It’s Halloween, and the crypt of the Hug and Pint serves as the perfect environment for secrecy and subterranean sonic beauty.

Any Slime City gig is a joy to behold, and tonight Glasgow’s own irreverent electro-nerd punks open proceedings with a surprise—and maybe not-so-secret—‘let’s try out our new material’ show. Their ability to transform left-field observations of the world and the absurdity of human existence into darkly humorous songs is remarkable, refreshing, and necessary. Yet beneath the wit lies something serious and thought-provoking—something that refuses to let you off easy.

Hard-hitting and melodically complex, the new tracks land with precision and purpose to rapturous reception. Trigger the Dads, Millennial Pause, Never Stop Giving Up—these are perfect Slime City: sharp, cynical, vital—and they sit seamlessly alongside old favourites like You and Everybody You Love Will One Day Die. The song titles alone make you smile before making you realise they might actually be right. Existential Armageddon on an individual level, delivered with a knowing wink and a middle finger raised.

A stunning performance for people who think too much and feel even more. Any band that creates a song called Lord, Make Me Chaste, But Not Yet deserves a Grammy at the very least—or, at minimum, your undivided attention.

Slime City’s new album National Record of Achievement drops 21 November.

29 November – Glasgow Art School. Album launch. Mark your calendars.

22 November – The Lexington, London.

After what seems like a lifetime, Desperate Journalist return to Glasgow to a hugely thankful and expectant crowd, who are rewarded with a stunning set of songs and a truly remarkable performance. The music sweeps over you like a continuous wave of emotion—an engulfing sonic landscape paired with lyrics and vocals that attack your deepest heartstrings with clarity and beauty. Emotions tangle and unravel in real time.

Vocalist Jo Bevan possesses a dazzling voice that sits somewhere between Björk, Jehnny Beth, and Sinéad O’Connor—a unique and devastating instrument. Her delivery is at times confrontational, words spat out as if expelling demons that have built up inside, teetering on the edge of a scream before pulling back with gut-wrenching restraint. It’s brutal and beautiful in equal measure.

While influences aren’t immediately obvious, there’s something familiar in the feeling—echoes of The Smiths, Talk Talk; that post-punk melancholy reimagined for our current moment. This is atmospheric, turbulent defiance. A disruption soundscape. Emotionally intense and deeply personal thoughts and feelings laid bare. A cathartic exorcism of life itself—tragic romance transformed into dynamic energy, despair meeting hope head-on.

What strikes you most is the conviction. Direct, breathless. Emotional drama that never feels performative because it’s so clearly real. Hope thwarted and dashed in an emotional storm, yet somehow still present. So much self-searching. So much reckoning. There’s a Morrissey-esque quality to the vocal delivery—those devastating throwaway comments turned into lyrics that cut deep and stay with you long after the final note fades.

This is deeply personal music for the masses—last breaths of defiance sung loud enough for everyone to hear. Such beautiful music in the most unlikely place.

If you missed this show, you missed something special. But there’s always next time—and with bands this good, there should always be a next time.

Words: Nick Tamer

Images: Chris Hogge