If you ever wanted to see the end of civilization staged by two men thrashing about on a stage, holding back chaos with guitars, drumsticks, and a great deal of sweat, well, welcome to Soft Play at the Barras. They’re the prophets of post-punk hedonism, the harbingers of the apocalypse, and on this gray Sunday night, they reminded Glasgow that in the middle of the daily grind, we’re all just one missed rent payment from primal screams and headlong dives into the pit.

Kicking things off, we had Panic Shack—the Cardiff-based tornado of a band fronted by a banshee with big hair, killer eyeshadow, and a wardrobe raided from a thrift shop riot. They opened with “I Don’t Really Like It,” a fast, brash anthem that had the early crowd pogoing in solidarity.

Panic Shack don’t just play music; they weaponize it. You could call it punk, garage rock, or even glam-grit chaos, but their set felt like a beautiful, anarchic mess of attitude and eyeliner, laced with synchronised death drops that would make RuPaul weep.

And the standout? “The Ick”— , leaning hard into DIY punk energy with enough glam swagger to pull it off. A tune for anyone who’s ever been five minutes into a date and regretted everything.

As for Soft Play, they’re not here to coddle your feelings. Their mission is to tear down the patriarchy while dressed in the musky sweat of a thousand gym bros. The sound? Think of it as therapy by fire. They’re armed with bellowing bass, guitar riffs that scrape like nails on the chalkboard of your mind, and lyrics that don’t so much call out injustice as beat it senseless.

They open with “All Things”—a high-octane manifesto that declares, without preamble, that Soft Play aren’t interested in being your nice indie darlings. They’re here to rip the whole setup apart. Isaac Holman dual singer and stand-up drummer (because apparently sitting down to drum is for the pithy) spits out lyrics like he’s announcing the end of the world, while guitarist Laurie Vincent, a tangle of limbs and intensity, spends the night bounding across the stage like a feral cat in an alley fight.

“Mirror Muscles” follows, and by now the audience—2,000 strong, shouting like a mob awaiting bread— are lapping it up. It’s primal and beautiful.

When they hit “Fuck the Hi Hat,” it’s clear that Soft Play don’t just play music; they create ritualistic mayhem. The guitarist Laurie vanishes into the crowd, and the moshing intensifies.

Halloween is right around the corner and we spot a gorilla and a banana (we hope the came together) furiously thrashing around and all. Security’s on high alert, plucking bodies out of the pit like errant popcorn kernels on a hot stove.

Then there’s “Punks Dead”—their rallying cry, their anthem, and it has every single person in the room screaming along in unity. They’re channeling it, absorbing every raw ounce of Glasgow grit and fury and flinging it right back. And then they ask, “Can we find the backflip king of Glasgow?” as “Girl Fight” roars into action. Out from the depths emerges some brave gymnast—fueled by adrenaline and probably more than a few pints of Tennents—who nails the move to roars that could raise the dead.

There’s a pause. A hush. As Laurie appears, a sweating visionary with a mandolin in hand, they dedicates “Everything and Nothing” to “anyone going through something.” It’s a moment of grace, as if we’ve all been baptized in the fray. It’s soft, it’s unexpected, and for one strange moment, the Barras feels more like a cathedral than a ballroom.

And then, as if that flicker of tenderness never happened, they end with The Mushroom and the Swan and Beauty Quest, reaching the final crescendo with The Hunter, the track that serves as their gateway drug of choice. It’s loud, raw, and devastating. In a world gone mad, Soft Play have found their rightful place as the house band of the end times, and they’re making sure we’re all dancing as it comes crashing down.

Article: Angela Canavan

Few artists can command a stage like John Grant, and at Glasgow’s legendary Barrowlands—a venue known for its electric energy and storied history—Grant’s performance was nothing short of magnetic. Originally from Michigan, Grant has won a global following with his fusion of synth-pop, electronica, and indie-rock, crafting a sound that’s both expansive and intensely personal. Tonight, the Barrowlands crowd witnessed a set that was as theatrical as it was heartfelt, with every track a study in atmosphere, vulnerability, and pure musical prowess.

