The Golden Bough

There are certain bands you go to see because you like them, and then there are bands who have been living rent-free inside your emotional nervous system for decades. The Cure are firmly in the latter category. My 20’s were soundtracked shuffling across the hallowed grounds of the ABC dance floor with hair back combed within an inch of its life et al Robert Smith himself as the synthe overture of “Just Like Heaven” played in the background. Seeing them live is like being invited into a beautifully decorated mausoleum where everyone has agreed that heartbreak is actually quite fun if you put the right bassline underneath it…

Last night at Edinburgh’s Royal Highland Showground, the bill was an unusually good exercise in alternative darkness. Just Mustard opened proceedings, followed by Slowdive and then, in a particularly welcome surprise, Glasgow’s finest, Mogwai. It was an evening that seemed to have been curated by someone with a very specific understanding of the human capacity for melancholy.

I’ve been low-key obsessing over Just Mustard since 2018’s Wednesday, and seeing them here felt like watching a band who have spent the last few years turning post-punk into something stranger, heavier and considerably more nocturnal. The Dundalk five-piece sound like the aftermath of a bad dream in an abandoned factory: industrial textures, bruised guitars and Katie Ball’s voice drifting through it all like a radio transmission from another dimension. “Death” remains my ultimate favourite, but “We Were Just Here”, from their more recent work, shows how much their sound has expanded without losing that deliciously bleak centre. There is a post-punk blues running through Just Mustard that feels particularly potent in the current Irish scene. Everything coming out of Ireland at the moment seems to have a little more darkness in its bloodstream, and Just Mustard are among the most compelling examples.

Next came Slowdive. Not quite our thing, perhaps, but unquestionably a band worth seeing live. Their shoegaze is less a performance than an atmospheric event: layers of guitar rolling over the crowd until individual songs become almost indistinguishable from weather. “When the Sun Hits” would have been the obvious emotional landmark, that glorious collision of beauty and distortion, and they did exactly what Slowdive do best — create music that feels as though it is simultaneously arriving and disappearing.

Then came the surprise: Mogwai.

Somehow I had managed not to know Glasgow’s finest were playing, which is the kind of pleasant error one would like to make more often. For a band whose music contains no conventional lyrical narrative, they drew a sizeable crowd and proved an almost perfect precursor to The Cure. Mogwai have always understood the dramatic power of volume and repetition: they take a simple musical idea, feed it steroids and send it charging towards the horizon. “God Gets You Back”, from The Bad Fire, was a particularly fitting reminder of their ability to turn instrumental music into something enormous and emotionally cinematic.

And then there was The Cure.

My fellow photographer friend summed it up perfectly: The Cure make music for people who are moody.

They do. But they also make music for people who have discovered that being moody is much more enjoyable when several thousand other people are doing it with you.

The venue was sold out, and Robert Smith and his fellow middle-aged goths proceeded to deliver one of the best Cure shows I’ve seen in a long time. I had reservations after seeing them at Bellahouston Park seven years ago. That show had suffered, for me, from problems of pacing and timing, with a noticeable slump developing through the middle. Last night there was none of that. The set had shape, momentum and atmosphere. It knew when to brood and when to let the roof come off.

“Pictures of You”, appearing second, was an immediate statement of intent. Taken from 1989’s Disintegration, it is one of The Cure’s great songs of memory: seven minutes of looking backwards while pretending you’re not. The guitars shimmered and the song seemed to stretch across the Showground like an old photograph left out in the rain. This is what The Cure do better than almost anyone: they turn nostalgia into a physical substance.

“High”, from 1992’s Wish, followed, and suddenly the gloom had a pulse. It is one of those Cure songs that manages to be melancholic and euphoric at exactly the same time. Their music has always understood that happiness and sadness are not opposite ends of a scale; sometimes they are sitting in the same room, drinking from the same bottle.

Then came “Lovesong”, and this is where the whole goth enterprise starts to reveal its rather embarrassing secret.

It is incredibly romantic.

Written by Robert Smith for Mary Poole, his long-time girlfriend and future wife, “Lovesong” is perhaps the most straightforwardly sincere thing The Cure ever committed to tape. It comes from Disintegration, an album otherwise overflowing with emotional catastrophe, yet here Smith strips everything back and simply says: I love you.

There is something almost revolutionary about that level of sincerity.

We like to think of goth as music about death, but at its heart it is music about wanting something so badly that the possibility of losing it becomes unbearable. The black clothes are merely camouflage for an enormous sentimental heart.

And nowhere is that more obvious than “Just Like Heaven”, which appeared at number 11 in the set.

Written for the same woman who was then Smith’s high-school sweetheart, the song was inspired in part by a trip to the coast and the physical delirium of kissing her so intensely that he felt as though he might pass out. Robert Smith, it turns out, did not write the song because he was haunted by the void.

He wrote it because he was winching his girlfriend.

If that isn’t romance, I don’t know what is.

The song comes from 1987’s Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, an album that remains one of The Cure’s great acts of stylistic indecency: pop, goth, psychedelia, funk, new wave and pure romantic absurdity all thrown together and somehow making perfect sense. Live, “Just Like Heaven” remains almost unbearably joyous. Everyone knows it. Everyone sings it. For three minutes, several thousand people who presumably spend most of their lives pretending not to care about anything are openly screaming about love.

Another stand out track; “Three Imaginary Boys”, taking us all the way back to the band’s 1979 debut. It was remarkable hearing such an early Cure song inside a set that also contained the huge, mature melancholy of Disintegration. The contrast showed just how far they have travelled.

“A Night Like This”, from 1985’s The Head on the Door, arrived its saxophone adding another shade to that wonderfully nocturnal Cure palette. With Gabriel Cooper on sax, it had the atmosphere of a smoky bar at 2am, when everyone has either fallen in love, had their heart broken or is about to make an appalling decision.

