Who doesn’t need a blood-pumping BPM and bone-crushing bass that engulfs your body and teleports you to new dimensions in space and time? A hypnotic, euphoric frenzy of post-punk EDM—digitally modern, yet dripping with old-school familiarity—that triggers memories and causes involuntary movement in the body.
Sextile are back with a newfound maturity and clarity, wrapped in the shape of a killer fourth album. Yes, Please demonstrates a renewed confidence that draws influence from so many vital and fundamental dance pioneers… think Leftfield, The Chemical Brothers, and Hacienda-era Manchester. Fuse that with the snarl of Suicide and the shared modern Californian electro DNA of Automatic or System Exclusive, and you’ll have an idea. How such hard-hitting, darkly atmospheric music comes out of such a sunny part of the world is beyond me.
A simple scene of drums, keys and onstage swagger sees the total omission of guitars—leaving more room for onstage shenanigans. Almost like a boxing ring, Scaduto and Brady work the space as if bouncing off the ropes, pushing back and attacking with lyrics and fist pumps.
New songs feature heavily as the set oscillates and cowbells at an unrelenting pace, ducking and diving with an at times almost primordial, back-to-basics music: pulsating drums, modern-day mantras and infectious electro sounds. Imagine what The Cramps did for the old-school rock and roll ethic and aesthetic. No compromise… pure… unfiltered.
Everyone will have a favourite memory of tonight—but without a doubt, Resist and Women Respond to Bass are now seared into my mind. Never to be forgotten.
There weren’t meant to be any encores… there ended up being two.
I am thankful Sextile reformed and finally returned, and I am grateful for nights like tonight.
Wet Leg return with a tour in support of the launch of their second studio album Moisturiser, due on the 11th of July, in a new and improved form. Abandoning the focus on the duo Teasdale & Chambers, the band presented itself as a five-piece alt-indie rock outfit, with Rhian Teasdale ready to surge to the status of charismatic lead singer and rising star.
The message couldn’t be less clear. After an overwhelming support act by Katy J Pearson and her rock inspired by Kate Bush—and a T-shirt showcasing Laura Dern’s name (which summarised a few of the good things the 80s brought to the present era)—Wet Leg entered the stage of a sold-out Edinburgh Usher Hall, with Teasdale presenting herself by flexing her biceps to introduce the new album’s first single (released last April), Catch These Fists.
From what I’ve gathered, and from the lyrics of the song, Moisturizer appears to be an album full of ‘love songs’, shifting away from the couple dynamic and standard gender roles, and instead focusing on the dominant role of women in the ‘relationship’ (not a standard relationship either), empowering them in a way that goes hand-in-hand with the new shape of the band and Teasdale’s central role in this chapter of Wet Leg’s music.
The track is very energetic and giddy, prompting fans to scream from the very first notes—a prelude (as I caught a glimpse of) to what might become Wet Leg’s summer.
The first song is followed by Liquidize—also from the new album—and by already classic tracks from their debut, like Supermarket, Ur Mum (one of my favourites), Wet Dream, and Too Late Now.
On stage, while the chemistry between Teasdale and Hester Chambers is more than obvious, the band showcased their solid bond with Henry Holmes on drums, Josh Mobaraki on guitar and synthesiser, and Ellis Durand on bass.
The band gave us other unreleased songs, already revealed in a secret London show back at the beginning of this spring. Two of these tracks made me particularly curious: Jennifer’s Body, which struck a chord with my millennial sensibilities, and Pillow Talk (named Pillowfart on their set list at the foot of the stage).
The crowd never stopped singing and dancing in the bothersomely balmy venue until the end, when Wet Leg closed with their instant classic Chaise Longue (or cheeselong, as they named it), and their same-day released new single CPR.
At the risk of repeating myself, Wet Leg, with their metamorphosis, are clearly trying to place themselves at the centre of attention—and they surely will during this festival season.
