The Pixies rolled into Glasgow’s O2 Academy like a band with nothing left to prove, but plenty to remind us about. Right from the first feral chords of “Gouge Away,” the crowd was putty in their hands, whipped into a frenzy that would make a Glaswegian Saturday night look like tea with the Queen. Black Francis, as usual, had no interest in small talk—his mission was pure, primal sonic delivery, and boy, did the band deliver.
They served up an incredible set that was equal parts nostalgia trip and rock ‘n’ roll clinic, with deep cuts unearthed from the depths of their twisted back catalogue and no less than three cover versions sprinkled in for good measure. Not that anyone was complaining—when The Pixies decide to cover a song, they make it theirs, warping and twisting it until it’s less a tribute and more a resurrection.
Now, I’ve got to confess, I hopped on the Pixies train a bit late. It was “Where Is My Mind?” featured in Fight Club that pulled me in—something about the way Black Francis’s wails sounded like the ravings of a man teetering on the edge of sanity.
That voice was in top form tonight, alternately snarling, howling, and spewing out hyperbole like a deranged poet. The fact that the band didn’t pause between songs to exchange pleasantries with the audience wasn’t a letdown; if anything, it kept the intensity dialed up to eleven, with maybe a minor dip somewhere toward the middle of the marathon 2.5hr set.
They kicked off with “Wave of Mutilation”—and yes, they played it twice, with the UK Surf edit making a later appearance like an old friend crashing the party for one last round. Somewhere in the maelstrom of distortion and punk fury, they slipped in The Jesus and Mary Chain’s “Head On,” followed by the manic “Isla De Encanta,” each song pushing the crowd further towards ecstatic chaos.
As for personal highlights, the galaxy-spanning “All Over the World” felt like it could tear the roof off the place, while “Hey” and “Ana” offered a sort of twisted intimacy, the kind where you’re never sure if you’re supposed to sway along or check under your bed for monsters. When they dropped the live debut of “Motorola,” the audience collectively lost their minds—it was like watching a cult leader reveal his latest prophecy. From there, it was one hit after another: “Monkey Gone to Heaven” was a spiritual experience, “Is She Weird?” confirmed that yes, she definitely is, and “Debaser” along with “Here Comes Your Man” reminded everyone why the Pixies are still untouchable.
The cover of “In Heaven (Lady in the Radiator)” by Peter Ivers and David Lynch was a surreal curveball, fitting perfectly into the evening’s sense of warped reality. And then, with cruel precision, they wrapped it up with “Where Is My Mind?” and Neil Young’s “Winterlong.” No encore, just multiple bows to the audience. It was the perfect ending—a reminder that the Pixies don’t need to pander or drag things out. They came, they conquered, they left us in awe.
So here’s the bottom line: If you weren’t at the O2 Academy tonight, you missed a band still at the height of their powers, reasserting their place in rock’s pantheon. Tight as a drum, loud as hell, and cool as ever, The Pixies proved once again why they’re the stuff of legend.
Navigating your way into Edinburgh’s Summer Sessions at Highland Hall feels like a trial by dampness. The Scottish weather isn’t just a feature—it’s a headliner, threatening rain at every corner like it’s got a personal vendetta against joy.
The walk from the main road is less of a stroll and more of a test of your commitment to live music, as you trudge through the kind of terrain that makes you question if your festival footwear was more optimistic than practical. Mine was indeed not.
First on the lineup, far too early for their own good, was Alabama 3. Here’s a band that’s as British as afternoon tea but pretends they’re straight out of a Southern dive bar. They kicked things off by taking a cheeky swipe at Taylor Swift, perhaps trying to win over a crowd who looked more ready for a pint than a pop star put-down. And yet, despite the early slot, there was something about their Southern-fried charm that fit perfectly with the afternoon’s relentless gray.
Their set was a mix of tongue-in-cheek anthems and bluesy bangers. “You Don’t Dance to Tekno Anymore” got people nodding along, resigned to the fact that their techno days might actually be behind them. “Ain’t Going to Goa” and “Bam Ba Lam” brought a little fire, but it was “Woke Up This Morning” that really got the crowd going. The female vocalist was nothing short of hypnotic, her voice cutting through the drizzle like a beacon in the fog. You couldn’t help but get sucked into their world, even if you were still secretly wondering why they were playing in daylight.
