Benefits return to The Rum Shack on the album tour for ‘Constant Noise’ which was released at the end of March on Bristol-based Invada Records
Prior to the tour being announced, Benefits canvassed opinions of fans to find out what would make it easier for them to attend gigs. Acting upon feedback, it was decided that ticket costs for the tour would be set as low as they could possibly go (£12) for tonight, and that set times would be published in advance with a curfew of 10pm to allow attendees to catch public transport home.
Onto the gig, the lights go down and the band emerge to the strains of the Bond theme Live and Let Die.
The band are stripped back from previous iterations, and now consists of Robbie in control of synths, violin and other gadgets, joined by frontman Kingsley who has his own slew of synths at his end of the stage.
The set opens with the atmospheric ‘Constant Noise’, as Kingsley grabs the attention of everyone in the room with his softly spoken delivery.
The set starts to pick up pace with ‘The Victory Lap’, where the drum machines decidedly kick in, pushing out beats that have the walls of the Rum Shack shaking.
‘Lies and Fears’ reminds of the band’s noise-rock roots and it’s the first time that we hear Kingsley roaring his poetic frustrations down the mic backed by heavy drums and loud guitars.
The gig progresses almost like a DJ set, with peaks and troughs. Calm moments are then followed up with all out techno beats with an industrial tinge, backed by 303 basslines.
Nearly all of the songs played tonight come from the new album. Only ‘Flag’ and ‘Warhorse’ were played from the debut album, but these too have been reimagined for the new lineup.
They finish on a cover of the classic ‘Dream Baby Dream’ by Suicide. This starts off as being fairly true to the original, but before too long the music morphs into ‘Born Slippy’ by Underworld with Kingsley screaming Alan Vega’s lyrics like a man possessed, the stage being lit up with retina-burning strobe lights.
Benefits transition into a two-piece may have been borne out of obstacles being put in their way, but they’ve adapted and created something that is truly special.
Glasgow’s School of Art has seen a few things in its time—delirious creativity, sweaty techno nights, and the occasional third-year breakdown—but nothing quite like Soapbox blowing the roof off with the righteous fury of a band who know they’ve got something to say and aren’t asking permission to say it.
The night opened with Psweatpants, the stage name of a South London transplant who’s somehow wormed his way into Glasgow’s punk-rap underbelly, forging alliances with the likes of VLURE in what can only be described as cultural subterfuge via collaboration. Dressed like a yard sale from the future and spitting rhymes like a preacher possessed, his tracks “A Slick One” and “Life Innit” were part sermon, part stand-up, part grime ritual. He’s got the kind of charisma that makes you forgive the fact he performs under a name that sounds like a wardrobe malfunction.
Then The Menstrual Cramps descended like a swarm of righteous wasps, buzzing with bile and political intent. Frontwoman Emilia Elfrida was a gyrating vision in satin hot pants that screamed “PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY” across them, a slogan equal parts cry for help and battle cry. Their set was a glorious explosion of spit, glitter, and fury, taking aim at every institution complicit in the Israeli state’s genocide in Palestine. They weren’t just playing songs—they were stamping out apathy. Having spearheaded the campaign for bands to boycott The Great Escape Festival over its Barclays sponsorship, Emilia, alongside fellow members Carl (bass), Jenna (guitars) and AJ (drums), made it quite clear: complacency will not be tolerated. Their sound is like Bikini Kill being mugged by Amyl and the Sniffers in a pub toilet—raw, reckless, and delightfully unrepentant. Highlights included “Neo Nazi,” “Mutual Masturbation,” and “Hashtag Sad Penis,” each track a neon brick hurled at the glass house of polite society.
But the main event was Soapbox, and from the first note of opener “Do As You’re Told,” it was clear they weren’t here to mess about. Frontman Tom Rowan catapulted into the crowd by the third verse, like Johnny Ramone with a Scottish accent and less regard for personal injury. From there, it was utter, beautiful carnage. The crowd responded with unrelenting energy, hurling themselves into the pit and lifting bassist Aidan Bowskill onto their shoulders while he continued playing, grinning like a man who’s just found religion in a feedback loop. By the time Rowan followed suit, singing from atop the crowd’s collective arms, the room was drenched in sweat and sheer exhilaration.