Then came “A Forest” it was one of the evening’s defining moments.

If you want to understand The Cure, “A Forest” is the instruction manual. It comes from 1980’s Seventeen Seconds, and its bassline seems to walk permanently towards something it knows it will never find. The guitars circle, the drums stalk, and Smith’s voice sits somewhere between detachment and desperation. It is music about searching without any expectation of finding the thing you are looking for.

The genius is that it makes the search sound magnificent.

The title track of Disintegration arrived, and the show briefly became less a concert than an emotional landslide. The song is eight minutes of beautifully controlled collapse. It is The Cure at their most excessive and their most honest, a song that doesn’t merely describe falling apart but seems determined to demonstrate the process in real time.

And then, eventually, the hits were saved for the encore.

“Lullaby”, from Disintegration, opened that final stretch with one of The Cure’s strangest triumphs: a song about nightmares that somehow became a pop classic. It is sinister, sexy, funny and deeply weird, which is essentially the Cure manifesto in four words.

“The Lovecats” then arrived, the gloriously unhinged 1983 single from the Japanese Whispers period. It sounds like The Cure briefly escaped from their own funeral, wandered into a jazz club and decided to have a bit of a laugh. The fact that it works so well after nearly two hours of gothic drama is another reminder that The Cure have never been interested in being miserable in a straightforward way.

“Let’s Go to Bed” followed, one of the great moments of Cure self-sabotage. After the monumental bleakness of Pornography, Smith and company essentially responded by making a bizarrely seductive synth-pop song. It was a refusal to remain trapped inside their own gloom. The Cure have always known when to pull the curtains back and let a little sunlight into the crypt.

Then came “Friday I’m in Love”.

If there was any remaining doubt that this was a show built as much on pure enjoyment as nostalgia, it evaporated here. From 1992’s Wish, it remains one of the great happy songs by a band who have spent most of their career making sadness sound glamorous. The entire place seemed to briefly forget that it was supposed to be a gathering of people dressed almost exclusively in black.

Finally came “Why Can’t I Be You?”, from Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, and it was the perfect closing statement: ridiculous, exuberant, romantic and completely without shame.

The Cure have always understood that darkness needs light. Without it, there is no contrast, no drama and ultimately no fun. They can spend eight minutes disintegrating emotionally and then follow it with a song about Friday, dancing, kissing or going to bed. That is why they have survived where so many of their contemporaries have become museum pieces.

This was a show studded with gems throughout, but it was also pure nostalgia. Not the dead-eyed nostalgia of a heritage act going through the motions, but the intoxicating kind: the nostalgia of hearing songs that have accompanied entire sections of your life and discovering that they still work.

That is The Cure’s particular magic.

They make private misery communal. They take heartbreak, lust, regret, longing, ageing and romantic obsession and turn them into something you can sing at the top of your lungs with thousands of other people. They make the humiliations of being human feel grand.

Robert Smith looked, as ever, like a man who had been dragged reluctantly from a Victorian séance to headline a rock concert. But the band sounded anything but old. The music still had teeth. It still had romance. It still had that peculiar ability to make sadness feel like a place worth visiting.

Because perhaps that is what goth really is.

Not death.

Love.

Painfully, embarrassingly, magnificently romantic love.

We are all goths at heart.

And last night, in Edinburgh, The Cure reminded us why.

Words: Angela Canava

Images: Ryan Buchanan

Walking from the East Gate into the Royal Highland Centre for one of their most highly anticipated Summer Sessions of the season, there was already a buzz around the site. Biffy Clyro are a band on fire at the moment with a wide ranging fanbase and the steady stream of people walking into the grounds reflected that. The sun was shining, the cider was flowing, and a myriad of food trucks were on hand to keep energy levels up. The hot sugared doughnuts smelled especially enticing…

First band up was Scottish alt-rockers, Swim School. It was great to see a rising Edinburgh band in the support slot and they certainly got the energy moving in the right direction! Every member of the band brought their A-game in what was one of their biggest shows to date and it looked clear they have a big future ahead of them.

Next up was popular English rockers, Nothing But Thieves. Their opening song “Stray Dogs” began with a pulsing rhythm that seemed to steadily ramp up the audience before smashing straight into the rest of the set. Singer Conor Mason’s epically strong vocals were complimented by the electric musicianship of his bandmates and together they made sure the audience was thoroughly primed for the headliner. 

Honourable mention goes to the man in a pink costume with an inflatable flamingo around his waist. As he crowd surfed his way to the front, and the camera operator gave him a close up on the big screens, Mason voiced what we were all thinking, “Well that was fucking weird!“. The crowd burst out laughing and cheered loudly. Legend!

Then, with the stage drenched in dark red light and smoke hanging in the air, Biffy Clyro exploded on to the stage with fireworks booming overhead! It was a spectacular entrance!

Maverick frontman Simon Neil, topless, tattooed and kilted, owned the stage and had the crowd captivated for the entirety of Biffy’s set. The flamethrower he brandished during “Who’s Got A Match?” made the performance even more exciting. Shout out to the creative and technical team who designed such an incredible set and light show, including the pyrotechnics. The production really elevated the performance and experience for fans. The whole evening was consistently visually stunning. 

The mood shifted to something more considered and quiet during “Space“, with warm yellow lights glowing across the stage like candles or stars as the audience swayed. A plane passed overhead, and it was hard not to wonder how magical the stage must have looked from 3,000 feet.

The emotional high point came with fan favourite, “Machines“. With the staging stripped back and a violinist adding to the emotion, the crowd sang every word. Friends, couples and families leaned into each other. For a beautiful moment, everyone felt completely connected.  

