Hailing from Belfast, Chalk are a band on a mission. Fresh off touring with Idles—a baptism by fire if ever there was one—they’ve sharpened their sound into something both brutal and transcendent.
If their influences are easy to spot (the ghost of Factory Records looms large), their execution is singular: this is a band that pulls from the past to build the future.
Frontman Ross Cullen is a sight to behold. Imagine Ian Curtis reincarnated and sent to a modern rave, his moves a mix of desperate flailing and deliberate possession. Cullen’s voice, raw and urgent, seemed to claw its way out of his chest, while his hair – a glorious cascade of volume – danced along with him like a co-star.
But there’s also something deeply soulful about his performance, as if each song is being dragged out of him against his will. His vocals, raw and visceral, evoke everyone from Mark E. Smith to James Murphy, but they’re delivered with a guttural sincerity that feels entirely his own.
Think early Gang of Four and Wire but with a distinctly modern twist. Meanwhile, guitarist Benedict Goddard laid down a foundation so thick and throbbing you could feel it in your teeth. Together with drummer Luke Niblock whose percussion was less a backbeat and more a full-body assault, Chalk delivered a set that felt like being caught in a thunderstorm you never want to escape.
Visually, Chalk’s set was as arresting as their sound. Strobe lights fractured the stage into shards of brilliance, casting the trio in flickering silhouettes that only added to their mystique. At times, it felt like we were witnessing not a performance, but a séance—a summoning of ghosts from the Hacienda era, fused with the raw urgency of 21st-century rebellion.
Their standout track, “Them” is a screaming into the void manifesto. The song barrels forward with the energy of a warehouse rave at 3 a.m., its layers of noise and melody swirling like a cyclone. It’s Factory Records meets the sweaty ecstasy of Berlin clubs—music that both celebrates and annihilates.
Luckily for us GlaswegiansChalk will be back in town on February 27th at King Tut’s. See you down the front.
There’s something almost alchemical about Confidence Man’s live show—a transformation not just of music into movement, but of an audience into a giddy, uninhibited sea of joyous abandon.
On a dreich Sunday night in Glasgow, when the weather outside made even the most vibrant souls consider an early night, the Australian quartet turned the BarrowlandBallroom into a heaving Ibiza superclub. For 90 minutes, this wasn’t just a gig. It was aerobic absurdity, a fever dream of glitter and groove.
The band kicked off with “Now U Do”, a sly opening salvo that oozed playfulness. Janet Planet, resplendent in one of her many ensembles (we’ll get to that brassiere later), sashayed onto the stage with a confidence bordering on swagger. Her co-conspirator, Sugar Bones, matched her step for step, grinning like a man whose every wink comes with its own strobe light.
By the time they launched into “Does It Make You Feel Good?”, the question was rhetorical. The crowd—a mix of seasoned ravers, indie kids, and disco dads—was already in thrall, limbs moving in ways they might not on a Monday morning. Sugar Bones and Planet’s choreography is a marvel of stamina and satire, a sort of jazzercise-meets-Björk-on-a-bender extravaganza. That they can sustain this high-octane ridiculousness for an hour and a half defies belief. Watching them twist, strut, and leap, you’re less inclined to wonder how they do it and more inclined to wonder why anyone else bothers trying.
The set moved seamlessly into “All My People”, Planet had donned the now-iconic glowing brassiere, a piece of sartorial lunacy that’s half fashion statement, half dance-floor lighthouse. The audience, already whipped into a frenzy, responded to its unveiling like they’d just seen the Sistine Chapel ceiling for the first time.
The night’s first major highlight came with “Boyfriend (Repeat)”, a song whose titular repetition found a home in a communal singalong that could probably be heard as far away as Buchanan Street.
Confidence Man understand the mechanics of a great pop hook, but they also understand its theatrical possibilities. As the crowd screamed “He’a just a REPEAT of what I had before!,” Sugar Bones cavorted across the stage like a man possessed, Janet Planet preened like a disco queen, and their rhythm section—Clarence McGuffie and Reggie Goodchild, stoic behind meshed veil visors—kept the whole absurd machine running.
Costume changes came thick and fast, each one more ludicrous than the last. By the time “Real Move Touch” was played the showmanship had peaked – much to the sold out crowds delight.
The energy peaked again with “Holiday”, a sun-drenched banger that somehow managed to make Glasgow in late November feel Mediterranean. You could almost hear the waves crashing and taste the sangria—if you ignored the lingering aroma of Tennent’s.
An encore was inevitable, and Confidence Man delivered with “3AM (LA LA LA)”, a fitting closer for a night that felt less like a gig and more like a euphoric bender you never wanted to end. As they took their final bows, sweat-drenched and grinning, you couldn’t help but marvel at their stamina. The rest of us were knackered just watching.