Teasdale had already stolen many hearts that night, and she will no doubt steal more at the upcoming shows. So, brace yourselves—because this is going to be an incandescent summer, and Wet Leg will be its lead character.
Tonight’s support came from London-based Native James. Initially regarded as a Grime artist, tonight’s showing was the best of pure, hard-hitting Rap meets Punk/Metal fusion. Imagine Rage Against The Machine and you might be partway there. The audience adored him from the very first note—raw power and eye-to-eye energy that charged the room and captivated everyone inside. The love shown by the crowd humbled a truly surprised and thankful Native James.
When he asked for the crowd to separate and prepare to mosh, the crowd parted like the Red Sea—and when it slammed… it really slammed. The force and the energy were infectious and the effect, everlasting. This was Native James’s first time in Glasgow, first time in Scotland, and the quest for post-performance Irn Bru made everyone roar with laughter and approval. In the meantime, go listen to the album and prepare to thrash on his return.
A hard-hitting, straight-from-the-heart punk rapper relaying the complexities and harsh realities of mental health and the pressure of modern life, as well as the British Asian experience of being born and growing up in the UK. Hyphen’s journey to tonight’s sold-out show has by no means been easy or traditional.
Anyone that had seen Hyphen play at SWG3 last October knew what to expect, and tonight’s sold-out crowd were not to be disappointed. A firecracker of a performer who explodes on stage and who, from the onset, demands attention and participation. It is rare to get an artist to present truly authentic and actually lived experiences, translated into a supercharged performance that drags you along and makes you wonder where the world is at—and why people do what they do.
Songs like Deskjob, Hate Yachts Not Dinghies, and Marching Powder are absolute highlights and demand a rousing sing-along response. Incredibly, that frantic level of energy is maintained throughout the night by Hyphen and a willing and enthusiastic crowd that chant and jostle shoulder to shoulder.
Such fierce songs were lovingly received, and the crowd rejoiced—the floor bounced more than any other venue I’ve been in… Barrowlands included.
Between songs, and with almost no voice left, Hyphen passes the mic to the ever-smiling Vishal to expand on the content and fill in the blanks. But there are no blanks. Everyone already understands—the lyrics are so fundamental and relatable that you have to wonder how we got here. Moments encapsulated into songs that are immediate and universal.
Tonight’s show was highly anticipated and without fault. With such an incredible stage presence and such hard-hitting, insightful songs that can be universally understood in a positive way… laying bare the obvious and questioning the ridiculous.
It’s been quite hard to put into words the effect tonight’s performance has had… emotionally, politically, ethically, and musically.
Hyphen will be back—and you really should not miss this phenomenon.
I urge you to investigate Hyphen further… listen… really listen and absorb.
Vanderlye launched their debut EP at Nice N Sleazy on Friday 23rd May, supported by Ryan Harley and his band. The EP was introduced with the release of the single Reckoning on Spotify a week prior, and the song has been stuck in my head ever since — it’s still echoing in my thoughts as I write this review.
The night opened with the energy of Ryan Harley, whose rough, powerful voice filled the venue. His standout moment was an electrifying cover of …Baby One More Time, which instantly lit up the room and perfectly set the stage for the main event.
When Vanderlye took to the stage, they made a quiet but unmistakable political statement by draping a Palestinian flag across the front of the keyboard. They opened with Guilty Lovers and Heartbreak Serenade, easing the crowd into their world of poetic melancholia and stirring melodies.
Tracks from the debut EP followed, including The Plastic Ego — currently my personal favourite — and Terrible Comfort, another song that refuses to leave my mind. One of the most poignant moments of the night came during Romantic Anarchy, as frontman Sean delivered a moving performance on keys, the flag still visible, reinforcing the band’s emotional and political expression.
Later in the set, they played Understand and Reckoning, with Becky’s vocals soaring beautifully through the venue. Her voice — both sweet and powerful — filled a room already singing along with these instant classics. The atmosphere was electric, intimate, and genuinely heartfelt.