“Bubbles” prompted another mass singalong before the band headed towards the finale. “Many of Horror” was a gorgeous choice for the closing song, the audience once again singing every word before Neil delivered the immortal sign-off:

“We are. Biffy. Fucking. Clyro!”

Even then, the crowd wasn’t finished. Walking away from the darkened stage to catch buses, trams or to be picked up by loved ones, those heading back through the East Gate spontaneously broke into a rendition of, “You’re Just Too Good to Be True” by Frankie Valli.

It was a fitting end to a night that combined huge rock songs, spectacular production and genuine connection between band and audience. Biffy Clyro brought the fire, literally, but ultimately it was the fans singing those songs back to them with such feeling that made the evening so perfect.

Words: Kim Sabatelli

Images:  Euan Robertson

It was a balmy summer evening at the Kelvingrove Bandstand, with the smell of food drifting through the air as gig goers bought cold pints and friends saved seats for each other in anticipation of the night ahead. Tonight was to be no ordinary concert; not only were we celebrating 30 years of headliner Idlewild, but it was also lead singer Roddy Woomble‘s 50th birthday.  

Support act Sorren Maclean, who has co-written several of Roddy Woomble‘s solo albums, travelled over from Mull to perform. The band provided a gentle start to proceedings, though it wasn’t without some Scottish humour; when someone in the crowd shouted, “Glad you’re here!”, Maclean’s dry “Aye, thanks” raised a laugh from the crowd. 

When Idlewild took to the stage, the affection between the band and the Glasgow crowd was obvious from the start. Dedicated fans lined the barrier, while Roddy reminded everyone that Idlewild had played the Bandstand ten years earlier. When he asked who had been there, the response was enthusiastic (and also gives away the age of most of the people there. Yes, myself included…).

As it was Roddy’s birthday, there was an extra sense of celebration. The crowd sang “Happy Birthday”, while former bassist Bob Fairfoull, who had turned 50 the previous week, also received a birthday mention. Before the encore, a birthday cake even appeared, accompanied by a round of, “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow”.

The band themselves were on form. Rod Jones, on guitar and backing vocals, was like a man possessed. Throwing himself around the stage, he was incredibly exciting to watch. 

Roddy’s rapport with the audience was equally impressive. The crowd sang enthusiastically along to “American English”, creating a beautiful moment made even more atmospheric by the creative lighting from the stage. 

The set covered Idlewild’s career and the appearance of Hannah Fisher, the fiddler who played earlier with Sorren Maclean, added another interesting dimension to some songs.

There were a few memorable crowd moments too, including one enthusiastic fan being reminded by security that seats are for sitting on, not standing on… Mostly though, the audience simply sang, danced and celebrated a band with whom many clearly have a long history.

During the encore, “Let Me Sleep (Next to The Mirror)” produced a huge cheer before the band eventually played their final song, “In Remote Part/Scottish Fiction”, while a sea of phones glowed like candles across the Bandstand.

On a beautiful Glasgow night, it felt like a celebration shared between band and audience, and a very good reason to save those seats for your pals!

Article: Kim Sabetelli

 

Tomorrow’s Harvest, a new weekender from the team behind Edinburgh’s Cowgate Block Parties, will launch this August at Glasgow’s legendary QMU.

 

 

 

The event will take place on Friday 28th August (doors 5pm) and Saturday 29th August (doors 4pm) with early bird weekend tickets on sale now. Tomorrow’s Harvest will feature three stages of the most exciting touring and local acts all under one roof, alongside live DJs and with food options available.

 

The Friday bill will be headlined by eclectic synthpop act Working Men’s Club, their first performance in Scotland in several years. Saturday’s headliner, Manchester punk-jazz band Maruja, are returning to Glasgow after a sold-out show at The Garage in late 2025.

 

Other artists featured in the first wave announcement areThistle., Bathing Suits, Sex Mask, Speedial, Mleko, San Jose, Tina Sandwich, Fog Bandits, Pleasure Trail, Awful Eyes, and Heavy Weather, with more to be announced. 

 

The QMU has a long history of legendary live performances, and has played host to artists such as SLADE, Genesis, Thin Lizzy, Queen, The Fall, The Pixies, Nirvana, Paul Weller, Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Coldplay, Biffy Clyro, Franz Ferdinand, Belle and Sebastian and many more through the years.

 

Speaking about the event, Tomorrow’s Harvest booker Craig Gornall said:

 

“We’ve had two sell-out events this year already at the Block Parties through in Edinburgh, and we can’t wait to bring some of the hottest new artists through to Glasgow as well.”

 

“The QMU has introduced generations of Glaswegians and students from further afield to their new favourite band, and we want to continue that brilliant legacy with our new weekender Tomorrow’s Harvest.”

 

“We’re thrilled to have Working Men’s Club and Maruja as headliners for Tomorrow’s Harvest, but we’ve got some excellent local talent on the bill too. Glasgow has one of the best local music scenes in the country and it’s always worth celebrating.”

 

Early Bird Weekend tickets are available now from £40, with individual day tickets going on sale Wednesday 15th July at 10am. 

 

Friday headliner Working Men’s Club

 

There is a contradiction at the heart of Caribou. Dan Snaith makes music that feels as though it was engineered for the small hours, for blacked-out rooms where the outside world dissolves into pulse and repetition. Yet here he was beneath an amber Glasgow sky, the last of the evening sun hanging over the Clyde like a streetlamp that had forgotten to switch itself on. It was beautiful, certainly. It just wasn’t quite the right lighting.

Electronic music is funny like that. Some artists thrive in daylight. Caribou belongs to the nocturnal species.