But before Giant’s synth-driven grandeur took hold, it was Big Special’s turn to rile up the crowd. Channeling gritty post-punk and garage rock energy, Big Special stomped on stage with a wild confidence that instantly captivated. Their rallying cry—“We’re not John Grant, but we come with a message: the disco starts now!”—set an audacious tone for the evening. The duo’s sound is all grit and raw fervor, and their punchy, anthemic tracks like Black Horse Legs and Distant Stories resonated deeply. “Anyone want to be honorary Midlanders?” they called out, managing to wrest a few whoops from a tough crowd.

“We don’t get to play the Barrowlands that often so let’s do have a dance on that famous dance floor..” with that both members of the band carrying a cymbal launch themselves in amongst the throngs of people gathered to cry out through dancing with more than just a pinch of audience participation. Their track “Tries” With a gritty blend of post-punk stomp and sharp humor, Big Special pulled off an opening that was both chaotic and unforgettable.

When the lights dimmed and John Grant’s set began, it was like stepping into a different universe. His stage was packed with synthesizers, drum machines, and gadgets, setting the scene for his synth-pop and electronic-fueled odyssey. Opening with the haunting Spooky Intro, inspired by horror films, Grant set a cinematic tone before launching into All the School for Nothing, wielding a keytar and effortlessly shifting between irony and sincerity. This track—blending new-wave edge with electronic melancholy—captured the essence of Grant’s unique sound: a rich blend of synth-pop atmospherics and emotional vulnerability.

The show felt like two acts. The first half was operatic and sweeping, highlighted by disco laden tracks like Black Belt and Mars, with the stage lights casting an otherworldly glow that turned Barrowlands into an interplanetary dance floor. His disco-heavy sound and signature humor came through on tracks like Daddy and Zeitgeist, creating an immersive, larger-than-life experience.

The second half saw Grant delve into his melancholic, introspective side, shifting effortlessly into synth ballads like Glacier and Pale Green Ghosts, with a stripped-back sound that left the crowd entranced. With Boy from Michigan, Giant turned reflective, sharing his anxieties about the upcoming U.S. election. These moments revealed his rare ability to balance grandeur with raw vulnerability.

“I’m wearing this because I feel very reverent,” he joked, donning a robe and summoning his assistant for a pair of sunglasses—an irreverent moment amid the theatrical intensity as the band prepared for the encore.

The night closed with a full-throttle finale featuring Meek AF, The Child Catcher, and an extended, rocked-out version of Chicken Bones that took the energy to new heights. John Grant’s performance was a blend of theater, synth-pop disco, and rock intensity—a true spectacle that showed why he holds such a special place in his fans’ hearts.

Article: Angela Canavan

It’s a cold, wet night. Typically Glaswegian. Winter is decidedly setting in, and any lingering summer warmth is now long gone. It is, after all, Scotland. On this particular dreary October night, however, it’s not all doom and gloom, and in the city’s Old Fruitmarket, there is a respite to be found.

Nina Nesbitt has been putting out music for more than a decade now, breaking through with her 2012 EP The Apple Tree. On her most recent record, Mountain Music, she leans more toward a folk sound, creating a warm, enveloping feeling that inhabits the album. Tonight, that is reflected in her stage design, decorated with autumnal leaves, warm lamps, and wool jumpers. A couple of songs in, Nina takes a moment to introduce her backing band, most of whom contributed to the recording of her latest album, coming together to add their individual touches to Nina’s stunning vocals and guitar playing.

The setlist focuses heavily on songs from Mountain Music, and with a new verse of Big Things, Small Town (written en route to the venue) dedicated to her own Scottish roots, Nina is evidently proud of her heritage. Throughout the night, the audience stands completely entranced, in near-total silence except for moments when Nina invites them to join in singing.