Vanderlye remind me of other bands, though I can’t quite connect the dots. They brought me back to the days when I was an avid listener of The Killers and Editors, though any similarities seem to fade before becoming concrete. In truth, Vanderlye might just be one of a kind.
The set concluded with a full-throttle finale: There Must Be a Way Out and Blackout Sky had the crowd jumping, sweating, and fully immersed in the moment.
I sincerely hope this EP brings Vanderlye the success they deserve. They’re a solid band with a clear identity and a distinctive sound — capable of great things in the near future.
Dinosaur Jr. walked onto the Barrowland stage like elder statesmen of slacker noise, greeted by a crowd that looked like a sartorial time warp: mullets flapping, flannel shirts swinging, and enough baggy trousers to clothe an entire Pearl Jam tribute act. This wasn’t just a concert; it was a full-blooded 90s revival, complete with the lingering scent of nostalgia, sweat, and something very close to joy.
The trio — J Mascis on guitar and vocals, Lou Barlow on bass and backing vocals, and Murph on drums — are a sonic power structure as solid and essential as granite. Mascis, ever the enigmatic centrepiece, shuffled to the mic and unleashed the first riff of the night: “Feel the Pain”, that yawning, yearning opener from 1994’s Without A Sound. It roared out like a storm caught in slow motion — melodic yet wounded, sludgy but tender. If Teenage Fanclub ever decided to collapse inward under the weight of their own distortion, they might sound something like this.
The follow-up, “I Don’t Think So”, was leaner, meaner — a snarling track that moves with the agitated rhythm of someone pacing in a kitchen at 2AM, all tight spirals and no resolution. It bristled with pent-up energy, and Barlow’s bass lines gave it a grounding throb, like a heart trying to steady itself in a crisis.
Without A Sound celebrating its 30th anniversary was performed in full. It’s an album that, despite being old enough to legally rent a car in the States, hasn’t lost its emotional punch or textural grit. For a record often seen as Dinosaur Jr.’s most accessible, it was played with the rough edges intact — no polish, no pretence. The crowd, which included a healthy number of younger fans, greeted every track like a long-lost friend crashing through the door, arms open.
Mascis doesn’t speak much — his guitar does the talking — but when the band let the album’s final notes fade, a warmth spread across the room. Then came the real treats: a handful of gems from the back catalogue that reminded everyone why Dinosaur Jr. remain alt-rock royalty.
“Little Furry Things” drifted in with all the grace of a shoegaze lullaby before erupting into noise. One of the evening’s most touching moments came during this song — mothers and daughters waltzing together beneath the pulsing lights, the fuzzed-out lull of the song casting a strangely romantic spell.
And then, “Freak Scene”. The crowd roared. Phones briefly dropped. And then, like a flicker from a lost era, a single lighter was held aloft. A lone flame, trembling in the thick, distorted air — a sight not seen in many moons, reminding us all that some rituals are simply too sacred to vanish.
The band didn’t coast. “Gargoyle” snarled and punched, a beast of a song still full of teeth. They wrapped up the main set, but the room was nowhere near done.
Returning to the stage, Lou Barlow grinned into the mic.
“The chips have been counted and you are the best audience for us ever. It’s like you got some vitamin D or something. I was here 25 years ago in Glasgow when this song first came out and I’ve never seen so many sunburnt faces.”
They launched into “Garden”, a slow-burning track that unfurled like dusk over a long summer day. Couples danced, friends embraced, families swayed — the Ballroom was suspended in shared rhythm, like a lullaby for the grown-up grunge generation.
Then, as if conjured from the ether, came a shouted request from a devoted fan: “Sludgefeast!” Mascis nodded, and the band obliged. What followed was a thunderous, exhilarating rendition — all heavy riffs and layered distortion, a beautiful racket that rattled the bones and fed the soul.
Finally, with barely a word, they closed with their beloved cover of The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven”. Reimagined through Dinosaur Jr.’s lens, it became something different entirely — tender and raw, hopeful but scarred. It was the perfect bookend to a set that fused nostalgia with vitality, past with present.