Confidence Man may not take themselves too seriously, but their mastery of live performance is no joke. They are a glittering, unhinged reminder that sometimes, the best way to beat the gloom of a dreich night is to dance like your life depends on it. And if you don’t, well, “Now U Do.”
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.
Manchester’s TTSSFU brought a visceral energy to the QMU stage, delivering a set that was both haunting and explosive. Fronted by the magnetic Tasmin Stephens, the band exuded an otherworldly confidence, with Stephens’ vocals casting a spell over the crowd. Her intensity was matched by the band’s shifting dynamics, as they moved effortlessly from atmospheric dreamscapes to thunderous climaxes that left the audience in awe.
Each member bringing something unique to the performance. The guitars veered between intricate melodies and chaotic bursts of noise, while the rhythm section provided a solid yet unpredictable foundation, keeping the audience on edge. TTSSFU’s ability to blend emotional vulnerability with unrelenting power created a set that felt like a cathartic release — raw, unforgettable, and impossible to ignore.
Mercury Prize winners, English Teacher, performed to an eclectic crowd at the iconic QMU in Glasgow. The stage was beautifully adorned with oversized daffodils that towered over the band, creating the perfect backdrop for their unique set. The indie but genre-bending four-piece opened with the popular ‘R&B’, an energising and great start to the show.
The set largely consisted of songs from This Could Be Texas, released earlier this year, alongside a few tracks from their debut EP, Polyawkward. The theatrical performance by front person Lily Fontaine drew the audience in, and the crowd was spellbound by the trance-like melodies, twinkling intermissions, and melancholic vocals. A highlight of the evening was ‘Nearly Daffodils’, during which the crowd showed off their dance moves. Lily jumped off the stage and crossed the barrier to share the moment with fans.
The audience was treated to a new song called ‘Billboards’, which featured an enticing buildup to an upbeat tempo change midway through. Combined with noodle-y guitar sounds, it proved popular with the crowd.
English Teacher ended with ‘Albert Road’, a song about their hometown, which brought a dramatic conclusion to the evening. The crowd, eager for more, filled the room with cheers as the band returned for an encore, performing a song about lockdown. Before starting, they mentioned that it was a special evening for them, as they had the support of their family in the audience.
This band is on the rise, and it’s clear they’ll have a fruitful journey ahead in the years to come.
Sports Team have become a band known for their energetic, lively performances, elevating their recognisably bouncy music to a new level when they take to the stage, thanks not least to charismatic frontman Alex Rice. With this in mind, there are high expectations going into the evening.
Openers Welly come out to an almost empty room, but they nevertheless succeed in filling it with their own crazed energy, playing with such enthusiasm you could almost imagine they were the headliners themselves.
Next on the bill is a more mellow offering from Mary In The Junkyard, a three-piece who create an incredibly rich, fleshed-out sound that swells and shifts throughout their set.
By this point, the crowd is brimming with anticipation, itching for Sports Team to take to the stage and unleash themselves upon them. Their set is a varied one, featuring songs from their upcoming record Boys These Days, their two studio albums, and even earlier material. In the time since their earliest releases, Sports Team have developed a reputation for being a band who give everything to their live shows, and with that has come a dedicated fan base.
Although the band seem to take a little while to hit their stride tonight, particularly lead singer Alex, they are encouraged along by a crowd who are bouncing off one another from the very start. By the end of the evening, the band are firing on all cylinders and feel very much like a band who should be playing far larger stages.
To step into the Barrowlands Ballroom in Glasgow on a Sunday night and witness Kneecap perform is to be thrust into an unapologetically rebellious, joyously chaotic space that feels more like a cultural revival than a rap gig.
The second of two sold-out shows, this wasn’t just a run idea the mill gig, it was an experiment in the true unifying power that music can hold over us, a statement wether you believe – poetic or not, and for this trio from West Belfast they were welcomed as true brothers at arms.
Self-proclaimed “Republican Rap Ceasefire Babies,” the band have built a reputation on provocation. But to reduce them to a caricature of Irish gang culture would be to miss the intricate tapestry they weave with their art. Kneecap’s work is not just a reclamation; it’s a revival of a culture marginalized and maligned by colonialism. They are not fetishizing; they are galvanizing.
The night opened with a poignant performance from Gemma Dunleavy, whose synth-laden soundscapes and soaring vocals set an emotional tone.
Between tracks like the 2020 single “Up De Flats,” an ode to her Dublin roots, Dunleavy made a heartfelt plea for justice in the case of Terence Wheelock, a teenager who died in Garda custody. Her emotive track, “Stop the Light” which is her battle cry for those responsible to be held to account, had many an eye glaze over and brought the room to a poignant stillness.
Her performance was both a rallying cry and a reminder of music’s power to shed light on the darkest corners of society.