“You will leave here more sad than you arrived,” jokes Nina toward the start of her set. By the end of the night, she couldn’t have proved herself more wrong.

Article: Elliot Hetherton

The night began with Real Farmer, a quartet of punk from the Netherlands, their energy taut, sharp, and urgent. We loved tracks “Consequence” and “The Straightest Line” They tore through their set like a band with something to prove, culminating in an impassioned cry of “Up the Punks” and rallying shouts for the freedom of Palestine and Lebanon—a plea so raw it hung in the air long after the amps had quieted.

Then, a shift. The Libertines graced the stage just five minutes late—a far cry from the chaotic, impatient days when their lateness was as infamous as their music. Gone are the times when fans waited an hour or more for Pete Doherty to stumble on stage; now, he’s as likely to bring his dog up with him as he is to bring the mayhem. The Albion Rooms backdrop loomed behind them, a ghost of their past and a nod to the ramshackle glory days, but tonight felt different. This was a band, seasoned but not broken, reflecting on the past without being strangled by it.

As the first notes of “The Delaney” hit, followed by “The Likely Lads,” the crowd’s response was immediate—bodies thrown over each other, arms reaching out for the starry ceiling above. It was like watching old friends meeting again for the first time, and the room was soon swimming in bodies, sweat, and memory. The Barrowland Ballroom—famous for its ability to wrap a crowd into a communal, sweating embrace—became a living, breathing extension of the music they loved as teenagers.

Carl Barât and Pete Doherty, who’ve weathered more than a decade of public highs and devastating lows, stood side by side like brothers. There’s a palpable sense that these two have dug through the dirt of their past and emerged scarred but united, and there’s beauty in that. They exchanged glances, and without a word, the music took over—the timeless swagger of “Up the Bracket” paired effortlessly with newer material like “Merry Old England” and “Night of the Hunter.” The room was alive with nostalgia, yes, but also a sense of something deeper, a resilience built over time.

During “Can’t Stand Me Now,” the crowd screamed every word. It was an odd kind of interlude—both a reminder of fractures past and a sign of how far they’ve come. The crowd eager for more, and the band only too happy to oblige them with a six-song encore that felt like a victory lap through the heart of their catalog.

Pete paused for a moment before “Man With the Melody,” making a heartfelt mention of John Hassall and the history of this song—a footnote in the tangled web of Libertines side projects and what-could-have-beens. They gathered around John, their bassist and the understated man with the melody, to deliver a somber yet tender performance. It was like they were paying tribute to their younger selves, as John wrote this song at the tender age of 16.

And then came the final onslaught: “Last Post on the Bugle,” “Time for Heroes,” “What a Waster,” and, of course, the grand finale—“Don’t Look Back into the Sun.” The Barrowland Ballroom, dripping with sweat, reverberated with the echoes of countless gigs, countless moments of elation, and pain shared between audience and band. Each song was like a dagger twisted in the ribs of time—cutting, but a reminder that you’re still alive.

Gary Powell, ever the powerhouse on drums, thanked the audience with the same passion that drove every beat of the night. His final plea to “Free Palestine” was a perfect punctuation—a reminder that, despite the fun and chaos, The Libertines are still a band with a heart that beats for more than just their own legend.

There’s humor in the darkness here, though. The Libertines have always known that life is a tragic farce—one moment you’re a cult hero, the next a washed-up headline—but tonight they laughed in the face of all of it. That’s what made this show at the Barrowland so electric. It wasn’t just about nostalgia, it wasn’t about the chaos of youth—it was about finding meaning in the wreckage and carrying on, bruised but with a smile.