After all these years, Dinosaur Jr. haven’t mellowed. They’ve matured like an old amplifier: still loud, still essential, and buzzing in all the right places.
The 2020s Irish Post-Punk Revival Hits Another Homerun
This was a bit of a last-minute call for me, but I always trust my instinct when it tells me to go somewhere – and catching Basht. live was definitively one of those moments where I was right. Their intimate gig at the iconic King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut cemented their place among the emerging Irish talent currently lighting up the post-punk scene.
The crowd was lively, buzzing with the early signs of a small but loyal following – fans already wearing the band’s T-shirts, singing along to every lyric, and queueing for autographs on their records. I couldn’t help but smile at the sea of Fontaines D.C. and Gurriers T-shirts in the crowd – a fitting backdrop that helped situate Basht. within the wider musical context of their country and generation. It’s not hard to imagine them opening for these more established acts one day; they share the same raw energy and soul-stirring, heartbreaking guitar music.
The performance was electrifying, holding the audience spellbound. Jack Leavey’s vulnerable and piercing vocals had the crowd silent during the most contemplative moments and buzzing with energy as each song reached its climax. He’s backed by a band of talented musicians who have more than earned their place among the most exciting young acts on the scene.
The setlist showcased a good chunk of their still-newish discography. Two clear standouts for me were Burn and Stockholm (I’ve admittedly been playing them on repeat since last night!). Both songs carry a sombre, searing quality that stayed with me from the very first listen.
It feels like a small claim to fame to have had the chance to photograph and witness these guys so early on in their journey. Everyone can sense a bright future ahead. It seems almost fated that they performed at King Tut’s of all venues – the names of iconic bands who have played there, printed on the stairs, felt like a metaphorical climb to stardom. And Basht are well on their way to earning a place among them.
Mannequin Pussy kicked off their 2025 tour with a powerful, emotionally charged performance at Glasgow’s Queen Margaret Union — and what a way to start the year. Originally set to play the more intimate St Luke’s, overwhelming demand led to a sold-out upgrade to the iconic QMU.
Easing into the set with the dreamy trio of Softly, Sometimes, and Nothing Like from their most recent album I Got Heaven, the band built a slow, suspenseful atmosphere that burst into full energy with the arrival of Control — a crowd favourite from their 2021 Perfect EP.
It wasn’t until midway through the set that vocalist Marisa Dabice addressed the crowd, but when she did, she had a lot to say. With fierce honesty, she spoke about misogyny and societal pressures, noting: “Every day we get a message from someone telling us we should be ashamed of what we do… but it doesn’t make sense to be so conservative.” Her commentary struck a chord with fans: “It’s the boys that usually have the problem with the word ‘pussy’.”
“Boys, men, I want you to scream ‘pussy’ as loud as you can.” The response from the crowd — particularly the male fans — was loud and affirming. Dabice continued, “There’s something beautiful when everyone gets invited to talk at the table,” highlighting the inclusive spirit that defines the band’s message.
The second half of the show, following Loud Bark and I Got Heaven, hit with back-to-back energy bombs — the night turning heavier, faster, louder. Colins “Bear” Regisford’s deeper, gritty vocals counterbalanced Dabice’s punk-like screams, bringing a raw, hardcore edge to tracks like Pigs is Pigs.
Among the night’s most poignant moments was Dabice’s call for solidarity with Palestine, prompting chants of “Free, Free Palestine!” Her response — “When we say Free Palestine, it’s not antisemitism” — was followed by a passionate speech against political injustice and corporate greed. “All they want you to do is aspire to be a billionaire, as if that means anything,” she said, before inviting the crowd to release their fury with a primal group scream — leading perfectly into OK? OK! OK? OK!
With regular drummer Kaleen Reading out due to illness, the band’s friend Lucy stepped in seamlessly on drums. Nearing the end, they dedicated Emotional High to those who came alone, noting there’d be no encore — “because that’s self-indulgent.”