As the afternoon rolled on, Embrace took the stage with the enthusiasm of a band that knows exactly what they mean to their audience. If Alabama 3 was a sly wink, Embrace was a warm hug. Their crowd was sizeable, drawn in by the promise of nostalgia wrapped in singalong choruses. And the band delivered, looking like they were genuinely thrilled to be there—possibly more thrilled than anyone else in the audience.
“All You Good People” kicked off their set, and it was like someone turned up the serotonin. “Nature’s Law” hit the emotional sweet spot, and by the time they got to “Come Back to What You Know” and “Ashes,” it was clear that this was a band who had found their sweet spot years ago and stayed there, comfortably, ever since. They closed with “Gravity,” a song that felt like a collective exhale after a set full of feel-good highs.
Then came The View, the Dundonian upstarts who arrived like a gust of wind strong enough to knock over your pint. These guys weren’t just playing to the crowd; they were challenging it. With a uniform of short shorts and shirts that screamed “we’ve been doing this since school,” they blasted into “Same Jeans” with an energy that could only come from a band who still believes in the power of loud guitars and relentless hooks.
“Wasted Little DJs” and “Superstar Tradesmen” followed, each track a testament to their scrappy, never-grow-up attitude. And as they rounded off their set with “Grace,” it was clear that The View might have been the storm we’d all been waiting for, the kind that makes you forget about the weather.
Finally, Ocean Colour Scene sauntered on stage to the kind of applause reserved for local legends. If the earlier acts were about shaking off the rain, OCS was about basking in the warm glow of collective memory. They started with “The Riverboat Song,” a track so ingrained in British rock culture that it might as well be piped through the speakers at every pub across the UK.
“Hundred Mile High City” cranked up the energy, with a guitar riff that could wake the dead, while “The Circle” and “Travellers Tune” played like a greatest hits of every pub back room gig you’ve ever stumbled into. And then came “The Day We Caught the Train,” a song so universally beloved that you could almost forget the walk, the weather, and the wet.
As the night drew to a close and the trek back to reality loomed, you couldn’t help but smile. Highland Hall, with all its quirks and challenges, had turned into a refuge from the everyday. And in a place where the rain is always a breath away, sometimes a great gig is all the sunshine you need.
On a humid Glasgow night, where the air was thick with a mix of anticipation and the scent of spilled lager, Marc Rebillet, AKA Loop Daddy, the musical madman, the maestro of the absurd—returned to the city that’s grown to love his particular brand of lunacy.
But tonight, at Galvanizers Yard, things felt a little different. The DIY charm that endeared him to a growing fanbase years ago, when he played in the smaller, grittier BAaD venue, had been upgraded—or perhaps downgraded, depending on your perspective—into something slicker, more polished, and dare I say it, a tad less wild.
Marc, bounded onto the stage in his signature boxer shorts and boots—because why would a man wear anything else when he’s about to unleash an evening of musical mayhem? His entrance was nothing short of a jailbreak, with Rebillet darting from one end of the stage to the other, as if he was fleeing from the very confines of his own sanity.
Behind him, the screen flickered with images that felt like the fever dreams of a 90s internet junkie: Pornhub-inspired graphics, giant inflatable cupcakes (or were those boobs? It’s hard to tell), and glitchy error codes that might have been pulled straight from the primordial soup of the World Wide Web. It was a strange, hilarious, and slightly disturbing sight—exactly what the doctor ordered.
The show began with a nod to the city that has, in a strange way, become a second home for the Loop Daddy. He opened with the Glaswegian chant, “Here We, Here We, Here We Fu@king Go,” the words rolling off his tongue with the ease of a local, and the crowd responded as if Pavlov had just rung his bell. It was a frenzied start, one that made you believe you were in for a night of unrelenting energy.
Yet, as the evening wore on, it became clear that the madness had been tempered. He seemed to seek out less audience participation, usually Rebillet would invite the audience to shout out random phrases, turning them into spontaneous musical potions.
Last time, it was “Mel Gibson is an Asshole” that sparked a maniacal wizardry from Rebillet. Tonight, there was less of that. The audience, once integral to the chaos, now seemed more like spectators to a well-rehearsed act.
That’s not to say the show lacked its moments of brilliance. One highlight was when Marc, mid-performance, snatched a red lace jacket from a fan and made a grand show of slipping into it, before plunging back into the audience, high-fiving and hugging his way through the crowd like a deranged, affectionate messiah.
