the end, it’s because they didn’t process what happened to them. I keep saying grateful. I think gratitude is the real thing that I’m feeling at the end of this year. I’ve been doing this for 10 years now. People have just found me now, and it takes 10 years to become an overnight success, doesn’t it? I really want to feel everything and cherish every moment that happened this year.
You turned 28 in August. I’ve talked to young musicians who really were haunted by the idea of the 27 Club. Did that weigh on you?
It’s a funny old cliché. The night before I turned 28, I was on a boat from Capri to Positano with the missus, and it got really fucking rough. I was laughing: “If it’s gonna happen, it’s gonna happen now.” But what 27 was to me was a place where I really faced myself. I’ve been doing this since I was 18. Some artists, they come to the world fully formed. I wasn’t that. But when I hit 27 and when I hit Idols, this was a moment of really doing what I wanted to do. I had to go home and really face myself as an adult.
The craziest part of the 27 Club is some of those people — Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain — their entire legendary careers happened by that age.
That’s the mindfuck! But then you’ve got Bowie, and he did his greatest work after that.
You’ve been really critical of your self-titled third album.
Yungblud was a pastiche, a reaction, because I was in fear of living up to the cliché people had placed on me. There was no journey, no cohesive through line, no sense of identity. But that was the album where I was lost. That led me to Idols. That was a wake-up call. My first album couldn’t have been made by anyone else — N.W.A meets John Lydon with a northern fucking kid on top. Weird! was me discovering myself. Yungblud was me being lost. I listened to what people wanted from me as opposed to what I wanted to put out.
Do you ever wish you were in a band rather than a solo act?
No! Fuck no! I am not made to compromise. In the past, when I’ve listened to opinions and almost met someone in the middle, my art’s been shit. Watching Steven Tyler and Joe Perry together, the compromise is the fucking magic. But for me, it doesn’t work. It just makes me mad. People don’t realize I’m in control of everything. One of the biggest misconceptions about me is that I had everything handed to me by the industry. The industry has told me to fuck myself at every single turn.
So you’re saying you’re the opposite of an industry plant.
I find it really funny when people think that about me. If I’m an industry plant, I’ve planted the fucking plant myself.
Having a distinct image is an advantage and a disadvantage, and I think you’ve seen both sides.
It doesn’t get me down. I think it’s fun. It’s supposed to be fun. I love reading the comments about me. It’s just fuel. But people don’t understand the gravity of a comment on the internet. If you leave something brutal under a young artist’s page, they will internalize that. They’ll either get through it like I got through it, or they won’t, and they’ll turn to booze or drugs. It can really kill someone. When you’re an anonymous account vomiting out your own rage on somebody else to make you feel better, I think it’s the most disgusting thing you can do in the world. You’re a coward.
You’ve gotten so much advice from music legends. Did any of them give you bad advice?
No. It’s funny — it’s all the same advice. Everyone’s like, “We were hated. People thought we were posing.” Aerosmith went through it. After Ozzy left Sabbath, people were like, “He’s a pop star.” He had to really stay true to his fucking self.
One of the hardest charges to respond to is “You’re a poser.” Because how do you prove you mean it?
That’s a beautiful thing, because that’s something I’ll be doing for the next 50 years — gladly doing it, because that’s what makes me go onstage and give everything every night, to just convince one more person every day. Come to the fucking gig. It’s not about me — it’s about the community that we’ve built together. You’ll feel more energy, more love, more sex, more adrenaline, more anger than you ever have before.
You can obviously sing. But there’s been a misconception because autotune is used as an effect on some of your records.
Let me tell you about autotune. You get out what you put in. Trust me, if you can’t fucking sing, you sound like shit. My vibe is sometimes I use it, sometimes I don’t. Depends on the good of the record and fundamentally, no offense everyone, how I fucking want it to sound. It’s nobody else’s business. If I wanna put it on, I’m gonna put it on. That’s how I’m gonna do things. If I don’t, I won’t. It’s all about an effect and how the vocal will rub with the fucking violin line. When I shut my eyes and it doesn’t irk me, it’s ready to come out. If it irks me, it’s not ready. There’s elements of truth in a vocal that isn’t perfect. I don’t do overdubs for fucking 10 takes. I sing it twice and I put it together. That’s what I do. I get in and I sing it twice and then goodnight. I can’t be fucking asked going for 15 takes. It’s not truthful anymore. There’s a moment when you’ve written it and you get in the booth — there’s a fear, there is the weight of the world, the whole universe looking at you when you fucking stare into that microphone. And after four takes, you’re lying.
What was going through your head before performing “Changes” at Ozzy’s final show?
I didn’t sleep a fucking wink. I thought they’d ask me to do “Sweet Leaf” or “The Wizard” or “NIB” — something where I could go mad. But they gave me the ballad, and how grateful I am that they gave me the ballad. I walked out to 50,000 people; 25,000 didn’t have a fucking clue who I was; 15,000 to 20,000 hated me. They thought, “What the fuck’s he doing here?” Definitely “poser,” whatever you wanna call me.
But I was ready for that, because I’d just made an album where I had to face myself. I almost discovered how to lay myself bare, relinquish any ego or insecurity, and just say thank you to my hero. From two years old, I’ve loved Ozzy. Before I even understood his music, I saw this figure — he was Batman to me. I identified with him because I was crazy, mad, riddled with ADHD.
And then losing him so soon after …
It’s been the biggest emotional wave I’ve ever dealt with. The three weeks before he went, we were on the phone, we were texting, we were calling, we were vibing. I was trying to get to know this guy I’ve loved since I was two years old — who I’d basically written an album about, about him and Freddie and Mick and Bowie.
And then I lose him. It was almost like I manifested all this shit when I was writing this album, and it’s a fucking trip. People say the craziest shit about [me] having to carry this forward, carry this light forward. And it’s wild, because I grew up in my dad’s guitar shop. That’s where I heard this music for the first time. And I feel like I’m there again. I feel like I’m fucking four years old on my dad’s counter, and it smells like amp glue, soldering wire, lager, and vintage wood. I fucking love rock music. It’s my blood. It’s what I grew up in. And I can’t believe this year happened. It’s like something out of a movie.
Idols is actually a double album, with the next part out soon. Why release it in two parts?
How do I put out a double album in this generation? I make it a series. Give them 12 songs, a world to fall into, allow them to sit with it. Then open it back up. The first part is about self-reclamation and flying and learning how to get your wings. And then the next bit is, how do you live in the real world as this person you’ve discovered. So it’s a little bit more cynical…. It’s a little bit more realistic.
You’re also working on an entirely new album with Andrew Watt.
Idols was extremely maximalist. I think what me and Watt wanna do is something extremely minimalist, extremely live, extremely band-y. We might not even record with click. I might do some crazy shit like that. I’ve been listening to Buckley, Cornell, Weiland, and Layne Staley. I’ve really found the power in my voice, and that’s what me and Watt were talking about a lot — utilise your voice, make that the focal point. For this next one, you’ve got three minutes and five chords and the fucking truth, what are you gonna do?
You sang with yet another rock veteran, Eddie Vedder, in December. Did you talk?
Eddie’s such an inspiration for me. We really got on. I think we might write together in future.
For what?
Dunno. I never know! I’m just meeting these guys, loving these guys, getting on with them because we both represent different sides of the same coin. There’s this beautiful cross-generational support in rock music again, and that’s happened this year.