Soapbox sound like Idles if they stopped shouting long enough to realise irony exists, or Sleaford Mods if they’d been raised on Tennents and actual class struggle rather than the concept of it. Guitarist Angus Husbands slices through the noise with jagged riffs that owe as much to Gang of Four as they do to Franz Ferdinand’s spikier moments. Drummer Jenna Nimmo is the secret weapon—her playing isn’t just rhythm, it’s a call to arms, tight as a clenched fist and twice as effective.
“Value Added Glasgow” roared through the room like a love letter written in spray paint and bile, turning the city’s damp tenements and DIY ethos into poetry. You can’t fake this kind of authenticity—the band’s fridge, glimpsed backstage, tells you everything: Irn-Bru, Tennents, and a suspicious-looking bottle of Buckfast. It’s all jokes until the first note hits, and then it’s politics with a crowbar and a guitar solo.
“Meter Maid” crackled with ska-infused menace, like early Libertines before they discovered cocaine and regret. “Stiff Upper Lip” was a snotty takedown of British emotional constipation, one part Arctic Monkeys, one part The Fall. And “The Fear,” well, that one slithered under your skin with a Joy Division-esque unease, the bass line throbbing like a hangover you can’t quite shake. Just as the final notes rang out, guitarist Angus Husbands shrugged off a camouflage jacket with the words “PLEASE DON’T SHITE IN MY MOUTH” scrawled across the back—a line lifted directly from Irvine Welsh’s The Acid House. Was it a sly nod to Scotland’s literary enfant terrible, or a brutally apt commentary on the state of modern politics? Either way, the crowd howled in delight. It was crude. It was brilliant. It was peak Soapbox.
“Granston Star Cause” saw local legend Tina Sandwich (yes, that’s her real name, and no, she will not explain it) steps in to lend some honeyed vocals to the storm, a touch of melody that only made the chaos more poignant. Psweatpants returned for “Fascist Bob,” the unofficial national anthem of a better country, the kind that would never vote Tory or forget Grenfell. At that point the pit became a communion, the crowd thrashing and howling like it might be their last night on Earth.
And still they weren’t done. “Prince Andy” was a dark fairytale of privilege and perversion, dripping with sarcasm and seething contempt, while final track “Yer Dah” was a feral, stomping goodbye kiss to the patriarchy. If “Yer Da sells Avon” was a joke, this song turned it into a battle cry.
Soapbox left the stage soaked in collective sweat and smiling from ear to ear, promising they’d be back soon. They didn’t need to say it. After a night like that, Glasgow won’t let them go quietly.
The Zutons hit the stage at Glasgow’s iconic Barrowlands with an electrifying performance that left the packed crowd buzzing from start to finish. Touring in support of their 2024 album The Big Decider, it was clear from the first note that the already-enthusiastic audience were long-time supporters of the Liverpudlian six-piece—and they were here for a party.
They launched straight into the familiar guitar strains of Zuton Fever, and soon Abi Harding’s saxophone took centre stage. Over twenty years old, the track still sounded fresh, with the band’s high-octane energy—along with a lot of flying hair—setting the tone for the night.
The pace continued with Tired of Hanging Around, before the band conducted the crowd through a raucous rendition of Why Won’t You Give Me Your Love?. The saxophone took the spotlight again on new track Pauline, this time layered with funk-driven bass, tambourine sparkle and Hammond organ swells.
Havana Gang Brawl, from their 2004 debut Who Killed The Zutons, was dedicated to Lesley, a fan attending her 50th Zutons gig. Her applause underlined the strong bond between the band and their Glaswegian fans.
Next came a heartfelt tribute to the late Amy Winehouse, whose cover of Valerie brought the band’s music to a wider audience. Their choice of cover, Back to Black, gave Abi a chance to shine with stunning vocals and soulful saxophone solos.
New song In Your Arms brought a more mellow vibe, while Water upped the tempo again, complete with tambourine, maracas and bongos—perfect for the Friday night party atmosphere. Dirty Dancehall captured the unique spirit of the Barrowlands crowd, building into a wild crescendo of dancing and layered instrumentation.
Ballads Best of Me and Popcorn gave both the crowd and band a chance to breathe, while frontman Dave McCabe showcased his vocal range and control.
The title track The Big Decider had the audience clapping and stomping along enthusiastically, proof the new material is connecting well. During Creeping on the Dancefloor, McCabe encouraged the crowd to clap, shake their hair, and hug each other—an invitation Glasgow didn’t need twice. A birthday cake appeared for keyboardist Neil Bradley, and the entire venue broke into a chorus of Happy Birthday, further boosting the party atmosphere.