Words: Angela Canavan

Photos: Elliot Hetherton & Angela Canavan

Fans really showed up for alternative indie-pop artist Zoe Graham, with her selling out at SWG3’s The Poetry Club. It was her first headline show in a long time and she was accompanied by a band who really upped the ante; Findlay Smith on drums, Charlotte Printer on bass, Louise Lacroix on synth, and Craig McMann on brass.

Opening with her latest release “Push and Pull” had the crowd eager to hear more. She followed with a few more uplifting and upbeat songs. A popular one with the crowd being “Evilin” where she tells the story behind the music video for it being a take on Fanny Cradock, “An 80s TV chef who looked like Margret Thatcher but who could make a good roast chicken”, charming the crowd with her jokes along the way. 

She took the stage herself mid way through to bring the crowd down with some heartfelt songs, her folky and velvet voice carrying all the way to the back of the room.

The energy was brought back soon after as the band rejoined her for the final few tracks, with her encouraging crowd interaction in “Good Girl” with everyone singing the woof like melody, which she openly described herself. Finishing on a re-edit of an old song, “Hackit and Knackered” was a great end to encompass the night, blending the old with the new. It looks to be an exciting future for up and coming artist Zoe Graham.

Article: Reanne McArthur

Opening act KAETO glides around the stage, performing feel-good, dynamic electro-pop dance beats in an effortless fashion, layering vocals and instruments. Standout track “U R MINE” carries a simple message yet enchants the audience with lyrics made to be screamed from the rooftops. The lead singer switches in and out of vocal ranges throughout the set, creating a captivating performance full of tension, love, and light-heartedness. The track “CARRY YOU” highlights the band’s brilliance and imaginative approach, packed with a diverse range of musical inspirations, from shoegaze to alt-pop. KAETO know how to put on a show, and the confidence radiates from every band member, making for a truly sweet start to a wondrous night of music.

Ethereal Scottish rockers LUCIA AND THE BEST BOYS owned the stage in black leather splendour, performing an intoxicating selection of tracks from their latest album, BURNING CASTLES, as well as songs from their discography. The attention-grabbing “WHEN YOU DRESS UP” was performed as the opener, immediately showcasing Lucia’s flawless vocals and encapsulating everything the band represents, with 70s and 80s-inspired magnificence. “SO SWEET I COULD DIE” was a standout track, with a beautifully written hook and melody—qualities the band continues to master in their music time and time again.

Majestic London-based rock band THE LAST DINNER PARTY opened with the heavy, dramatic track “BURN ALIVE” from their latest album release, PRELUDE TO ECSTASY. The band enthralled the audience with clear, concise lyricism, dressed in angel wings and ballgowns as they twirled and danced while playing their instruments in perfect harmony. Their cheerfulness and exuberance stuck with the audience throughout the night. The set paused for a moment of philanthropy as the band gave a shout-out to BANQUET, a food bank charity they partnered with for this tour, thanking fans for the funds raised on the UK tour so far. The track “BIG DOG” electrified the room with raw, powerful emotion and rock guitar licks, a strong contender for the night’s highlight. As the keys came into play for the final song, “NOTHING MATTERS,” lead singer Abigail Morris proclaimed, “And just remember, nothing matters.”

All the musicians tonight were truly impressive, and it won’t be long before we see each of them filling stadiums.

Article: Rose McEnroe

The 10th edition of Tenement Trail, Glasgow’s annual new music pilgrimage, proved once again why the event organizers are considered saints for the fledgling band.

For a decade now, they’ve been championing the unsung, the undiscovered, and the “soon-to-be-reckoned-with,” offering a crucial stage (or in this case, nine stages) for those who are often still deciding on a band name, never mind a PR strategy.

Fifty artists across nine venues—that’s not just a music festival; that’s a city-wide endurance test for your hearing and liver. And as ever, the crowd, fueled by pizza, Tennent’s Light and the promise of witnessing the next Fontaines D.C., was ready for anything.