At one point, he paused to ask an audience member, “Now what?” The answer, shouted back with the kind of authority only a Glaswegian could muster, was “Just Fu@kin’ Dance.” And dance they did, as Marc conjured a ten-minute disco beast of a track, looping that simple command into something almost transcendent.
But just as the night threatened to plateau—when it felt like the absurdity might be too calculated, too self-aware—the energy dipped.
That wave came when the shouts for old favorites began to ring out. “Night Time Things!” someone yelled, and Marc, ever the crowd-pleaser, obliged. It was as if a switch had been flipped. The crowd came alive again, the familiarity of those YouTube-born tracks bringing a renewed sense of excitement. He then asked the crowd to hunker down—a rare moment of calm—before launching into “Get Up,” a track that did exactly what it promised.
As the night drew to a close, Marc left the stage, but not for long. The crowd, unwilling to let the Loop Daddy go without one last flourish, demanded an encore. And, in true Rebillet fashion, he delivered with “I’m a Flamingo,” a song as absurd as it is catchy, with lyrics like “I’m gonna eat your grandmother” that would be disturbing if they weren’t so damn funny.
As the final notes rang out, and Marc Rebillet—clad in boxers, boots, and the remnants of a lace jacket—took his final bow, it was clear that while the madness may have been more controlled, more choreographed than before, it was no less enjoyable. Marc Rebillet has evolved, but thankfully, he hasn’t grown up. Glasgow wouldn’t have it any other way.
Easy Peelers, young upstarts cutting their teeth on the local scene, brought a frenetic energy that set the tone for the night. Their sound, still raw around the edges, showed promise—a band on the brink of something bigger.
Former Champ, featuring former Catholic Action members and the ethereal vocals of Poppy, offered a contrast with their twee and romantic songs, providing a brief, melodic reprieve before Clamm’s onslaught.
Walking into The Old Hairdressers in Glasgow, it’s impossible not to be reminded of the time I spent in Melbourne. Ten years ago, that city seemed ahead of its time, brimming with creative energy and a sense of urgency that felt like a seismic shift was always around the corner.
Now, as Melbourne noise rock trio Clamm storm the tiny stage in this intimate venue, I’m struck by how that sense of forward momentum has followed them across the world. The question on everyone’s lips is: why are so many good bands coming out of Melbourne?
Clamm seem to answer that with every crashing chord and guttural scream. The city’s music scene is a hotbed of talent, nurtured by vibrant local radio stations and a community that prizes raw authenticity. Clamm, with their unapologetic noise rock sound, are the latest torchbearers of this tradition, and tonight’s performance solidifies their place in the lineage of Melbourne’s underground legends.
They kick off with “Change,” a brutal, pulsating track that immediately grabs hold of the room. There’s no easing into the set—Clamm come at you like a freight train. The guitars are abrasive, the drums relentless, and Jack Summers‘ vocals are a primal howl, channeling frustration into a cathartic release. The song’s rhythmic churn reflects the city’s industrial heartbeat, a reminder of the grit and grime that fuel Melbourne’s music scene.
The momentum carries into “Enuf,” a track that feels like a manifesto against complacency. Its dissonant chords and pounding basslines challenge the listener to confront their own sense of inertia. Summers shouts, “How much is enough?”—a rhetorical question that lingers long after the song ends. There’s an urgency here that’s impossible to ignore.
By the time they hit “Define,” the crowd is fully engaged, bodies moving in synchronicity with the band’s ferocious energy. This track, with its jagged edges and shifting tempos, feels like a statement of purpose. Clamm aren’t just making noise; they’re dissecting it, bending it to their will, and turning it into something that feels both chaotic and controlled.
“Free” slows things down—if only slightly—with a sludgy, bass-heavy groove that envelops the room. It’s a brief respite before the barrage continues with “Something New,” a track that captures the band’s restless spirit. There’s a rawness to this song, a feeling that it could fall apart at any moment, but that’s precisely what makes it so thrilling. Clamm are walking a tightrope, and the tension is electrifying.
The second half of the set brings “Bit Much,” a blistering critique of modern life that hits like a punch to the gut. The song’s lyrics reflect the disillusionment of a generation, yet there’s a defiance in Summers’ delivery that suggests a refusal to give in. “Liar” follows, a venomous track that seethes with anger and frustration. The band’s intensity never wanes, each song building on the last, creating a wall of sound that feels impenetrable.
