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.
Despite breaking down en route to Glasgow, the ironically named Automotion arrive just in time to deliver a six-song set that’s hard to define but easy to love. Their sound sits somewhere between psych, shoegaze, and abrasive rock, creating a unique blend that is both edgy and melodic. Their style recalls Glasgow-based Man of Moon and the ever-influential My Bloody Valentine, yet Automotion brings its own experimental edge to the mix.
The two-man-fronted, four-piece band fills Mono with a hypnotic sonic landscape that’s warmly received by the nearly full venue. Later, I discover that Automotion are soon to head into the studio with a roster of producers. Who knows what exciting results this prospect will bring, or how their sound will grow and develop from here?
Perhaps the best way to define Automotion is as multi-layered and ever-evolving. They are, without a doubt, one to watch.
Tonight feels like an old-school night. The area around the O2 Academy is buzzing, there’s a guy selling dodgy shirts for cash or card (new school), and The Laurieston is mobbed. There is such an air of expectation and excitement… as if people need tonight… need bands to fight back and have a voice where the solitary individual doesn’t.
Amyl and the Sniffers come on stage to chants of ‘Fuck Trump,’ and Amy is smiling from ear to ear, letting out a feral call to arms. Eyeing up the crowd, she probably realises that the night is already theirs. It feels like a homecoming gig… buckle up… the touch paper is lit.
As they launch into ‘Doing My Head In,’ Amy thrashes around the stage, and the boys deliver a sonic assault that is so much heavier than could’ve been imagined years ago. Gone are the DIY, sub-2-minute pure punk slices of ‘Stole My Bike…’; the band have grown and matured into one of the most vital and important bands around. They are now so musically accomplished that even the older songs are thunderous, where before they might have just been angry. Think less Ramones… less CBGB… think more Fast Eddie.
The fact that they have been flatmates in the past and friends for such a long time is evident. Their ease on stage is heartwarming. With plenty of banter and joking… Buckfast is drunk, Gus is advised not to go running despite wearing a Jamaican football team tracksuit, and it’s fairly obvious that the party is going to continue at Sleazy’s.
Songs from the new album feature heavily in tonight’s set. ‘Security’s’ and ‘Guided by Angels’ become crowd sing-alongs, yet it is the beautifully slow-tempo ‘Big Dreams’ that provides one of the most touching moments of the evening. A sheer delight. Normal service is soon resumed as the band launch into a hard-hitting ‘It’s Mine’ and the classic ‘Got You.’
‘Tiny Bikini,’ ‘Me and the Boys,’ and ‘You Shouldn’t Be Doing That’ are such gems. Simple lyrics dealing with the complexities of the modern world. Everyone can relate and appreciate.
The night concludes with the surprising inclusion of 2017’s ‘Balaclava Boogie’ and the mind-blowing ‘GFY.’
Tonight saw the band at the top of their game, so far from home (Oz) but adored as if they were ours.
This may have been the worst of days for some, but it was the best of nights for all.m inside the hallowed walls of Glasgows O2 Academy.
The tour continues, with the band going on to play three nights at the Roundhouse in London… the place where Patti Smith famously said, ‘I haven’t fucked much with the past, but I’ve fucked plenty with the future.’ In Glasgow, Amy reassures us that the ‘future is not written in stone.’ Sometimes the best forms of defence are attack.
With the results of the American election hanging heavily in the air, Atlanta’s DIY punks Upchuck were always going to deliver a full-throttle, full-frontal assault of venting, brutal, and direct music.
How could it be any other way? Expressing anger, disappointment, and yet possible salvation, the backlit stage, along with dry ice, gives the air of a bubbling cauldron… an underworld of sound and light that attacks the senses and is unrelenting in its delivery.
Released on Famous Class Records, Upchuck are two albums in and start with heavyweight favourites like ‘Boss Up’ and ‘Freaks’. KT, engaging and mesmerising, marauds the stage, looking up high, middle finger saluting… looking for answers… offering solutions… Fuck Trump.
Mikey on guitar takes time to look out at the near-capacity crowd, possibly considering how different the night is compared to their last Glasgow show at The Hug and Pint in May.
Chris steps from behind the drums, strides to the front, and delivers a slice of Spanish-language ferocity. As the band reassembles, the lights drop, and the strobe lights strike. Upchuck swagger through their performance, taking the willing crowd with them. The visual and sonic impact cannot be underestimated.