Barrowland 2 felt like the epicenter of the mayhem. First up on the stage, YesNoMaybe?, a band name that reads like the internal monologue of a guy on a first date. But don’t be fooled by the playful moniker; these guys are tipped for great things. Their set, capped by a standout track, “God Isn’t Real”, was a masterclass in post-punk energy, tight enough to remind you why you keep coming back to this grime-slicked city for live music. With sharp riffs and a bassline that seemed to make the room vibrate in sympathy, it was clear they’ve graduated from the DIY scene into something much more dangerous.

Over at Van Winkle, Aim For Two delivered the kind of loud music that should come with a health warning. They played like their amps were responsible for keeping the universe from imploding. It was somewhere between stoner rock and a demolition derby, all cranked-up riffs and hollered choruses. “Arrows in the Sky,” their standout track, hit like a meteorite—a great fit for a festival that thrives on chaos.

By the time Dallas Love Field hit the stage at BAaD, it was clear Tenement Trail hadn’t lost its touch. With the atmospheric “Serpentine Road”, they brought a swagger that was somehow both effortless and razor-sharp. Not bad for a group who clearly spent more time rehearsing and honing their craft than coming up with a name that makes sense in Scottish weather.

rEDOLENT returned to Barrowland 2 to remind everyone that melody and noise are not mutually exclusive. The grimey dream-pop soundscapes of “Dinny Greet” drenched in reverb and layered vocals, had the crowd swaying along.

But let’s cut the chase—Curiosity Shop at The Winged Ox stole the entire festival (for us). Their sound, equal parts whimsical folk and experimental blues , stood out like a goth at a communion. “One for the Shirtpocket” hooked the audience like a tractor beam, and by the end, half the room was convinced they’d just witnessed something monumental. With so many finely composed tracks experimenting with a myriad of instruments from; bass, accordion, harmonium and banjo, each woven in to the tapestry of their ethereal soundscapes. This was the kind of band you stumble upon at a festival and smugly tell your friends, “I saw them back when…”

Kilgour, returning to Van Winkle, was a blend of blues, grunge, and existential crises, all delivered with a smirk and the type of self-deprecation that makes Scots so endearing. Their track “Gutter Bug” was both cathartic and destructive, like Nirvana with a hangover.

Meanwhile, Kuleeangee at Barrowland 2 brought an infectious party vibe, the kind of band you dance to before realizing you have no idea how long you’ve been on your feet. They’re yet to release music, but tracks like “Is it Alright?” lit the room up, a clear signal they’re about to crash the scene with something big.

Over at BAaD, The Era played like they were headlining a much bigger venue. With a sound that mixes alt-rock with indie grandeur and the joy of what we have lovingly termed ‘industrial harp’ their performance of “Black Leather Lover” felt like a prophecy—they’re on the cusp of greatness, and if they can keep up this momentum, we’ll all be seeing them on much bigger stages soon.

In the midst of all the chaos at Barrowland 2, Dutch Wine swaggered onto the stage, bringing their own brand of jangly indie shoegaze rock that felt like it was dipped in summer nostalgia. Their song “If I Fall Through the Ceiling” shimmered through the room like sunlight cutting through a cloudy Glasgow afternoon. But the real show-stealer? Their guitarist, who, by all accounts, might have been the hardest working man at the entire festival. Between shredding solos, sprinting around the stage like he was late for a train, and somehow keeping the whole set tight, it was like watching a man possessed by the spirit of every rock ‘n’ roll legend that came before him. If ever there was a trophy for pure, unfiltered effort, Dutch Wine’s guitarist deserved it, probably with a side of ibuprofen.

Meanwhile, at St. Luke’s, Parliamo turned the church-like venue into a raucous confessional. Their eclectic mix of punk and Britpop had everyone moving, and their standout track “Sweet” was a kind of joyous anthem, filled with enough swagger to make even the most stoic in the crowd crack a smile. Parliamo is one of those bands that feels as though they’re about to become synonymous with Glasgow’s ever-evolving music scene.