By the time Kneecap stormed the stage, the crowd was already electric. The show opened with a text acknowledgment of the UK government’s complicity in the genocide in Gaza, followed by chants of “Free Palestine” echoing through the historic venue. The trio emerged, throwing themselves into a relentless set that began with the bass-heavy banger “3CAG.” DJ Próvaí, a former teacher, stepped from behind the decks with cinematic flair—a far cry from his chalkboard days, now schooling audiences in the art of rebellion.
The energy was palpable as the rappers launched into “It’s Been Ages,” the crowd a sea of green, white, and gold. Neon bucket hats bobbed in unison as fans waved shamrocks and flags with abandon. Tracks like “Sick in the Head” and “Your Sniffer Dogs Are Shite” showcased Kneecap’s signature blend of biting satire and filthy basslines (what more could you want on a Sunday evening?) while crowd surfers cascaded over the barrier like waves of collective euphoria.
“This is one big dysfunctional family,” Móglaí Bap reminded the crowd between songs, “so look after each other.” And look after each other they did, embodying the camaraderie Kneecap seeks to foster through their work.
One of the set’s most powerful moments came with “I bhFiacha Linne,” a track that seamlessly blends Irish and English, showcasing their dedication to the preservation of the Irish language. It’s a reminder that their music is not only about rebellion but also about cultural survival.
As the night crescendoed, the band performed “C.E.A.R.T.A,” their breakout single that spells out “rights” in Irish. The song, rooted in their plight against oppression, catapulted them into the spotlight and set them on a trajectory that led to the release of a darkly humorous biopic starring Michael Fassbender earlier this year. The film feels like West Belfast’s answer to Scotland’s beloved cult classic, Trainspotting—raw, gritty, and unapologetically authentic.
The show concluded with the tongue-in-cheek anthem “Get Your Brits Out,” followed by the ferocious “H.O.O.D.” It was a fitting end to a night that had everything: humor, defiance, solidarity, and soul.
Kneecap Barrowlands performance was a celebration of Irish heritage to reclaim the narrative for those often written out of history.
Are you offended? Good. That’s the point. Kneecap wants you to think, to feel, and most importantly to act.
Móglaí Bap is running 10k each day on tour regardless of what wee small hours of the morning he crawled home at in order to fund food parcels to Gaza. You can donate here:
Sunday night, and the pulse of the beat is overwhelming. Opening tonight are Anna & Holly’s Dance Party, blending perfect vintage blues and garage 45s, it provides the perfect foundation for the gathered congregation.
Daddy Long Legs grace the stage not long after with the spellbinding combination of the Howling Hurd’s rasping harmonica and Murat’s bad-to-the-bone guitar is impossible to resist. Laid over Josh’s booming drums and Dave’s keyboards, involuntary movements jolt throughout your body, causing heads to nod and feet to tap.
Daddy Long Legs are such an irresistible live band—so engaging, so hard-hitting, and so sharply dressed. Their aesthetic is so on point that it’s almost easy to overlook.
Tonight’s subterranean labyrinth is the perfect backdrop for the delivery of this Brooklyn gospel. They might often be seen delivering their street sermons in the USA and beyond, but tonight they are in Glasgow’s Flying Duck—a venue that is part speakeasy, part grassroots dive bar. Perfectly dark. Perfectly juke joint.
“Pink Lemonade”, “The Theme from Daddy Long Legs” and “Harmonica Razor” are highlights of the set, but tonight we’re also treated to a cover of the Memphis Jug Band’s “On the Road Again”,a song first recorded nearly 100 years ago, yet it sounds as fresh and relevant as anything else played tonight.
The truly fantastic night crescendos with drums being brought to the front, Buckfast being drunk, and harmonica bouncing off the walls. How can a band with seemingly so little hardware hit so hard and so deep?
CLOTH, the genre-bending duo of twins Rachael and Paul Swinton, celebrated the fifth anniversary of their self-titled debut album with a sold-out, intimate show at McChuills. Performing the album in its entirety for the first time in years, the pair treated fans to a heartfelt and nostalgic evening, adding a special touch by acknowledging they had to relearn many of the songs after not playing them for four years. This behind-the-scenes glimpse into their preparation made the night feel even more personal for the dedicated crowd.
Known for their minimalist yet evocative style, CLOTH held the audience in rapt attention. Rachael’s ethereal, emotive vocals seamlessly intertwined with Paul’s intricate guitar riffs and melodies, creating a soundscape that was both delicate and powerful. The duo was joined by a drummer whose masterful use of varied percussion instruments revealed a hidden complexity beneath the seemingly effortless performance.
Following the full album set, the band returned for an enthusiastic encore, delivering two additional songs. The first, a brand-new track titled Polaroid, was a vibrant and upbeat offering with an uplifting melody that resonated well with the audience. Fans were thrilled to hear the track would be officially released by the end of November. The night concluded with Ladder, a familiar favorite from their second album. Its delicate beginning, building to an intense crescendo, perfectly encapsulated the emotional journey of the evening and left fans on a high note as they departed.