That slight mismatch between atmosphere and setting was the evening’s only real flaw. Everything else landed with astonishing precision.

The show, billed as part of an all-day event, felt less like a festival than a waiting room. People milled around politely enough for the earlier acts, but the tide unmistakably turned once Caribou’s equipment appeared. I had assumed Snaith’s club alias Daphni might provide the warm-up, particularly given the set’s affectionate nod to that project with Waiting So Long. Instead it was AHADADREAM, whose buoyant, disco-infused selections kept bodies moving without ever pretending to be the main event. Good DJs know when to lead; great ones know when to get out of the way.

By the time the band emerged, Galvanizers Yard was close to capacity, the sort of crowd that doesn’t merely applaud songs but has quietly woven them into the soundtrack of its own life.

Caribou has always occupied a rare space in electronic music. Since emerging in the early 2000s, Snaith has refused to choose between the laboratory and the dancefloor, blending psychedelic rock, house, krautrock, IDM and pop into records that somehow satisfy both headphone obsessives and festival crowds. Albums such as Swim, Our Love and the recent Honey have earned him a reputation as one of electronic music’s most inventive composers, while his Daphni project indulges the more club-focused instincts that occasionally bleed back into Caribou’s work. 

The live band remains one of the finest arguments for seeing electronic music performed by humans rather than laptops. Alongside Snaith were Ryan Smith, John Schmersal and Brad Weber, whose interplay has been refined over years of touring. 

Special mention belongs to Weber. Watching him was like watching someone negotiate with time itself. His right hand darted between acoustic drums and electronic pads with metronomic certainty while the beat machine fired underneath, the two systems locking together so tightly they seemed less like man and machine than identical twins separated at birth. Every fill landed exactly where your body hoped it would before your brain had time to ask.

The setlist barely paused for breath. Volume and Climbing established intent before Bowls rolled into the night’s first eruption with Odessa. Few songs have travelled through Glasgow quite like that one. Long before it echoed around Galvanizers Yard, Odessa had already become a familiar visitor to dancefloors courtesy of countless sets from Glasgow institution Optimo. It was impossible not to smile at the sea of Optimo T-shirts dotted throughout the audience. One in particular read, “There’s no DFA without Optimo,” a slogan that felt less like fashion than local history stitched into cotton.

It was a reminder that scenes matter. DJs matter. The reason so many Glaswegians already carried these songs somewhere in their bones wasn’t streaming algorithms. It was years spent in dark rooms where Keith McIvor and Jonnie Wilkes patiently educated dancefloors one impeccable record at a time.

By the time Sun arrived, its ecstatic repetition became exactly what great repetition should be: not monotonous but medicinal. Like waves against a harbour wall, each cycle stripped away another layer of self-consciousness. Later came Never Come Back, Dear Life, Broke My Heart and Can’t Do Without You, each one provoking the sort of communal release that electronic music achieves at its best—not euphoria as escapism but euphoria as temporary citizenship.

Caribou’s songs rarely shout. They persuade. They accumulate. They circle the listener until resistance feels pointless.

As darkness finally crept across the Yard, the music seemed to expand into the space it had been waiting for all evening. You could almost hear the show becoming itself.

Had this concert happened two hours later, beneath genuine darkness rather than Glasgow’s lingering amber glow, it might have been transcendent. Instead it settled for being magnificent.

And hearing Odessa and Sun performed live, surrounded by thousands of Glaswegians who have spent well over a decade dancing to them in clubs across the city, felt less like attending a concert than finally meeting old friends in person. It was, quite simply, a privilege.

Article: Angela Canavan

It’s not everyday that bands from the land of Fire and Ice visit Glasgow, so tonight is something of a celebration — Virgin Orchestra back in town, three years after their first appearance. Nice N Sleazy’s crypt is the perfect venue forthis Icelandic trio; the lighting, mostly red with the odd flash of blue, only adds to the otherworldly pull of tonight’s set.

A Praying Mantis-like electric cello, an effects-laden guitar and vocals make for an unusual lineup, but the post-punk, electronic-pioneer-influenced music feels strangely familiar without ever settling into one shape. Velvet Underground, A Place to Bury Strangers, Warpaint, My Bloody Valentine, The Cure — all clearly in the mix, yet filtered into something that’s unmistakably Virgin Orchestra andnothing else. There are many avant-garde influences at play too, ones I won’t claim to be fully familiar with, but when you live in a place that’s in a gigantic sea, somewhere between New York and Glasgow, your reference points are global — and maybe that helps create a dark, emotionally uplifting wall of sound that goes well beyond the ordinary and everyday. Stefania holds centre stage, her slow, fluid movements as hypnotic as they are mesmerising. Starri’s guitar and soundtrack leads the musical adventure ,as Rún sits almost defiantly at her cello, occasionally leaving her position to take the mic and throw in some genuinely unexpected and joyous interplay. Half thetime I can’t tell if the lyrics are in English or Icelandic, and it barely matters — the immersive effect of the whole thing eclipses the individual parts. Feeling wins out over understanding, and the band is all the better for it.

Virgin Orchestra offer a truly unique soundscape and singular performance thatreally sets them apart , and their latest EP, ‘Let It Burn,’ backs that up — six songs that show real progress beyond their 2023 debut album. This run of shows wraps with a week-long stay in London, where they’ll keep working on the next release, before October sees them supporting Queens of the Stoneage in Reykjavik at the huge Laugardalshöll Arena.

Virgin Orchestra don’t visit our shores often, so keep your eyes peeled and make this one a must-see. They’ve grown into a genuine force, and it’s excitingto think where they go from here.

