Benefits // Hug & Pint // 07.10

A bitter wind blew through Glasgow’s Great Western Road, but inside The Hug and Pint, the atmosphere was ablaze.

The night began with Glasgow’s own Moni Jitchell, who took to the stage with an energy that could hardly be contained by the small venue. Their set was loud, unapologetically so, shaking the walls of The Hug and Pint right from the start. Moni Jitchell’s brand of post-punk, drenched in distortion and attitude, made for a fitting opener, setting the tone for an evening that would be anything but quiet. Their jagged riffs and raw vocals had the crowd buzzing early, a solid warm-up for the intensity that was about to follow with Benefits.

Just a few weeks ago, we’d stumbled upon Benefits supporting Arab Strap at the legendary Barrowlands—an encounter that felt less like a support slot and more like a meteor crash. And since then? Well, we’ve fallen in love with them. No other way to put it. Benefits don’t play to impress—they play like they’re ripping out their own guts for you, laying them bare on the sticky stage floor. And last night, they bled out beautifully.

Kingsley Hall stepped onto the stage like he owned it, wearing shorts and a Pacha T-shirt, the unlikely mix of island party and Teeside grit somehow fitting perfectly. On a cold Scottish night, it was clear Benefits brought their own heat, the kind that simmers beneath sharp-edged lyrics and snarling guitars.

Like Arab Strap, they sing in their hometown accents, proudly. That unmistakable sound of place isn’t just a choice—it’s a badge of working-class identity that colors their music with an extra layer of grit and defiance.

They kicked off with Constant Noise, a spoken-word piece that felt more like a battle cry than a song. Kingsley’s words were a relentless stream of consciousness, brimming with frustration, anger, and dark humour. His delivery was that of a tortured poet, the kind who would shout from a rooftop if it meant waking people up to the madness all around. The audience didn’t just listen; they were drawn in, absorbed by the intensity of his words.

Latest single, Land of the Tyrants came next, with a strobe-heavy performance that matched the song’s abrasive energy. The strobe lights added a frantic quality, freezing Kingsley’s movements in flashes as he prowled the stage. His delivery bordered on manic, but it suited the track’s theme of unraveling anger and defiance.

The set was a blistering mix of tracks from their debut Nails and the tantalizingly hotly anticipated follow-up (due to be released in March).

Warhorse charged ahead with the intensity of, well, a warhorse galloping through broken glass—teeth bared, unrelenting. When Divide and Flag hit, the room transformed into a choir of defiance, the crowd chanting back the words with the same indignation. It was as if the lyrics were communal property, passed between band and the audience like ammunition in the face of some unseen enemy.

Amidst the relentless onslaught, there was a sharp, unexpected departure—a track dedicated to RM Hubbert and Aidan Moffat, both fellow Scots and tortured bards of our times. The slower song—a lullaby in the middle of the storm—was a reminder that even in chaos, there’s space for vulnerability. The haunting Dancing on Tables was delivered with such fierce emotion that every note felt like a sob caught in the throat. You could feel the weight of it in the air, cutting through the night.

After a brief interlude where Robbie Major – pedal tickler and purveyor of noise grabbed a violin—because of course, in a band like this, even the quiet moments are poised on the edge of something—they dove into Taking Us Back. Melancholic, aching, the song unfolded like a beautiful bruise, the violin’s oscillating wail slicing through the guitars and the countless effects pedals that by this point, I’d lost count of (I think they might’ve topped 15).

Finally, after 90 minutes of relentless beauty, they closed with Traitors. It was a fitting epitaph, an industrial anthem that stamped their name in the annals of post-rock chaos. The room was filled with a glorious wall of noise, a sound so huge it felt like it could swallow you whole and spit you back out in pieces. The effect pedals, the drum loops, the sheer energy of two lads from Teeside somehow bringing the party like seasoned club veterans—it was a scene of glorious, bitter chaos.

Benefits might sing about the world’s ugliness, but what they create is something close to transcendence. They’re the tortured poets of our time, tearing beauty out of the darkest places and handing it to you like a fistful of broken glass. Beautiful, sharp, and utterly unforgettable.

Catch them on tour, if you are lucky enough.