For the encore, Pressure Point kicked things off, with the crowd practically drowning out the band with chants of “pressure, pressure, pressure”—it felt more like a football stadium than a ballroom. Then came Valerie—a proper singalong moment. While Winehouse made it famous, tonight it was The Zuton’s original, delivered note-perfect, that resonated most.
They closed the night with 2006’s stomper You Will You Won’t, before a triumphant reprise of Zuton Fever. As the band left the stage, they thanked “the best crowd in the world.” On tonight’s evidence, it’s hard to argue with that.
On April 27, 2025, mxmtoon (Maia) delivered a captivating performance at The Garage in Glasgow, marking a significant moment in the UK leg of her European tour. The evening commenced with “Dramatic Escape,” the opening track from her third studio album, liminal space, released on November 1, 2024 . This introspective song set the tone for a night filled with emotional resonance and connection.
Maia’s setlist featured fan favourites such as “prom dress,” “mona lisa,” and “cliché,” each performed with her characteristic warmth and sincerity. Between songs, she engaged in heartfelt conversations with the audience, fostering an intimate atmosphere that made the venue feel like a shared space of mutual understanding and appreciation.
The concert concluded with “dance (end of the world),” a track from her second studio album, rising, released on May 20, 2022 . This closing number encapsulated the evening’s themes of vulnerability and resilience, leaving the audience with a sense of hopeful reflection.
Overall, mxmtoon’s performance was a beautifully composed blend of music and storytelling, creating an environment of comforting acceptance and shared joy. Her ability to connect deeply with her audience through both song and dialogue made the evening a truly memorable experience.
For the last few years, HotWax have been growing their name with near-constant touring, playing festivals, and filling support slots for the likes of Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Royal Blood, and Warmduscher. This has all been leading up to the release of their debut album, Hot Shock, which dropped last month to critical acclaim. Now, their album tour brings them to a sold-out headliner show at Sleazies.
The first support band was local punk trio The Froobz. Kicking off with Boys Get Sad Too, they sound closer to being from Aberdeen, Washington than Aberdeen, Scotland, with a distinctive riot grrrl-esque sound plus extra bass. “It wouldn’t be a Froobz gig without thanking Mum and complaining about men — we’ll thank Mum first though,” they quip, before launching into Ur Mum’s Guide To Life. It isn’t long before the complaining about men starts though, particularly on their newly released single Manchild. Like the rest of their set, it’s a highly catchy tune driven by a heavy bassline and punctuated with tongue-in-cheek lyrics.
The Pill set the tone with choreographed dancing to Scaffolding Man. “This is the furthest north we have ever been,” states the Isle of Wight band as they play their first ever show in Scotland. They are a chaotic bundle of energy, with hilarious and piercing lyrics, and riffs that race like the Ramones. As Money Mullet ends, bassist Lottie is visibly beaming. “We’ve never seen so many people singing along to our song before — we love you, Glasgow!” And the feeling is clearly mutual.
HotWax matched the opening of their album with a run of tracks from She’s Got A Problem to Dress Our Love. The venue was already a hot and sweaty packed basement, and the band were ferocious and unrelenting. Lola bounces in and out of the crowd with Tallulah snarling the lyrics — they are effortlessly cool, and the band’s obvious chemistry elevates the set from being just a good show to a truly special one. It’s telling that the mosh pit is filled with recognisable faces from some of Glasgow’s best bands.
It isn’t until Pharmacy that the crowd gets a bit of a breather, as Tallulah breaks out the acoustic guitar and Lola extols the virtues of the “Buckatini” (Sleazies’ Buckfast cocktail). The break is brief, though, as the mosh pit kicks off again with Hard Goodbye and continues right through to the riotous Rip It Out.
HotWax have played a lot of shows in the past few years, but it feels like the chance to catch them in small, intimate venues is running out fast. The success of this debut album, combined with the loyal following they’ve built from being one of the best live bands around, is paving the way for big things in the years ahead.
Tonight is a celebration of ten years’ worth of country-meets-cow punk. However, nothing lasts forever, and everyone in attendance knows that this is the last time Sarah Shook and the Disarmers will ever play in Scotland.
Defiant, yet always hopeful in the face of despair, these musical observations of life are delivered with a sanguine attitude, sung in a one-too-many 3 a.m. North Carolina accent that makes you want to believe life isn’t as yin and yang, or as black and white, as everyday experience may lead you to believe.