Words: Nick Tammer

Images: Chris Hogge

There comes a point in every great rock band’s life when they have to decide whether they’re still dangerous or merely dependable. Kings of Leon, once the greasy Tennessee outsiders who looked like they’d wandered off the set of That ’70s Show after a three-day bender, have long since crossed that bridge. At Bellahouston Park they looked less like Southern rock’n’roll misfits and more like moustachioed craft coffee evangelists who’d happily discuss the merits of single-origin Ethiopian beans over a flat white in Zennor Coffee.

Image isn’t everything, of course. But rock music has always been about illusion as much as sound, and somewhere along the road the Followill brothers traded menace for middle age. That’s hardly a crime. The question is whether the music still carries the weight.

For much of the evening, the answer was… almost.

Playing to a crowd approaching Bellahouston Park’s outdoor concert capacity of around 35,000, the audience turnout appeared close to a sell-out, with the field looking impressively full. The Glasgow faithful were clearly willing participants, but the band never quite gave them the sense that something unforgettable was unfolding.

The setlist was certainly generous, stretching across two decades and 24 songs, from Find Me and Taper Jean Girl through to staples like Pyro, Closer and Black Thumbnail. It read like the work of a band trying to satisfy every generation of fan simultaneously. That’s easier on paper than it is in practice.

Somewhere around halfway through, the performance settled into a predictable rhythm. Caleb Followill’s trademark elongated “woooah-oh-ohs” became increasingly prominent, accompanied by the familiar rock-star shuffle: pacing from one side of the stage to the other, shoulders back, microphone held low, the sort of choreographed nonchalance that has become almost muscle memory. It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t particularly alive.

There was surprisingly little chemistry radiating from the stage. Between songs, the interaction rarely rose above standard festival script. A throwaway “That’s the best fans we’ve had on tour” landed with an audible shrug, while the inevitable “No Scotland, no party!” felt like another well-worn line retrieved from the touring playbook rather than a genuine moment of connection.

Visually, the production felt oddly caught between eras too. The dreamy star-field graphics might once have looked cinematic, but in an age where grainy VHS textures, analogue cameras and lo-fi aesthetics have become fashionable again, they seemed strangely dated rather than nostalgic.

The sound didn’t entirely help matters either. At points the mix felt thinner than it should have been, lacking the muscular punch that Kings of Leon’s catalogue demands. Songs like Fans and Beautiful War lost some of their emotional weight through a surprisingly tinny front-of-house mix.

Yet every so often the old Kings of Leon emerged.

The Bucket still swaggered. Four Kicks reminded everyone why this band were once impossible to ignore. Black Thumbnail retained its snarling edge. And Pyro remains one of modern rock’s finest slow-burning anthems.

Then came Knocked Up, Cold Desert and, especially, Arizona, proving that beneath the stadium polish there is still a remarkably gifted band capable of creating atmosphere without resorting to bombast.

The evening’s genuine turning point arrived with Use Somebody. Those soaring vocal refrains—the very thing that had begun to feel repetitive earlier in the show—suddenly found their purpose. Tens of thousands of voices took over, and for a few minutes Bellahouston became one enormous choir. It was one of the rare occasions where the band’s restrained performance actually worked in its favour.

Ironically, the biggest disappointment came right at the end.

Sex on Fire has become both Kings of Leon’s greatest commercial triumph and, arguably, their artistic burden. Watching thousands instinctively lift their phones as the opening riff rang out felt entirely predictable. It remains a colossal anthem…

But that’s precisely the problem.

For a band with a catalogue as rich as Kings of Leon’s, ending every show with the song that transformed them from respected rock band into global pop phenomenon feels increasingly unimaginative. It’s the safe choice rather than the brave one. You leave remembering the singalong instead of the band.

This wasn’t a return to the hungry, volatile Kings of Leon who once made Youth & Young Manhood and Aha Shake Heartbreak. Nor was it a cynical greatest-hits package from musicians going through the motions. It sat awkwardly somewhere in between: a hugely accomplished band balancing artistic credibility against the expectations that come with having one of the biggest rock hits of the 21st century.

The songs are still there. The craftsmanship remains undeniable. But the danger, the swagger and the unpredictable spark that once made Kings of Leon feel essential now surfaces only in flashes.

Bellahouston got exactly what it paid for: a polished stadium show packed with hits. It just never quite felt like witnessing a great rock band at full stretch.

Words: Angela Canavan

Images: Ryan Buchanan

After days of yellow weather warnings hanging over Glasgow, it seemed Summer Sessions might begin under dark skies. Instead, the clouds gave way to glorious sunshine, leaving Skunk Anansie to deliver the only storm Bellahouston Park would experience that evening. They didn’t just open the festival—they metaphorically blew the roof off the place.

Having seen Skunk Anansie live countless times over the years, I thought I knew exactly what to expect: explosive performances, relentless energy and Skin’s unmatched stage presence. Yet somehow, they continue to exceed expectations every single time. While many bands from the same era are content to trade on nostalgia, Skunk Anansie remain refreshingly relevant. Their latest album, The Painful Truth, confirms they remain as fearless, relevant and vital as ever.

From the moment Charlie Big Potato erupted across Bellahouston Park, Skin commanded the stage with complete authority. Every movement felt purposeful, every lyric carried conviction, and every interaction with the audience felt genuine, reinforcing why she remains one of Britain’s most compelling frontwomen. Dressed in an oversized black skull T-shirt, cycling shorts and fluorescent pink Adidas socks, her understated look only served to highlight what mattered most: her rare ability to make a festival stage feel both immense and surprisingly personal.