“Incomplete Us” stands out as a moment of introspection amidst the chaos. It’s here that Clamm reveal a different side, one that’s vulnerable and reflective. The lyrics speak to a longing for connection, for something more than the hollow promises of modernity. The song’s slower tempo and melodic undertones provide a brief glimpse of the band’s versatility, without sacrificing any of their raw power.
The set closes with “Disembodiment,” a sonic assault that leaves the audience reeling. It’s a fitting end to a night that’s been equal parts exhilarating and exhausting. As the last notes fade into the ether, there’s a sense that Clamm have left it all on the stage—nothing held back, nothing left unsaid.
Supporting acts Easy Peelers and Former Champ provided the perfect foil to Clamm’s intensity.
As I left The Old Hairdressers, the echoes of Melbourne’s vibrant music scene rang in my ears. It’s a city that’s always felt ahead of its time, and Clamm are proof that it’s still pushing boundaries, still demanding to be heard. If you’re wondering why so many good bands are coming out of Melbourne, look no further than nights like this—where raw talent meets unfiltered emotion, and the result is nothing short of transcendent.
Early in the set WITCH frontman Emanyeo “Jagari” Chanda invites the audience into his family – “tonight I am your cousin” – setting the tone of joyful, familial embracement that their music imbues.
Formed fifty years ago in Zambia, WITCH became one of the leading figures of Zamrock, their fervent popularity embodied at one particular sold out show where fans took to removing parts of the roof to try get in.
The ensuing years of political and economic instability in late 70s Zambia however forced WITCH into curfew-dodging daytime shows, and eventual obscurity in the following decades. The last ten years have been good to WITCH though, reuniting for live performances in 2012, and releasing the warmly received Zango LP last year – their first in almost 40 years.
From the minute they set foot on the stage WITCH turn on the groove and have the audience moving. Their signature blend of traditional African rhythms with more psychedelic and rock sounds is one that clearly speaks to the audience, and before long many enthusiastic fans are down the front dancing and giving the band a run for their money.
A solo song from Jagari at one point in the set offers a moment of introspection (not to mention an opportunity to catch one’s breath), before the full band rejoin him and hurtle back into the music.
At one point during the show Jagari offers a word of advice against holding grudges, proffering that our wrongdoers “know not what they do.” As one of the founding members of WITCH, it seems that Jagari holds no resentment for the circumstances that constricted the band’s success. The relentlessly celebratory atmosphere of the show comes as a sharp reflection of WITCH’s gratitude to be making music again, playing shows, and being embraced by audiences too young to remember them from the 70s.
For their farewell tune WITCH invite support act Harvest Ong back to the stage, who come accompanied by a swathe of sweaty, jubilant fans on vocal and tambourine duties. By the end of the set Jagari’s earlier invitation to fans to join the WITCH family seems one wholly fulfilled, and one I defy anyone to turn down after watching such a show.
Twenty years ago, “You’re a Woman, I’m a Machine” hit like a defibrillator to my teenage soul, jolting my seventeen-year-old self into a frenzy of bedroom dance parties. It was the soundtrack to my youthful rebellion, a ferocious blend of visceral beats and guttural guitar that made me question how just two guys could generate so much noise. Fast forward to the present, I found myself at the Galvanizers Yard, ready to relive that sonic chaos.
The stage setup was deceptively simple: a drum kit, a bass guitar rigged with enough pedals to give a centipede foot cramps, and a synth that looked like it had been pilfered from the future. I marveled at how such minimalism could produce the relentless wall of sound that had defined my adolescence. And then, there they were—Sebastien Grainger and Jesse F. Keeler, proving once again that less is more when you’ve got talent and testosterone to spare.
Grainger, the drummer-singer hybrid, deserves a gold medal in the hypothetical Olympics of energy expenditure. Watching him belt out lyrics while pounding the drums into submission was like witnessing a man wrestle an octopus. The sheer physicality of his performance left me once again in awe, and I wasn’t even the one exerting myself. If multitasking were a sport, this guy would be the Michael Phelps of punk.