They closed with Romantic, with Dabice declaring, “This one is for all of you,” before climbing into the crowd for a final, intimate connection with fans.
I was very much looking forward to this gig, having first seen Tanzana supporting Lucia & The Best Boys at SWG3 last March. This time, they were headlining a sold-out — and very warm — McChuills.
Following powerful sets from the supporting acts Vacant Pavements and Isabella Strange, it was clear from the moment Tanzana stepped on stage that they had the room in the palm of their hand. Fans surged forward, trying to get as close to the quintet as possible, phones and earplugs at the ready.
They opened the set with Inversion, and I tried my best not to show my jealousy of the fans who already knew every word to this brilliant track. I need to catch up with them.
Sarah and Lily led the show on guitars, performing Tanzana’s tracks like Lucky and Liminal Space, while Katie on bass and Karolina on drums made Unnamed, YBIB, and PPP soar across the chanting crowd.
(Side note: in Italy, PPP is the acronym of the writer and film director Pier Paolo Pasolini— a fun coincidence.)
The set paused momentarily for a stunning cover of Nude by Radiohead. The band made the song entirely their own, with lead singer Freya’s ethereal voice breathing new life into it. I’m certain even Thom Yorke would be left jaw-dropped by this rendition.
As the show neared its end, the energy reached its peak. The crowd erupted as Tanzana launched into their hit Covet. Freya’s powerful vocals filled the venue, sending goosebumps through the room.
Tanzana’s performance at McChuills gave me the same chills I felt the first time I saw them. I’ll keep hoping they release a vinyl soon — I want to listen to all their songs on repeat.
Feminist post-punk is no longer a threat; it’s the onslaught we were promised. Like a Molotov cocktail in a Charlotte Tilbury bottle, The Pill and Panic Shack are detonating the patriarchy one snarling hook at a time. Forget the Sex Pistols’ faux anger or The Clash’s earnest hand-wringing – this is punk for the Love Island generation, scrolling, swiping, and smashing the system with a smirk.
The Pill — no, not the contraceptive (although maybe metaphorically, yes) — are a band that sounds like someone forced Le Tigre and IDLES to collaborate on a TikTok skit after three pints of snakebite. Hailing from Isle of Wight they’ve got the sound of a house party gone rogue in a women’s bathroom: loud, messy, conspiratorial.
Their set kicks off with a song poking fun at Leonardo DiCaprio’s eternal search for youth — a biting commentary on online grooming masked in shouty one-liners and coordinated backbends. Yes, actual backbends. Lily Hutchings and Lottie Massey are the utter powerhouse front duo who have co-ordinated each of their perfectly timed guitar/bass shreds with high kicks and pirouettes. With Rufus Reader smashing out guttural percussion. Lottie announced the track (which we can’t seem to ID online) like Cher with a fringe and a beef with all men named Josh — snarls her way through internet tropes like a Buzzfeed listicle with brass knuckles.
The crowd is asked if they can all “do a 360” — a move possibly invented on the spot or a fun bout of audience participation — but they oblige, in an ecstatic display of groupthink and irony. A fun prelude to introduce their song “Money Mullet” by first checking to see if there are any mulleted men in the crowd. There is. Apologies are made and assurances given that you are “probably really nice”, why? The song? A mullet anthem with dual vocals and a bassline so gargantuan it could flatten a Ford Fiesta. Think Wet Leg’s bratty cousin who got expelled from art school for writing diss tracks about her tutor.
“Woman Driver” is an eye-roller turned middle finger: a subversive shout of “yes, I can reverse park and overthrow capitalism.” “Bale of Hey”– finishes their set with a feral growl and a reference to Bill Murray that’s either praise or punishment.
In short: if Karen from Facebook ever walked into The Pill’s gig, she’d leave with a septum piercing and a sudden distrust of her husband.