Back at The Winged Ox, Fright Years delivered a slow-burn set that built up to “Every Weekend,” a song that felt like a 90s grunge outfit wandering through a deserted cityscape. Their melancholic indie rock had the crowd hypnotized, offering a nice contrast to the louder acts around them.

And speaking of standout acts, Lacuna, also at The Winged Ox, put on a powerhouse performance. It’s fantastic to see more female-fronted groups like this emerging, and with tracks like “Sinking Woman”, they made it clear they’re here to challenge the scene’s male-heavy stereotype either their soaring harmonies and quaint Au Revior Simone vibe.

At BAaD, Black Fondu provided a groove-laden set that oozed cool. Their glitchy, industrial power punk track “Another Domestic” was a perfect choice for a room that was quickly filling up with curious onlookers, drawn in by this one man powerhouse wailing into the mic.

Then came the grand finale—Vlure. Before they even took the stage, BAaD was at max capacity, a sweaty mass of bodies ready to be leveled. By the time Psweatpants joined them for the first few songs, the energy in the room was bordering on euphoric. “Shattered Faith” was the track that sent the room into overdrive, a wall of sound that seemed capable of leveling buildings. “Show Me How To Live” had the sizeable crowd clambering onto friends shoulders as the band took to the crowd. The only thing that kept the room from exploding was the fact that Vlure’s set had to, eventually, end.

As the final notes faded, the importance of Tenement Trail in Glasgow’s cultural bloodstream couldn’t have been clearer. It’s a festival for the fringe, the emerging, and the brave—those who’ll be headlining someday and those who’ll remain cult favourites.

As the final note reverberated through the room, it was hard not to feel a sense of awe at what Tenement Trail has built over the past decade. This festival is a vital part of Glasgow’s musical DNA, a place where new bands cut their teeth, old favorites remind us why we fell in love with them, and every moment feels like you’re on the verge of discovering the next big thing.

In the end, Tenement Trail isn’t just a festival—it’s a testament to the fact that new music is still worth the search, the sweat, and, in Glasgow’s case, the rain-soaked journey from one gig to the next. In a world where live music feels increasingly commodified, Tenement Trail stands out as a reminder that the future of music is being forged in these grimy venues, one reckless, beautiful song at a time.

Article: Angela Canavan.

June 2022. I’m at a half-full Hug & Pint, just in time for the support act. A band then unknown to me, and most of those in the room, these openers spend their set thrashing their guitars, leaving the crowd in a welcome sense of sonic bewilderment. Their name? Wunderhorse.

Tonight, barely two years later, that same band is walking out onto the Barrowland stage, greeted by almost two thousand of the fans they’ve won over in that short time. Two albums in, Wunderhorse have managed to walk the tricky line of pushing their songwriting forward while staying true to who they are as musicians, establishing themselves as one of the most promising acts of the decade.

The band tears through a set of songs from both Cub and Midas, creating a formidable wave of guitars and bass crashing down continuously to the joy of the audience. Standout tracks like “Leader of the Pack,” “Teal,” and “Girl Behind the Glass” electrify the room, while the final chorus of fan-favorite “Purple” sees Jacob Slater step back from the microphone, letting the crowd take over vocal duties—a goosebumps moment if ever there was one.

It’s incredible to witness the growth that Wunderhorse has enjoyed in recent years, a reward perhaps for their clear love of their craft. Guitar music has never needed saving, but if anyone had to, I know who I’d be calling first.

Article : Elliot Hetherton

Entering the O2 Academy, you’re instantly struck by a sea of t-shirts, half Joy Division, half New Order, with the occasional Peter Hook design thrown in for good measure. It’s a crowd caught between eras, one side mourning the late Ian Curtis, the other celebrating the synth-driven highs of New Order’s evolution. As Hooky himself took the stage, guitar slung low, as always, the atmosphere felt charged—less a gig, more a pilgrimage.