From the first distorted note of “Turn It Out” to the final, crashing chord of “You’re a Woman, I’m a Machine,” the duo played the album in its entirety. It was like time-traveling back to 2004, with the added benefit of legal drinking age. The crowd—an eclectic mix of grizzled veterans of the early 2000s indie scene and fresh-faced recruits—roared with approval, moshing and dancing as if trying to shake off two decades of accumulated ennui.
The set didn’t end there. As the last echoes of the album’s title track faded, they launched into “Nomad,” a newer track that demonstrated their sound has evolved without losing its primal edge. “One + One” followed, its driving rhythm proving that DFA 1979 still knows how to get feet moving and heads banging. “Virgins” and “White Is Red” slowed things down—relatively speaking—allowing a momentary respite before the auditory assault resumed with “Modern Guy” and “Freeze Me.”
“Trainwreck 1979” was a highlight, the song’s infectious energy amplifying the crowd’s fervour to fever pitch. The air felt electric, the audience a living, breathing organism pulsating with the music. Then came the encore: “Right On, Frankenstein!” and “Dead Womb” delivered the final blows in a concert that felt like both a celebration of catharsis.
By the end of the night, my ears were ringing, my feet were sore, and my voice was hoarse from shouting along to every anthem. Death From Above 1979 reminded us all why they were—and still are—masters of their craft.
Their ability to channel raw power and emotion through their minimalist setup is nothing short of alchemical. As I stumbled out of the venue, drenched in sweat and nostalgia, one thing was clear: you don’t need a full band to bring the house down. Sometimes, all it takes is two guys, a drum machine, and a whole lot of noise.
Day 3 of TRNSMT and one final time Glasgow Green morphs into a sprawling playground for music lovers, transforming Scotland’s largest city into the ultimate summer hotspot.
This year’s TRNSMT Festival, held under a rare bout of unrelenting sunshine, did not disappoint. The event featured a lineup as eclectic as a record store discount bin, yet as thrilling as a rollercoaster ride through musical history.
From the moment Majesty Palm kicked off the festivities to Calvin Harris‘s electrifying finale, the festival aptly balanced the familiar with the cutting-edge.
Majesty Palm set the tone early, opening the festival with a set as refreshing as a morning mimosa. Their breezy melodies wafted over the crowd, a perfect antidote to the heat already baking the grounds. It was at this point The Goldne Bough instantly regretted wearing pink metallic jeans… a choice for cooler climes indeed. The band’s upbeat energy and infectious hooks had even the most stoic Scots tapping their toes. We loved tracks; “Split”, “Side Eye” and latest single , “The Longer I Hold You”.
Next up was Future Utopia, bringing a cerebral edge to the party. Their blend of experimental sounds and thought-provoking lyrics felt like a TED Talk you could dance to. The crowd might not have understood all the philosophical nuances, but they sure appreciated the vibe as they danced along in the early afternoon sun the River Stage became a playground of dancing bodies, think Khruangbin meets Confidence Man -if ConMan never went to a rave in Ibiza. Ultra cool, soulful synth laden tracks like; “Your Love”, “We Were, We Still Are” and “Children of the Internet” had our toes tapping away beneath the trees and colourful flags.
Alison Goldfrapp emerged looking resplendent in her multicolored feather jacket, defying the blistering heat with an aura of unflappable cool. Her performance was a dazzling spectacle, with a group of backing dancers emerging on stage one by one opening up the experience like the flower blossom visual background, it was a journey through all the fan favourites like; “Train”, “Oh La La La” and “Digging Deeper” showcased her synth-pop landscapes that had the audience in raptures. One could only marvel at her ability to stay fabulous while everyone else wilted under the sun.
Rachel Chinouriri‘s set was a soulful balm, her voice weaving effortlessly through the warm afternoon air. It was like receiving a long-distance call from a best friend, full of intimate confessions and heartfelt melodies. Tracks like “Never Need Me”, “The Hills” and “All I Ever Asked” cement her status as BFF girl next door. She held the crowd spellbound, each song a story that left you wanting more.
Blossom brought a jolt of energy with their slick indie-pop anthems. It was as if the Smiths had been resurrected with an added dose of sunshine and serotonin. Mid set they revealed what was to be a covered up ape statue sitting in Buddha stance. There’s great hair, coordinated vintages suits and definitely a lot posturing but we loved the bounce of tracks like: “Charlamange”, “Honey Sweet” and “Your Girlfriend”. The crowd responded in kind, a sea of bobbing heads and singing voices that echoed across Glasgow Green.
