Under the iridescent green lights of the iconic King Tut’s, Humour confidently showcased the full extent of their talent. I picked up this gig based on the overwhelming number of positive comments circulating within the local music scene, and, as expected, the audience was filled with familiar faces I’ve seen around gigs both on and off stage throughout the year.

Their blend of post-punk and post-hardcore has been described as unpredictable, improvised, and wild — a statement I can absolutely support after a night spent at their Glasgow soirée. At first impact, I felt disoriented by the abrasive, harsh, half-screamed lyrics, which I believe is entirely the point: disorientation as an aesthetic, a deliberate jolt to the system.

The night opened with Aphid, from their latest album Learning Greek — a smart, nae, brilliant reflection on the absurdity of existence — and closed with Plagiarist, a piece centred on the tremendous pressure of creativity when it feels as though everything meaningful has already been created before your time. Yet everything I witnessed during my time at King Tut’s felt new and original in a way that demands time to fully absorb.

Nonetheless, they remain a perfectly imperfect example of the talent still emerging from Scotland, and of a willingness to avoid bending or compromising one’s creative vision. It might not click immediately if you’re not into noise-heavy, loud-guitar-driven music, but there is a purity and honesty in their work that transcends genre-specific tastes — something audiences can support and appreciate beyond the music itself: the bravery of going out there and doing your own thing.

Article: Mona Montella