“This is for Ian Curtis,” Peter Hook declares early on, his voice thick with remembrance. “We are here tonight and every other night to commemorate his life—44 years gone. God rest his soul.” It’s a moment that encapsulates the duality of the evening—an act of homage, but also of rebirth. Hook’s voice may not evoke the dark baritone of Curtis, but then, anyone expecting an Ian Curtis impersonation came for the wrong reasons. What you get instead is something equally vital: heart, soul, and a deeply personal connection to the material.

The night kicked off with New Order classics—Regret, Crystal, and What Do You Want From Me—each one a reminder of the band’s evolution post-Joy Division, shimmering with synths and punchy rhythms. Hooky’s voice is distinct, rough around the edges compared to Bernard Sumner’s smoother delivery, but that raggedness adds a raw, emotional energy to the performance. Crystal, in particular, felt defiant, the pulsating rhythm matched by the bouncing bodies in the audience.

What followed was a full dive into the Substance albums of both New Order and Joy Division, the setlist a near-perfect balance between Hook’s two musical lives. The biggest hits naturally stood out—Temptation, Bizarre Love Triangle, and the towering Blue Monday sent shockwaves through the Academy. Each one was performed with an urgency that belied their decades-old release dates, proof that these tracks, in Hook’s hands, are as vital as ever.

After a short intermission, the second half took a darker, more introspective turn, as Hook led the crowd through some of Joy Division’s most iconic tracks. Heart and Soul, Transmission, She’s Lost Control, and Shadowplay all served as stark reminders of the band’s genius. Here, the mood shifted from nostalgia to something heavier, more profound—an elegy for what was lost and a celebration of what remains. Hook’s bassline on Transmission throbbed through the crowd like a living thing, while She’s Lost Control was frenetic, a controlled chaos that seemed to mirror Curtis’ own struggles.

As the night drew to a close, the inevitable happened—the opening chords of Love Will Tear Us Apart rang out, and the entire Academy erupted. It was a fitting finale, one of those rare moments where a song transcends the years and becomes something more, a connection not just between the audience and the band, but with the spirit of Curtis himself.

It’s impossible to ignore the gravity of a Peter Hook and the Light show. This is not a nostalgia act nor a carbon copy of what came before. It’s something deeply personal, a testament to the enduring power of both Joy Division and New Order, seen through the lens of one of their key architects. And as Hook’s guitar hung improbably low, his voice straining in all the right places, you were reminded that this is his legacy too—a living, breathing one at that.

Words: Angela Canavan

Photos: Angela Canavan

If there is music that can break out and yet exist in that quiet, probable space between the Earth and the stars… then it is the work of Joan As Police Woman.

A force of nature created by and reflecting the tragedy and beauty of life, the songs of Joan Wasser fill St Luke’s with a fragility and strength that leaves the audience spellbound, and at times, the singer visibly emotional.

The new songs from the current album Lemons, Limes and Orchids feature heavily, aptly beginning with “The Dream” and ending with an encore that includes “Real Life.”

Quivering between hope and despair, songs like “Long to Ruin,” “Eternal Flame,” and “Started for Free” are perfect platforms for her mesmerising voice, delicate drums, guitar, and keyboard to deliver their message.

The decision to have two sets was inspired and allows the audience to mingle (as instructed) and discuss their shared experience. There is a sense of dismay that Joan As Police Woman isn’t playing far, far larger venues, and that she is not universally known. There is also a sense of gratitude that one can be in such close proximity to an artist at their peak — an artist who has collaborated with Lou Reed, John Cale, Rufus Wainwright, Tony Allen, David Byrne, Damon Albarn, Beck… the list goes on.

Those who are here know… and those who don’t will eventually find out.

It was one of those “I was there” nights.

Joan As Police Woman plays Edinburgh in January 2025. Be there.

Words & Photos: Chris Hogge