Nova Twins quickly became our favourite act of the day as they stormed the stage with a ferocity that made the ground tremble. Their genre-defying mix of punk, metal, and hip-hop was a sonic assault that left no eardrum unscathed. The duo’s raw power and charisma transformed the festival into a riotous celebration of rebellion and noise.
They may be pint sized hero’s by dear lord do the pack a punk punch? Bassist Georgia South apparently has zero interest in keeping her knees intact with multiple death drops and towards the end of the set several crowd surfing moments. They absolutely killed their set with standout tracks being; “Antagonist”, “Cleopatra” and “Choose Your Fighter” make moves and catch a show if they swing your way soon.
The Reytons swaggered onstage with the confidence of a band destined for bigger things. Their gritty anthems and no-nonsense attitude brought a refreshing dose of raw energy to the festival. The crowd, already buzzing, found a new gear, turning the field into a sea of raised fists and sing-alongs. Easy to chant chorus and songs exhausting the trials and tribulations of growing up on housing estates it’s clear to see why they had drawn a decent audience to the King Tut’s Stage.
Daydreamers offered a much-needed respite, their dreamy soundscapes a gentle embrace amid the day’s chaos. It was the kind of music that made you want to lie back on the grass and let your thoughts drift away, a perfect interlude before the evening’s crescendo.
English Teacher, with their sharp lyrics and post-punk grooves, were the surprise hit of the day. Their songs were like witty essays set to music, each one a clever dissection of modern life. The band’s tight performance and undeniable charm won over a legion of new fans. We loved the saccharine charm of , “The Worlds Biggest Paving Slab”, “R&B” and “Albatross” – they are playing at St.Lukes on the 18th of November we highly recommend you catch them.
Enter Shikari‘s set was a predictable chaotic blend of electronic mayhem and hardcore fury. Frontman Rou Reynolds commanded the stage like a deranged ringmaster, leading the crowd through a series of exhilarating twists and turns. Confetti canons poured down on the crowd and into our beers, there was a dig at making Calvin Harris hear them – but admirable he has “Big speakers and a ton of pyro”. They played all their hits including; “The Void Stares Back” and “Sorry You’re Not A Winner”.
Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Calvin Harris took the stage. The hometown (well almost Dumfries isn’t that far we can claim his as our own) hero delivered a set that was part rave, part greatest hits show, and entirely electrifying. It appears ES where correct he did have gigantic speakers and an eyebrow singeing array of pyro… especially from the photo pitt.
Having amassed the biggest audience so far his beats were the pulse of the festival, each drop sending shockwaves through the ecstatic crowd. There was a moment half way through his set where he stopped to announce that Spain had scored a Goal against England in the World Cup Final – which was to the Spain flag dappled crowd much to everyone’s delight proving that you may hit the big time but you’ll always remember your roots.The lights, the energy, the sheer scale of it all – it was the an amusing way to close the show.
TRNSMT 2024 was a testament to the power of live music to unite, uplift, and, yes, even survive a Scottish heatwave.
Whether you came for the indie darlings, the punk provocateurs, or the dancefloor juggernauts, there was something for everyone. And as the last notes of Calvin Harris’s set echoed into the night infact all the way home to Dennistoun it was clear that TRNSMT was a triumph.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across Glasgow Green, the TRNSMT festival kicked into high gear, proving once again that music festivals are the ultimate social experiment in controlled chaos. The day’s lineup featured an eclectic mix of nostalgia, emerging talent, and the kind of genre-bending acts that leave you wondering what planet you’ve landed on. (Ahem GALLUS) Let’s dive in.
The Vaccines opened the day (for us and our tired selves after yesterday’s prolonged voyage home) with their brand of polished indie rock, providing the musical equivalent of a caffeine jolt.
Their set was tight, energetic, and familiar—like slipping into a well-worn leather jacket or in this case a custom, hand stiched music note, very tailored suit and vintage Pringle knits The Vaccines cut a fine figure indeed . The crowd, eager for a taste of something recognizable, lapped up every riff and chorus. It’s hard to fault them for sticking to their formula; after all, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. We loved the tracks; “If You Wanna” and “Post Break Up Sex”.