Enter Panic Shack: Cardiff’s crown jewel of chaos, the Spice Girls reimagined as a gang of vigilante babysitters with distortion pedals. Comprised of Sarah Harvey, Emily Smith, Meg Fretwell, and Romi Lawrence, this four-piece is what happens when you throw Bikini Kill, the Sugababes, and the soundtrack to Skins into a blender and add Monster Energy instead of water.
They open with “Gok Wan” followed swiftly by “I Don’t Want To Hold Your Baby” (self-explanatory, deliciously so), then “Girl Band Starter Pack” – a scathing self-own and a takedown of every music exec who’s ever asked, “but who’s the pretty one?” If The Pill were the opening punch, Panic Shack are the roundhouse kick that sends teeth flying.
Mannequin Man” (about those hollow hunks who say “not all men” while DMing 19-year-olds), and new material from their self titled debut due for release on 18th of July. A digital album pre-release the band are offering exclusively at thier gigs but buying a lanyard that gives you a code to buy the album ahead of schedule, “ So if you see us actually make the charts then you can all think, that’ was me I did that!”coos Sarah Harvey with a gargantuan smile on her face.
The new tracks are tighter than your ex’s jeans post-lockdown. “Thelma & Louise” is a distorted love letter to their own band — tender yet blistering. “I Don’t Really Like It” is reworked with brooding bass and electric pads, when half way through the track the band verges off into a cover of The Ting Tings’ “That’s Not My Name”.
The penultimate track is “Pockets,” with lyrics listing vape, phone, keys, lip gloss — a catalogue of female essentials sung with the urgency of a war cry. Forget “Born To Run,” this is “Born To Rummage Through Your Handbag In Rage.”
At one point a fan makes a very loud “Shooshing” noise not because they are disgruntled by their peers but as a segue into the set finale, “The Ick”, a track that could be the new national anthem for anyone who’s ever dated a guy who says “banter” in earnest. It’s not just about bad dating — it’s about British male tropes as a whole: emotionally constipated, tragically ironic, and too proud to ask for directions. Picture Jarvis Cocker falling into a bin full of vape pens and protein powder.
There’s plenty of chanting to “Free Palestine” Panic Shack don’t do performative politics, they live it. Panic Shack aren’t just singing about womanhood. They’re building a sweaty, subversive, glitter-coated movement in Doc Martens and ironic mullets.
This isn’t girl power. This is woman rage – compressed, amplified, and screaming through a Marshall stack. And if you don’t like it?
Supergrass hit the Barras for a second sold-out show in celebration of the 30th anniversary of their classic I Should Coco album.
The band was one of the first acts I got into back in the mid-90s when I started taking an interest in ‘proper’ music. It was the fifth single from the album, “Alright,” blasting them into mainstream consciousness, that led to a trip to the local library to get a loan of the album cassette.
Every ‘album’ gig I’ve been to before has seen the artist rejig the running order of the album to better suit the normal peaks and troughs of a gig, but Supergrass stayed true to the tracklist of the album.
The band got straight down to business with the high-energy “I’d Like to Know,” shortly followed up with “Caught by the Fuzz,” a song about frontman Gaz Coombes being caught with green by the polis—a topic that undoubtedly went over my head with being 10 back when I first listened to the album.
The band’s playing during this section was razor-sharp, the songs thundering along with Danny Goffey’s powerful drumming backed by Mick Quinn’s locked-in basslines.
The last few songs of the album are decidedly more mellow than the rest, and the band started swapping instruments, with Goffey coming out from behind the kit to play bass on “We’re Not Supposed To.”
The album set finished with Coombes getting an acoustic out for the album closer “Time to Go.”
The band then sent the energy levels in the hall soaring by kicking into “Richard III.” It’s songs like this where Supergrass are at their best—fast, energetic rock ‘n’ roll—and the crowd were definitely back onside after a lull at the end of the album set.
They went through a run of singles from other albums, including “Mary” and “Moving,” before sending the crowd on their way with “Pumping on Your Stereo.”
Supergrass have gone on hiatus quite a few times over the years. Let’s hope they’re back together for good this time.
The Golden Bough 