What has always set Skunk Anansie apart is their willingness to confront uncomfortable truths. Beneath the thunderous guitars, driving rhythms and powerful melodies lies a band whose songs have always carried substance as well as power. Whether exploring identity, prejudice, injustice or vulnerability, their music has consistently reflected the realities of the world around them with honesty and conviction. In many ways, The Painful Truth feels less like a new direction and more like the latest chapter in a conversation the band have been having for over three decades. It proves they remain driven by conviction rather than comfort, refusing to soften either their message or their music.

One moment Skin’s voice barely rises above a whisper; the next it tears across Bellahouston Park with breathtaking intensity, reminding everyone why she has long been regarded as one of rock’s finest vocalists. Her performance moved effortlessly between quiet vulnerability and raw intensity, often within the same song, carrying every lyric with equal measures of precision and emotion. If there was any doubt about the lasting impact of Skunk Anansie’s catalogue, Weak and Hedonism (Just Because You Feel Good) answered it. Long before Skin reached the microphone, Bellahouston Park had already taken over vocal duties, every chorus echoing back with the kind of passion reserved for songs that have become woven into people’s lives. Some songs fade with time. These have simply found new generations of voices to sing them. The heavier moments of the set, meanwhile, served as a reminder that Skunk Anansie remain one of Britain’s most formidable live bands, delivering wave after wave of intensity without ever sacrificing musicianship.

Behind Skin, Ace’s guitar work was one of the evening’s standout features, effortlessly shifting between crushing riffs, soaring melodies and intricate solos that gave every song even greater impact. Cass and Mark Richardson provided the relentless foundation that has defined the band’s sound for decades, while the chemistry between the four musicians was unmistakable. There is an effortless chemistry to the way they perform together that only comes from years of sharing a stage, each member instinctively knowing exactly when to step forward and when to let the music breathe.

Watching Skin perform is never a passive experience—she refuses to allow it. Long before the final chorus, the invisible divide between stage and audience had all but disappeared, replaced by thousands of people sharing in something that felt less like a concert and more like a collective release. One of the evening’s defining moments came during I Can Dream, when Skin once again demonstrated why few performers connect with an audience quite like she does. Stepping into the crowd with her now-famous “Skin Cam”, she transformed festival-goers from spectators into part of the performance itself. It wasn’t simply crowd interaction—it encapsulated everything that has always made Skunk Anansie such a compelling live band. By the time Tear the Place Up brought the set to a close, Summer Sessions was officially underway. More than three decades after they first burst onto the scene, Skunk Anansie remain fearless, authentic and defiantly relevant. The Painful Truth is more than an album title; it encapsulates everything the band have stood for throughout their career—a refusal to shy away from saying the difficult things out loud. They didn’t just open Summer Sessions—they reminded everyone why, after all these years, they still matter.

 
If Skunk Anansie provided the thunder, Wet Leg supplied the sunshine. Bringing their unmistakable blend of witty lyricism, deceptively catchy melodies and understated charm to Bellahouston Park, the band delivered a set that felt effortlessly authentic from beginning to end. Fresh from the release of their second album, Moisturizer, the Isle of Wight five-piece showed exactly why they have become one of Britain’s most exciting indie bands, combining sharp songwriting, relaxed confidence and effortless musicianship to win over an already enthusiastic Summer Sessions crowd.

From the opening notes of Catch These Fists, it was clear Wet Leg were exactly where they belonged. Their relaxed stage presence and understated confidence made the performance feel wonderfully unforced from beginning to end. Rhian Teasdale’s dry humour and understated charisma perfectly complemented the band’s musicianship, creating a set that felt both intimate and effortlessly suited to the festival stage. Dressed in simple white shorts and top, finished with chunky tan boots, Teasdale embodied the band’s signature style: understated, authentic and quietly confident.

What makes Wet Leg so compelling is their ability to make simplicity feel exciting. Their songs are packed with clever observations, offbeat humour and deceptively catchy melodies that linger long after they’ve finished. Beneath the playful lyrics lies a band of exceptional musicians, with Hester Chambers‘ intricate guitar work and the tight rhythm section providing the perfect foundation for every song.

Although Moisturizer marks the next chapter for the band, the newer material sat seamlessly alongside fan favourites, demonstrating just how naturally their sound continues to evolve. Rather than chasing trends or reinventing themselves, Wet Leg remain true to the qualities that first won them acclaim: originality, authenticity and an ability to find humour in the everyday.

If there was any doubt about which songs the crowd had been waiting for, Chaise Longue, Wet Dream and Ur Mum quickly answered it. Bellahouston Park erupted into huge singalongs, every witty lyric echoed back with infectious enthusiasm as the audience embraced the band’s playful spirit. It was impossible not to smile watching thousands of people shout every word in unison, transforming songs already rich in personality into genuinely memorable festival moments.

It was a performance built on personality rather than spectacle, allowing the band’s wit, musicianship and authenticity to speak for themselves. By the time Mangetout brought the set to a close, Wet Leg had done exactly what great festival bands do: they left thousands of people smiling. With clever songwriting, undeniable musicianship and a refreshing lack of pretence, they delivered a set that felt every bit as genuine as it was entertaining. In an evening shared with two legendary artists, Wet Leg never tried to be anything other than themselves—and that proved to be their greatest strength.

Alanis Morissette delivers an unforgettable masterclass at Glasgow Summer Sessions
By the time Alanis Morissette stepped onto the Summer Sessions stage, Bellahouston Park had already witnessed two outstanding performances. For many, this was the moment they had waited decades for—a chance to hear the songs that defined much of the 1990s. Yet what unfolded was far more than a celebration of a remarkable catalogue. From the opening notes, Morissette reminded everyone that truly great songwriting doesn’t belong to one era. Her music endures because its emotional honesty feels every bit as powerful today as when those songs were first written.