Next, we had local upstarts Plasticine a band whose sound is in no way as malleable as their name suggests. Their synth-heavy soundscapes were a bold departure from the straightforward rock of The Vaccines. It was like watching a science experiment unfold on stage, with unpredictable bursts of electronic noise and hypnotic rhythms. The band play a tight set crafted with shimmering pop undertones tinged with a healthy dollop of good old 90’s grunge. Think Hole having a cute tea party with PJ Harvey. Either way, they left an impression.
ILI took the stage next, delivering a set that was both soothing and soporific. Their mellow tunes and cutesy pop overtones offer a fun segue. If there was an award for bed dressed ILI would 100% be bestowed with this honour. She’s wearing a Cher from Clueless purple plaid two piece that is lined with Parma Violet feather cuffs. Her stage presence is effervescent and she seems genuinely happy to be performing, she beckons the audience closer to the stage to preview her latest single, “Gelato” which is much to the crowds pleasure. We also lived tracks, “It’s Giving” and “2 Cool 2 Be Sombody”.
Enter Dylan John Thomas next on the main stage a hometown troubadour with a penchant for heartfelt ballads. His performance was like a warm hug—comforting, sincere and familiar. His genuine passion shone through, a nice palate cleanser, if you will. The crowd was densely packed out for his set, backed by talented groups of musicians he made his way through a ramshackle set studded with hits like, “Jenna”, “Feel the Fire”, “Yesterday’s Gone” and “Fever” it’s easy to see why him and his band are headlining the Hydro in December.
Then came the curveball: Rick Astley. The man, the meme, the legend. Rick rolled (see what I did there) out onto the stage and had everyone eating out of his hand. His set was pure nostalgia, and I’m not ashamed to admit I sang along to “Never Gonna Give You Up” with the rest of the crowd. He’s still got the chops and the charisma, proving that sometimes, memes do age well. And you know what? He absolutely killed it. His voice is still velvety smooth, and his stage presence is as charming as ever. He asked the audience, “How many of you had to take through your Granny’s records to figure out who I am?” Showcasing that boyish charm that we all love and know him for. The crowd, initially caught off guard, quickly surrendered to the good times with tracks like; “Cry for Help”, “Take Me in Your Arms” and “Together Forever” whipping the crowd up into a delightful frenzy. By the time “Never Gonna Give You Up” rolled around, it was a full-blown sing-along. Irony be damned—Rick’s still got it.
Vistas followed, bringing a dose of high-octane pop-rock. Their songs are built for festival stages—big, anthemic, and irresistibly catchy. It’s the kind of music that makes you want to jump up and down, which the crowd did with gusto. We loved tracks like; “Stranger”, Follow You Down” and “Retrospext”
The Courteeners were next, oozing with Mancunian swagger. Their set was a masterclass in indie rock bravado, with Liam Fray’s lyrics painting vivid pictures of urban life and late-night escapades. It’s music that’s both gritty and grandiose, and the crowd lapped it up like it was their lifeblood. They’re seasoned pros at this festival game, and it showed. Standout tracks included; “Are You in Love with a Notion?”, “Bide Your Time” and “Not Nineteen Forever”.
Finally, we closed the festival in the best way possible hot tailing it over to watch hometown darlings Gallus. If there was a moment when the festival reached its zenith, it was during their set.
These local heroes delivered a performance that was raw, energetic, and absolutely electrifying. From the opening riffs of “Eye to Eye” the band delivered a snarling beast of set littered with gems like, “Wash Your Wounds”, “Penicillin” and “Marmalade”.
Frontman Barry Dolan is giving Marvel baddie energy – Dr. Octavius to be exact with each note a pained well of emotion. Their punk-infused sound hit like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. The crowd went wild, feeding off the band’s frenetic energy. Gallus didn’t just play music; they ignited a firestorm. With much mosh pit energy and the singer playing a good portion of the set from inside the belly of the crowd even on someone’s shoulders at one point the energy was maelstrom of impulsivity.
They closed the set with “Fruitflies” which involved multiple friends being hauled over the barrier and on stage – the best kind of chaos. By far the stars of the day, they left no doubt that they’re a force to be reckoned with. A pity we didn’t realise they were playing an after part set at beloved McChuills afterwards.
And so, as the final notes echoed across the festival grounds and the crowd began their weary pilgrimage home, one thing was clear: TRNSMT had once again delivered a day of unforgettable performances, quirky surprises, and enough musical whiplash to last until… well tomorrow.
