Bandit Country plus guests pulled in a sizeable crowd to King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut despite indie darlings Sweaty Palms playing south of the river in celebration of 20yrs of making music. For TGB, this was the place to be, with a lineup so electric it could have powered the city grid. Topping the bill was Bandit Country, but before we get to them, let’s talk about the motley crew that set the tone for the evening.

First up was Curdle, an all-girl outfit that came out swinging—and when I say swinging, I mean that quite literally. Their bass player, visibly pregnant, was thumping out riffs so heavy they probably made the baby kick in time. It’s rare to see a band this raw and unapologetic, serving up a sound that was equal parts punk snarl and maternal fury. Who needs a babysitter when you’ve got a rock show? The sight of this band will have you rethinking your life choices—and maybe giving your mom a call to say thanks.

Next, we were treated to Guevara, a band that looked like they stepped out of a fever dream. The synth player was dressed as an Ent—yes, the tree creatures from Tolkien’s fevered imagination—and somehow, it worked. Yes, we know Snapped Ankles have already went there… but it’s fun. The music was a swirling vortex of synths and fuzzy guitars that seemed to defy gravity. We loved the chaos in the arrangements on Crimson Tide.

But the night truly belonged to Insider Trading. Edinburgh’s latest export came out caterwauling like their lives depended on it, and by the end of their set, they might have convinced us all that ours did too.

“Spice Girl” and “Clarity” were the kind of tracks that make you feel something deep in your bones, even if you’re not sure what that something is. It was raw, it was loud, and it was absolutely glorious. If you don’t already have them on your playlist, you’re doing life wrong.

Then came the main event: Bandit Country. They opened with “In Retrospect,” a track that slinks through the speakers like a thief in the night, with echoes of Interpol and Arab Strap swirling through the venue. Yet, just when you think you’ve got them figured out, they hit you with that unmistakable soaring echos of the Glasvegas ache—a sound so full of longing and frustration that you feel it like a punch to the gut. It’s the perfect introduction to a band that’s all about calling out the daily grind, the messiness of life, and doing it with all the fury of a tornado in a tin can.

The set rolled on with “Rapture” and “Vanish,” songs that had the crowd moshing like it was the end of days. And maybe it was—the end of days for anyone thinking they could just stand still at a Bandit Country gig. The frontman was a revelation, leaping from the stage to preach his deranged gospel from the floor, turning the audience into his congregation with tracks like “Nothing Inspires Me Anymore” and “Lake to the River.” It was less a performance and more an exorcism of every frustration, every disappointment, every moment of existential dread we’ve all ever felt.

They closed the night in fine form with “Kowalaski,” a track that hit like a final, satisfying blow in a brawl you knew you were never going to win, but damn it felt good to go down swinging. As the final notes echoed out, there was no question: Bandit Country had taken no prisoners and left nothing but sweat-soaked satisfaction in their wake.

Their latest EP is out now, and if you’ve got any sense, you’ll give it a listen. But be warned: after last night, your speakers might not be enough. Bandit Country is a band best experienced live, loud, and as unfiltered as they come.

Words: Angela Canavan

Photos: Angela Canavan