KT launches herself into the audience to finish off the set with a blistering rendition of ‘Upchuck’, as the spotlight falls on her and the whirlpool she has created.
It is over all too soon. A lot of friends have been made, and Upchuck will be back.
Although not defined by their name, the raucous and physical expulsion of anger, disaffection, or frustration is very much a part of their DNA and their show, especially tonight. On another day, it may be a reflection of happiness or joy.
Ice Spice’s Halloween show at Barrowlands in Glasgow had all the ingredients for a spectacle but was a bit like a trick-or-treat bag that’s half-empty. This 24-year-old, bringing her debut album Y2K to the Glaswegian stage, surely hoped for more bodies to fill the venue, but with Halloween parties in full swing elsewhere, the Barrowlands was a ghost town by its usual rowdy standards.
Ever the diva, Ice Spice made an eyebrow-raising entrance before she even hit the stage, demanding photographers vacate the photo pit, forcing shots to be snapped from afar—a move more Mariah than millennial. Dressed as a Playboy bunny, she hopped onto the stage with an inflatable rabbit and an entourage of dancers and pyrotechnics, all building up to an opening bang with “Popa.” Despite the sparse crowd, she commanded attention from the get-go, her charisma filling in where the audience numbers lacked.
“Princess Diana” brought out a surprising level of regal attitude, followed by “Barbie World,” which got a cheer as big as any roar you’d expect from a full house. Tracks like “GYAT” and “Boy’s a Liar Pt. 2” threw punchy, catchy hooks that had the crowd bopping along as if to banish the Halloween chill. And for all her diva flourishes, Ice Spice did bring warmth, chatting playfully with fans as if they were an intimate circle of friends at a Halloween afterparty.
She wrapped up with “Think U the Sh*t (Fart),” a cheeky finale for a performer whose mix of bratty confidence and down-to-earth charm creates a tension both fascinating and funny. A Halloween treat? Yes. But here’s hoping next time the crowd is more tricked out too.
Bob Vylan at SWG3 in Glasgow was an electrifying performance, the kind that seems to raise the venue’s temperature by sheer energy alone. Having first experienced him at TRNSMT 2023, we were primed for his brash, hybrid punk, which blends grime, hardcore, and protest music with a kind of raw defiance. He opened with “Reign,” setting an immediate tone of aggression and purpose. Next, “Get Yourself a Gun” pumped up the crowd, blending vicious riffs with biting lyrics.
The tempo shifted slightly when he dropped into a gritty, reverberating cover of Roy Ayers’ “Everybody Loves the Sunshine,” casting a shadow over the track’s original warmth. But it was in “We Live Here” that Bob Vylan’s ethos truly hit home—a visceral critique of life under Britain’s social and racial inequities, performed with an urgency that seemed to resonate deeply with the audience. He closed with “Hunger Games,” an explosive finale that left no doubt about his intentions to push, prod, and provoke.
Onstage, his presence is relentless, a blur of frenetic movement and razor-sharp vocals, every beat fueled by a passion for change. Driven by his own experiences of inequality, Bob Vylan’s music aims not just to entertain but to confront and challenge, grounding his anger in lived experience and a desire for social justice.
Celebrating his 17th solo album, Paul Weller steps onto the Barrowland stage. An artist who’s never faded away, one who’s continually evolved, Weller shows gratitude to the jubilant crowd and adjusts his guitar.
My mind drifts back to images of The Jam—young, raw, and playing a street concert in London’s Soho in October 1976. Forty-eight years may have passed, but, in essence, little has changed. Paul Weller remains stylish, politically charged, and tirelessly prolific. So many songs. I glance at tonight’s set list—21 tracks, not even counting the encores.
With a voice like no other, one that feels stronger and more assured than ever, Weller takes us on a journey through the vast landscape of his career, touching on everything from The Style Council’s “Shout to the Top!” to The Jam’s “Start!” The night crescendos in a powerhouse finale with “Town Called Malice.”
What more can be said about this artist that hasn’t already been written? His career is so multi-faceted it seems impossible to capture it all in a two-hour set, but that’s exactly what happens. The performance is mesmerizing, the transitions between songs seamless and unified, creating an invisible thread that ties it all together.
It’s a beautiful night in a hot, sweaty Barrowland. The crowd adores Paul Weller, and he reciprocates as they cheer him on.
What you give is what you get.
Sixty-six years strong, and Weller’s still not out.
The Golden Bough 