Having waited decades to finally see Alanis Morissette perform live, expectations were enormous. Somehow, she surpassed every one of them. More than thirty years after Jagged Little Pill redefined a generation, Morissette remains an artist whose work refuses to be confined to the past. Her songs explore love, heartbreak, healing, identity, forgiveness and resilience with a sincerity that still feels deeply relevant. They are timeless not because they are old, but because they remain profoundly human.

From the opening notes of Hand in My Pocket, Morissette commanded Bellahouston Park with effortless authority. There was nothing forced about her performance; her confidence came entirely from the songs and the conviction with which she delivered them. Dressed simply in black with a flowing burgundy layer, she moved seamlessly between acoustic guitar, harmonica and centre stage. Her glittering gold guitar added a little extra sparkle to the evening—because, apparently, extraordinary songwriting wasn’t quite enough. Every smile, every glance towards the audience and every spoken reflection revealed an artist completely at ease with herself and deeply connected to every lyric she sang.

Behind the band, beautifully understated visuals unfolded across the giant screens. Atmospheric woodland imagery, shifting colours and subtle lighting echoed the emotional landscape of each song without ever competing for attention. Like the performance itself, every visual element served the music, creating an experience that felt both intimate and cinematic.

If there was one aspect of the performance that lingered long after the final note, it was Morissette’s voice. Rich, expressive and remarkably powerful, it remains one of the most distinctive in modern music. One moment it conveyed the quietest vulnerability; the next it soared with breathtaking intensity, carrying decades of lived experience in every lyric. Rather than revisiting old favourites, Morissette inhabited every song completely. Each performance felt immediate, deeply personal and emotionally fearless, as though these stories were still unfolding in the present.

The setlist struck a thoughtful balance between the songs that defined a generation and later material that deserved every bit as much recognition. While Hand in My Pocket, Head Over Feet, Ironic, You Learn, You Oughta Know, Uninvited and the closing Thank U prompted huge singalongs, songs such as Reasons I Drink, Smiling and Rest sat naturally alongside them, demonstrating how her songwriting has continued to evolve without ever losing the qualities that first captivated audiences. It never felt like a greatest-hits show; instead, it felt like a journey through every chapter of an extraordinary career.

Among the evening’s defining moments was Mary Jane. Stripped back and emotionally exposed, it became one of those rare performances where an entire audience seemed to fall silent. Morissette sang with such raw emotion that every lyric felt deeply personal—a reminder that some of her most affecting work has never been measured by chart success. It was an unforgettable performance that lingered long after the final note had faded.

Few songwriters have explored life’s contradictions with the honesty of Alanis Morissette. Throughout her catalogue, vulnerability sits comfortably beside strength, heartbreak alongside healing, and anger alongside forgiveness. It is that emotional truth—never simplified, never sanitised—that gives her music its enduring power.

For many, Summer Sessions offered the chance to revisit the soundtrack of their youth. What Alanis Morissette delivered was something far more meaningful. Rather than simply celebrating the past, she reminded everyone why these songs have endured for more than three decades. Honest, fearless and emotionally generous, they continue to find new meaning at every stage of life. As thousands of voices joined together for Thank U, it became clear that this was never just about nostalgia—it was about music that still understands us. And that is what made the evening truly unforgettable.

 

Written by Louise Meina

Images: Euan Robertson

With a stacked line up of Bowling for Soup, Frank Turner & The Sleeping Souls and American Hi-Fi, the “Bowl My Bones” tour brought a healthy dose of rock-pop-punk nostalgia to the O2 Academy on 29th June.

American Hi-Fi got proceedings underway in atmospheric fashion, taking to the stage under deep red lighting and swirling smoke. It didn’t take long for them to win over the Glasgow crowd who responded enthusiastically throughout the set. A particularly warm reception came when the band reminisced about playing King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut many years ago, prompting a huge cheer from fans who clearly appreciated the nod to the city’s rich live music history.

Frank Turner & The Sleeping Souls followed with a performance that was anything but sleepy. Turner proved adept at keeping the audience engaged between songs, while the band’s relentless energy ensured there was barely a moment to catch a breath. The crowd enthusiastically sang along to much of the set, creating the kind of communal atmosphere that has become synonymous with Frank Turner‘s live shows. One of the evening’s standout moments came during the band’s well known Wall of Death, or rather, Wall of Hugs. As the crowd split down the middle, the usual expectations of chaos were replaced with something far more heartwarming as fans rushed forward to embrace one another instead. It was a wholesome reminder of the welcoming community that surrounds Turner’s music.

It was then time for Bowling For Soup and they showcased their big personalities before they had even stepped on stage. Live backstage footage was projected onto a giant screen, allowing fans to watch the band joking around and preparing for the show moments before making their entrance.

The trio delivered a performance that was overflowing with fun, fuelled by relentless energy, humour and constant interaction with the audience. Bassist Rob Felicetti barely stood still, spending much of the night kicking and jumping while singer/guitarist Jaret Reddick joked with the audience like they were old friends. Drummer Gary Wiseman didn’t let up the whole night, smashing the drums to keep everyone bouncing.

“High School Never Ends” had the packed Academy dancing and singing along, while the band’s cover of Fountains of Wayne’s “Stacey’s Mom” proved a perfect addition to the setlist, drawing huge cheers from a crowd largely raised on music from the early 2000s. One of the most memorable moments came during, “Girl All The Bad Guys Want”. Inviting two young fans onto the stage to perform alongside them transformed an already energetic performance into something really special. Their excitement was impossible to miss, and it was one of those moments that will undoubtedly stay with them long after the final encore.

As the lights came up, the crowd spilled out of the Academy still buzzing from a night that perfectly balanced nostalgia with outstanding live entertainment.

