It’s been a long time since BRMC released any new work, and many may have thought they’d simply faded away into the ether, becoming another casualty of time and changing tastes. How spectacularly wrong they were.

Tonight sees the 20th anniversary celebration of Howl—an album sometimes overlooked or dismissed in preference to BRMC’s heavier, more visceral side. This was always going to be a fascinating night of will they… won’t they play the big tunes that laid the foundations of their enduring success, the anthems that built their legacy.

It’s incredible to think that BRMC have been going for more than a quarter of a century. How did that happen? Where did those years go? Some in the crowd had seen them at T in the Park in 2002, when the band was in its infancy, with only one album to its name. Fast forward to a rainy night on Glasgow’s south side and here we are, eight albums deep, still standing, still playing.

This was a night of beautiful contrasts—dark and light, quiet and chaos. A slow-burning, skin-and-bone acoustic first half of roots music, performed without any front lighting to speak of—silhouettes and shadows, mystery and intimacy. BRMC showed a truly melodic and beautifully simple, considered side, laying bare the fragility and shimmering essence of their work. Howl was celebrated in a dark-as-hell, hypnotic state that gently flowed and undulated, combining old-school voodoo with 21st-century Americana. This was BRMC stripped back, sombre and musically mesmerising.

This wasn’t immediate gratification—this was the long game, the slow burn that would eventually ignite into something explosive.

After time spent in the darkness of The Upside Down, everyone knew that Howl had been properly celebrated, honoured in the way it deserved. And with that acknowledgement came an increase in intensity, a creeping anticipation of what was coming next. You could feel it building in the room—tension, expectation, readiness. The fuse had been lit, quietly smouldering in the darkness.

Then, finally, the pin was pulled and the audience was rewarded with an explosive, cathartic performance of euphoria-inducing favourites.

‘Red Eyes and Tears’ ignited the second half of the evening with ferocious intent, and the continued fervour simmered and built to boiling point until tracks like ‘Berlin’ and ‘Punk Song’ saw the crowd erupt. Sneering yet laid-back Northern Californian vocals, delivered with a touch of MC5-meets-Bolan Tabasco, provided the perfect ingredients. Mixed with a machine-gun snare, booming kick drum and tribal chanting—at times led by the crowd itself in a beautiful exchange of energy—it resulted in a second half of electrifying and genuinely life-affirming music. A blitzkrieg attack of lighting saw the near pitch-black, back-lit scenario explode into a night-and-day effect of colour and strobes, visual chaos matching sonic intensity.

This, I think, is really what people had come to see. As much as Howl is loved and respected, it’s these heavier, mind-altering moments that most of the crowd had been waiting for—craving. The release after the restraint. The explosion after the slow burn. The transformation was complete and glorious.

By the end of the night, BRMC had transformed into a full-blooded, skin-and-bone, flesh-and-blood beast that ripped apart the darkness and softness of the beginning with a full-on rock and roll display. A performance encompassing nuance and subtlety as well as the raw power and ebb-and-flow dynamics of a band who’ve been around long enough to understand how to take an audience on a genuine journey.

I cannot even guess what the next chapter of BRMC will bring, but now that they’re back at the coalface, I’m sure it will be worth paying attention. And I guess I’ll see you there.

Welcome to the Revolution.

Words: Nick Tamer

Images: Chris Hogge