Willie J Healey opened the evening with a swagger that felt plucked straight from a 90s hip-hop funk collective—whether that’s his actual side gig is anyone’s guess, but the vibe was undeniable. His basslines were thick and groovy, the kind you could spread on toast, and his set had a delightful unpredictability.

Healey’s stage presence oscillated between quirky stand-up comic and confessional diarist, leaving the Hydro crowd equal parts amused and mystified. Funk-laden grooves slinked and swaggered beneath his oddball delivery, and while nobody quite knew what to make of him at first, by the end, it was clear: the crowd was won over.

Idles—have undoubtedly became sector leading in their genre. The Hydro is a behemoth of a venue, more used to hosting pop juggernauts and orchestral explosions, but tonight it was the discotheque of choice for a band who’ve turned raw emotion into a battle cry.

Idles first roared onto my radar with their iconic debut at Glastonbury 2019. Watching them on TV, I found myself glued to Joe Talbot’s magnetic presence. It was a car crash of catharsis, impossible to look away from, his voice rasping like a chainsaw carving poetry into concrete. Their Tiny Desk Performance shortly after proved they could rip your guts out even in an office, their rawness scaled down but never diluted. And when lockdown finally lifted, they were the first band I ran to see live. It wasn’t just a gig—it was group therapy set to ear-shredding guitars.

Fast forward to tonight, and Idles still hold the same searing relevance. The Hydro might be cavernous, but Joe Talbot’s and crew have a presence so commanding it could fill ten of these rooms. He’s less frontman, more manic street preacher, screaming sermons on love and the suffocating weight of toxic masculinity. If punk is the wound, Idles are the salt.

It’s impossible to untangle Idles’ music from their politics, and tonight was no different. Talbot’s growl carried a fierce tenderness as he dedicated songs to the marginalized, the broken, and the hopeful. The message was clear: love is the antidote to hate, and it’s worth screaming about until your lungs give out.

Idles’ influence is everywhere now. You can hear their DNA in bands like Soft Play (née Slaves), Benefits, and Fontaines D.C.—acts unafraid to channel rage and vulnerability in equal measure. Idles didn’t just kick open the door; they smashed it to splinters and left a a nice pink neon sign that reads “Everyone Welcome”.

Idles stomped on stage to “Idea 01”, a pounding opener that set the tone for the night. Talbot’s snarling vocals cut through the noise, while the relentless rhythm section rattled the bones of everyone in the room. The band transitioned seamlessly into “Colossus,” its slow-burning intro teasing the crowd before erupting into chaos. The sheer weight of the track’s thunderous finale felt like a tidal wave crashing over the audience, uniting them in a frenzy of fists and roars.

“Mr. Motivator” followed, a kinetic burst of punk energy brimming with Talbots tongue-in-cheek affirmations. The song’s infectious chant of “You can do it!” turned the Hydro into an unlikely self-help seminar for a moment, though one delivered with blistering guitars and driving percussion. Talbot’s wry humor shone through as he grinned between verses, hyping the crowd into a sweaty frenzy.

For “Scum,”the audience were asked a special request: he asked the audience to sit on the floor. The Hydro floor—usually a swirling mosh pit—sank into an almost meditative quiet, a surreal sight for a punk gig. When the song’s chaotic climax hit, the crowd leapt to their feet as though released from a collective slingshot, the energy palpable.

A change of pace came with “The Beachland Ballroom,” one of Idles’ more soulful tracks. With a tender delivery, the rawness of his voice carrying the weight of vulnerability as the band leaned into the song’s swelling, melancholic grandeur. For a moment, the Hydro felt intimate despite its size, Talbot’s earnestness holding everyone in rapt attention.

Then came “Never Fight a Man With a Perm,” a riotous anthem that turned the floor into a swelling mosh pit. Guitarist Mark Bowen, begowned and grinning like a madman, shredded through riffs that felt like well timed uppercuts, while the crowd roared every word back at them. It was sweaty, chaotic, and unabashedly fun,

“Dancer” brought a playful yet driving groove to the set, its pulsating rhythms and infectious hooks a reminder of Idles’ ability to merge punk aggression with danceable beats. Then came “Danny Nedelko,” a celebration of immigrants and unity. The crowd shouted “My blood brother is an immigrant!” with fists raised, the message of the song resonating deeply in a city like Glasgow.

In a moment of humor and warmth, the band snuck in a snippet of “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” sung in an Trish drawl by Mark Bowen as he individually thanked his band mate’s it was a brief, festive interlude that underscored the camaraderie and joy woven into the evening.

The night reached its apex with “Rottweiler,” a feral, unrelenting closer that embodied everything Idles stand for. The song’s relentless outro felt like a declaration: punk rock is alive, and its heartbeat is deafening.

As the final notes rang out and the band stood basking in the crowd’s deafening applause, the Hydro floor was a mess of sweat, spilled beer, and grinning faces. 

As Talbot himself might say: this was the sound of love and rage colliding, of community, the sound of healing, the sound of punching toxic masculinity right in the face. And it was glorious.

Words: Angela Canavan

Pictures: Dale Harvey