It’s a rare thing for a man who’s spent most of his life teetering between rock-and-roll brilliance and total self-destruction to still be standing, let alone swaggering. But Peter Perrett, the louche lounge lizard of post-punk, is a different breed. He’s always been the sound of regret wrapped in a sneer, a poet of the permanently disappointed, a man who writes love songs like they’re ransom notes. And if you thought that, at 72, he might have lost his bite—think again.

At his latest show, Perrett sauntered onto the stage looking every inch the 70’s rock star suitably disheveled, clad in a baggy T shirt and shades clamped to his eyeballs. The crowd amassed also a reflection the bygone decadent dandy standing somewhere between a Dickensian pickpocket and a veteran war criminal, the audiences had suitably attired themselves for tonight’s performance. The band—tight, sharp, with his sons Jamie (who opened tonight’s show) and Peter Jr. ensuring the family business is still booming—locked in, and off we went on another ride through Perrett’s tangled mind.

Opening with “Dignity”, he delivered every line like a man who’s lost and found it more times than he can count. His voice, somehow both crumbling and imperious, filled the room with the authority of a fallen emperor reminiscing about his glory days—and making you feel guilty for not having lived through them.

And then there was “Sweet Endeavour” – a song that sounds like the morning after a lost weekend, where the memories are vague but the consequences are crystal clear. The guitars swooned, Perrett sighed, and somewhere in the crowd, a woman with too much eyeliner and too many bad choices in her past clutched her drink a little tighter.

But Perrett, being Perrett, couldn’t resist throwing a hand grenade into the reverie. Enter “Secret Taliban Wife”, a song that proves he still delights in making his audience simultaneously smirk and squirm. Delivered with the deadpan humor of a man who’s seen it all, it’s both a piss-take and a love letter—probably to the same person.

The show’s climax? “War Plan Red/Heavenly Day” a two-part suite that veered between menace and euphoria. Perrette, now stood triumphant, waving his arms like a rock-and-roll messiah who’s just remembered where he left his stash. And then, of course, there was “Another Girl, Another Planet”—still untouchable, still one of the greatest love songs ever written for someone you don’t really love at all.

Ending on “Beast”, Perrett gave one final sneer, one last guitar-driven gut punch. The band walked off, but he lingered, looking out at us with the gaze of a man who’s survived too much to ever be sentimental. “See you later,” he said, like a threat or a promise…

Article: Angela Canavan