Having been awoken at 5am with the demand of getting an intolerably early Ferry back to Glasgow from the Outer Hebrides was in and of itself a challenge.
That coupled with scorching temperatures, an increasing strain of tennis elbow from all the driving and a badly timed train strike meant for us at The Golden Bough, entry to the festival on Friday was only manageable close to 5pm.
But with our camera charged and ready to go here is what we thought about Day 1 at TRNSMT.
The Last Dinner Party whose rise within mainstream media has been nothing short of meteoric, a band with recent controversial headlines who seem like they have something to prove, but do so in a manner that seems effortless and almost, this performance seems like second nature – possibly due to their extensive tour schedule.
This evening they bounded on stage, all smiles in the sunshine and rubber stamped that they are indeed a force to be reckoned with. Their performance was an intoxicating mix of raw energy and polished artistry. Leading with “Burn,” the band’s dynamic presence immediately captured the crowd’s attention. “Feminine Urge” followed, its powerful lyrics resonating with the audience, while “Sinner” showcased their ability to blend dark, brooding tones with infectious melodies. As they wrapped up with “Nothing Matters,” it was clear that this band is on the cusp of something extraordinary, leaving the crowd eager for more.
Next up on the main stage was the Queen of grunge herself, Garbage, fronted by the indomitable Shirley Manson. The band delivered a masterclass in alt-rock, with Manson’s unmistakable voice and commanding stage presence leading the charge.
As the band were welcomed on stage by a full marching pipe band, Manson looked absolutely resplendent doused in burning red tartan that seemed to catch fire in the setting evening sun.
The set was packed with high-energy tracks like “Cherry Lips,” setting a vibrant tone for their performance. In between songs, Manson took a moment to comment on all the pink cowboy hats present in the audience which reflected many of them must have been at the recent Taylor Swift concert. When this was met with a mixed response she declared her appreciation that “Taylor’s taking the music industry and making it her bitch,” a sentiment that was met with roaring approval from the crowd.
“Only Happy When It Rains” followed, its melancholic yet anthemic vibes making its mark deeply with the audience. The nostalgic “Stupid Girl” and the infamous “Think I’m Paranoid” kept the momentum going, proving that Garbage’s hits are as potent as ever. The band’s synergy and Manson’s fierce charisma made for a set that was both nostalgic and refreshingly relevant.
As the sun began to set, Liam Gallagher took to the main stage, drawing the largest crowd of the day. The anticipation was palpable, and Gallagher did not disappoint. Opening with “Married with Children,” he immediately transported the audience back to the heyday of Oasis. The anthemic “Supersonic” had the crowd singing along word for word, while “Half the World Away” offered a moment of reflective camaraderie.
The highlight of the night, for us, was undoubtedly “Slide Away,” delivered with such passion that it felt like a personal call to war for everyone in the audience that continues to hold, “Definitely Maybe” close to their bosom even after all this time.
Gallagher’s setlist was a well-curated mix of tracks from “Definitely Maybe” and other Oasis classics, satisfying the crowd’s hunger for nostalgia. His swagger and vocal prowess reminded everyone why he remains a prominent force in rock music, regardless of how much you love or loathe him.
Deliriously sleepy but filled with an abundance of joy off we went into the night to rest ahead of Saturdays busy schedule.
CSS bring a revitalising reunion tour to Drygate brewery tonight in Glasgow, a fitting venue for this party crew as they brew up the brilliance of Brazil and sweet sounds of everything that indie sleeze has to offer.
With fast guitar licks, a grunge attitude and synth dance tunes, CSS have got us covered for a good time.
Sassy lead singer Lovefoxxx is not one to disappoint, engaging as much dancing as singing and keeping the energy at an all time high as the crowd chant “CSS sucks” following the first few notes of the “CSS suxxx”.
The heat is turned up throughout the night as electricity travels through the stage and onto the crowd when Lovefoxxx outlandishly throws herself into the hands of the sweaty audience for a crowd surfing session.
Something I was not expecting, but it only proves the ecstatic live energy and unpredictability of this band.
“City grrrl” is the epitome of rebellion and an iconic piece of dance music expressing the spirit of young female adult hood.
The night ends with a high spirited venga boys walk off outro “We Like to Party” a perfect ending to a party that we did not want to end. A slight feeling of sorrow lingers around the back of my mind knowing that the band will most likely not be touring again.
The Golden Bough 