CLOTH’s return to their roots and the debut of new material made for a memorable night, showcasing both their growth as artists and their enduring connection with their fans.
Last night, Glasgow’s O2 Academy was a sprawling sea of middle-aged emos proving, once and for all, that “it’s not a phase, mum.” This was nostalgia in its most heartfelt form, a night where the spirit of 1999 was revived in glorious Technicolor. The eyeliner may have faded, and the gravity-defying side fringes are now a distant memory, but the love for Jimmy Eat World remains as strong as ever. For the sell-out crowd, this wasn’t just a gig—it was a quick journey down a wormhole back in time to our adolescent bedrooms – no doubt covered with band posters and curated concert ticket stubs.
Opening the night were Canada’s PUP, a band that feels like the chaotic lovechild of Weezer and a hungover Green Day. Tight as a drum and twice as loud, they tore through tracks like “DVP,” “Kids,” and “Dark Days” with a frenzied energy that left the audience grinning like they’d just remembered how much fun being alive can be. If PUP were a dog breed, they’d be a rabid Border Collie: energetic, slightly unhinged, but utterly lovable.
By the time Jimmy Eat World strolled onstage (on time, bless them—because let’s face it, no one here wants to be out too late), the room was electric. They opened with “Pain,” an instant crowd-pleaser that set the tone for a night of glorious catharsis. “Just Tonight…” followed, but it was the third track, “If You Don’t, Don’t,” that sent the room into a pogoing frenzy. For a brief, beautiful moment, everyone forgot about their mortgages and bad knees, bouncing like it was 2001 again.
When they rolled into the achingly beautiful “Your House (2007 version),” you could feel a collective lump forming in the Academy’s throat. The song’s lyrics—“When you gonna come down?”—hit like a sucker punch to the feels, a poignant reminder of heartache that transcends decades. It was emo distilled: bittersweet, deeply human, and undeniably powerful.
Jimmy Eat World’s influences are evident—the earnestness of early R.E.M., the emotional heft of The Cure, and a dash of Springsteen’s blue-collar grandeur. But they’ve always been more than the sum of their parts. This is a band that took emo from the bedrooms of angsty teenagers and elevated it to something universal. Tracks like “All The Way (Stay)” and a delightfully condensed “Goodbye Sky Harbour” showcased their ability to seamlessly blend introspection with anthemic highs.
The set barreled toward its inevitable, euphoric conclusion with “Bleed American”. The crowd was in full indie bliss, fists pumping, voices hoarse, as if the last 20 years had been nothing but a warm-up for this comeback moment. Then came “A Praise Chorus,” followed by the anthem, “The Middle.” If you didn’t scream along to “Everything, everything will be just fine,” were you even there?
After a brief encore, the band ambled back onstage for a heartfelt finale. “Night Drive” and “The World You Love” closed the night, leaving the audience both elated and a little misty-eyed. This wasn’t just a gig; it was a reminder of the power of music to carry us through the years, to bridge the gap between who we were and who we are.
Jimmy Eat World’s music has transcended a quarter of a century, and last night was proof of why. Their songs—uplifting, raw, and timeless—are a testament to the staying power of a band that has evolved with their fans without ever losing their heart. Sometimes, all you need is to dust off your old Converse, grab your best friend, and dance the night away to the songs that made you who you are. And if Gen Z don’t recognise or know emo as a genre? Well, they’re the ones missing out.
Fresh off the heels of an appearance on Later… with Jools Holland, much of the crowd had an idea of what to expect, perhaps holding preconceived notions of who and what this band might be.
However, I doubt anyone was prepared for what was about to unfold. Without warning, Gurriers hit the stage with hurricane-like force. Within moments of the first chord, the crowd was commanded to dance, erupting into a mass of movement, with slamming and something close to crowd-surfing breaking out.
Band members hurled themselves into the audience, and the mezzanine—initially a seeming safe haven—quickly became the focal point of the room. The eager crowd absorbed and amplified the relentless energy, returning it threefold. I have never seen Mono’s roof metaphorically lifted off its foundations quite like this.
This is the sound of young Ireland. While it may be tempting, if not easy, to compare them to other Irish bands, Gurriers truly stand alone. Formed in the early days of the pandemic and refined in lockdown, this Dublin-based five-piece tackles global issues head-on.
Tracks like “Approachable” and “Top of the Bill” are perhaps the most accessible and recognisable, anchoring a set that remains hard-hitting and life-affirming throughout—raw, abrasive, yet musically rich.
Tonight was genuinely breathtaking. Take every opportunity to see this band live. In Glasgow tonight, Gurriers were undeniably gallus—cheeky, mischievous, and bold.
The Golden Bough 