Article: Kim Sabetelli

Thursday 9th July – Scotland’s festival for music discovery, TENEMENT TRAIL Festival, has today announced the first wave of artists for this year’s event which takes place on 10th October, including huge Scottish co-headliners Baby Strange and Brògeal. Baby Strange are reforming exclusively for TENEMENT TRAIL and headline the Barrowland for a special, one-off show marking the 10th anniversary of their debut album ‘Want It Need It’, while Brògeal headline Barras Art and Design (BAaD). Set times have been arranged so fans can catch both performances across the night. 

Alongside the headliners, the 2026 line-up brings together 45+ artists. Fans can expect a mix of established festival favourites and some of the most exciting emerging talent on the scene, including Cliffords, The Orielles and Willie J Healey.

Having played the very first TENEMENT TRAIL in 2013, Baby Strange are reforming for one night only to co-headline the festival and play the Barrowland. A true full-circle moment for both the band and the festival, the landmark show will celebrate the 10th anniversary of their acclaimed debut album ‘Want It Need It’. The Glasgow outfit are a defining part of TENEMENT TRAIL’s story, with previous appearances spanning the inaugural event in 2013, a surprise last-minute set in 2018, and the festival’s first year in Glasgow’s East End in 2019. Fans won’t want to miss this historic performance from one of the city’s most influential modern bands – one that is sure to go down in the Glasgow music history books. Johnny Madden, frontman of Baby Strange, said: “We’re really excited to be reuniting for one night only to headline TENEMENT TRAIL this year, celebrating 10 years of our debut album ‘Want It Need It’. The album holds a special place in our hearts, and there’s no better place to play it than the Barras! This will be our fourth time playing TENEMENT TRAIL, the first being back in 2013. Thanks to TENEMENT TRAIL for having us and for everything they’ve done for Scottish music.”“We’re looking forward to celebrating with everyone who’s been part of the journey, and those seeing us live for the first time. It’s going to be a really memorable night. Now, let’s see if we can remember how to play the songs…”

Falkirk’s Brògeal also return as co-headliners, following the release of their hit debut album ‘Tuesday Paper Club’ last year. Known for their electrifying blend of Scottish folk and indie music, the five-piece have gone from strength to strength since their last TRAIL performance in 2022 when they played the Barrowland 2. Since then, they’ve amassed a loyal following across the UK, playing huge shows at TRNSMT Festival, The Great Escape, Eurosonic and more, alongside support slots with the likes of Paolo Nutini, The Pogues and The Mary Wallopers. 

Organisers Tenement TV and DF Concerts also confirm AKA, Angelface, Bad Gravy, Boxing Club, Burglar, Chancer, Compost Compost Compost, Conscious Pilot, Dan Parks, Dice, Diva Down, Ewan McKenna, Faeda, Fatale, Ferguson Hi-Fi, Foreign2, heavyskint, Heidi Curtis, Jack Torrance, LeisureLand, Limonead, Lupercalia, Maicin, Makeshift Art Bar, Morgan T Morris, My First Time, Oedipus and the Mama’s Boys, Paulie Swan, Pixie McCann, Pyncher, Quality Control, Quiet Houses, Sally Stenning, Slag, Sodakill, Supersun, THEATRE, The Paris Match, Tom A Smith, Woody.

Spanning some of Glasgow’s most iconic East End music venues, TENEMENT TRAIL is a unique multi-venue festival showcasing the best in emerging music across 10 hours, 50 artists and eight venues. With just one ticket, fans can enjoy performances at The Barrowland Ballroom, Barrowland 2, Barras Art and Design (BAaD), St Luke’s, The Winged Ox, 226 Gallowgate, Van Winkles and McChuill’s.

Among the first wave of artists announced, Cork-based five-piece Cliffords are tipped as one of Ireland’s most exciting emerging guitar bands. Also joining the bill are Mercury Prize-nominated The Orielles, whose blend of post-punk, disco, psych and dream-pop influences has earned them a devoted following across the UK. Making their TENEMENT TRAIL debut in October, they’ll be joined by acclaimed Oxfordshire songwriter Willie J Healey, whose warm, melodic indie rock and charismatic live performances make him a hugely exciting addition to this year’s TENEMENT TRAIL. Festival organiser Chae Houston said:“Brògeal are a band we’ve been buzzing about since they came onto our radar in 2022, playing the Barras 2 at TRAIL that year. We gave them number 1 track of the year in 2024 so to have them co-headlining our music festival this year showcases exactly what TRAIL is about! “Baby Strange’s special 10th anniversary show is going to be one for the TRAIL history books. The band are a hugely important part of Glasgow’s music scene – they played the first ever TENEMENT TRAIL  on Sauchiehall Street in 2013 and our first in the east end in 2019. This is a full circle moment for the festival. We cannot wait to see fan reactions to this news!”

Follow TENEMENT TRAIL on socials @tenementtrail. 

Tickets on sale now at tenementtrail.com2026 LINE-UP ANNOUNCED SO FAR
Baby Strange (10th anniversary show) | Brògeal | | Cliffords | The Orielles | Willie J Healey

AKA, Angelface, Bad Gravy, Boxing Club, Burglar, Chancer, Compost Compost Compost, Conscious Pilot, Dan Parks, Dice, Diva Down, Ewan McKenna, Faeda, Fatale, Ferguson Hi-Fi, Foreign2, heavyskint, Heidi Curtis, Jack Torrance, LeisureLand, Limonead, Lupercalia, Maicin, Makeshift Art Bar, Morgan T Morris, My First Time, Oedipus and the Mama’s Boys, Paulie Swan, Pixie McCann, Pyncher, Quality Control, Quiet Houses, Sally Stenning, Slag, Sodakill, Supersun, THEATRE, The Paris Match, Tom A Smith, Woody