River Shook (FKA Sarah Shook)’s raw and unwavering storytelling translates so wonderfully to the live environment, and compact venues such as The Hug & Pint are the perfect spaces from which to absorb these observations. The music may be less punk than in previous years, but the no-nonsense lyrics and their delivery are as quick-witted and retaliatory as ever. Honest and plausible, real and relatable. Eloquent yet profane. A bitter pill delivered as sweet medicine in the form of exquisite music that veers from country twang to Pacific Coast Gun Club.
Songs such as Good as Gold,Nightingale, Sidelong, Jane Doe, and Motherfucker sit so wonderfully together, and the chance to hear them live—just once—is a thing I shall always be grateful for.
Such beauty derived from hopelessness, heartache, or anguish is a strangely wonderful thing.
After four albums’ worth of between-the-eyes straight talking, Sarah Shook and the Disarmers have decided to call it a day. But there is always tomorrow, and I am impatient to see what River Shook brings next. Whatever it is, it will undoubtedly pull at the heartstrings and trigger feelings that’ll make you want to laugh, dance—and probably cry.
Thank god the promotors upgraded to a larger venue —because last Wednesday, St Luke’s was jam packed and hot as fuck, and by the end of the night, it had been shaken to the ground by the Lambrini Girls.
The evening kicked off with a blistering set from the brilliant Loose Articles, who lit up the stage with a wild, chaotic performance—something like a punk limbo that spilled right into the crowd. They set the tone perfectly for what was to come.
When Lambrini Girls stormed the stage, they brought with them a tidal wave of Big Dick Energy (track title and the general swagger they endorse) opening with tracks from their new album Who Let the Dogs Out.
But let’s rewind a bit. Before the show even began, photographers were warned: things might get a little dangerous in the pit. And honestly, isn’t that exactly what a punk show should be?
This was hands down the most fun I’ve had shooting a gig in ages. Crowd surfing, relentless moshing, headbanging, chants for Palestinian freedom, middle fingers to the government (past and present), and plenty of well-deserved shade thrown at the police—it was pure, cathartic chaos.
Lambrini Girls delivered a powerful set, blending songs from Who Let the Dogs Out with favourites from their debut EP You’re Welcome. I’ve never seen St Luke’s so alive. The energy was electric—I was in a trance behind the lens, probably annoying every other photographer because I couldn’t stop moving.
They tore through tracks like Help Me I’m Gay, No Homo, God’s Country, Cuntology 101, and my personal favourite, Love. Every moment hit like a punch and felt like a celebration.
I can’t stop thinking about Phoebe Lunny charging in and out of the pit, surfing a sea of bodies, commanding the chaos with ease, while Lilly Macieira shredded the stage, bleeding through her guitar strings with total commitment. It was a moment where happiness and rage collided, and it felt right.
This gig is going to stay with me for a long, long time. I have to see them again.
Porches, the brainchild of New York-based artist Aaron Maine, brought a genre-blending, emotionally charged set to Stereo on a rainy Sunday night in Glasgow. Known for weaving synth-pop sensibilities with grunge textures and angsty lyricism, Porches has carved out a distinctive sonic space over the past decade—and this performance proved exactly why fans keep coming back.
Opening with ‘Rag’, released last year as part of their album Shirt, the tone was immediately set: a collision of raw emotion and grungy soundscapes. Although the show wasn’t sold out, the energy in the room more than made up for it. The crowd, pressed eagerly to the stage, were visibly locked in—heads bopping, eyes fixed. One early highlight was ‘Itch’, a clear favourite with the audience, delivering gritty, synth-laced angst that got everyone moving. This was quickly followed by the faster-tempo ‘Lunch’, which shifted the vibe into a more upbeat, feel-good gear—without losing the emotional core that underpins Porches’ sound.
‘Sally’ stood out as a sonic contradiction in the best way: screechy guitar feedback introduced a track that quickly settled into a shoegazy rhythm with echoing vocals. The grungy breakdown landed heavy, and again the crowd responded with cheers and movement.
Maine’s quirky stage presence added charm throughout—playfully making strange mic noises and repeating “and so… and so… this is nice,” drawing laughter from the crowd. At one point, the room fell so silent in anticipation, Maine’s comment “you could hear a pin drop,” encouraged a burst of laughter. From there, the set deepened emotionally with ‘Rangerover’, its weighty beats, ringing synth and heart-on-sleeve lyrics drawing the audience in. New track ‘Party’, teased as part of the upcoming seventh Porches album, leaned into a pop-punk/emo aesthetic with a repetitive, tension-building chorus. ‘Joker’ followed with a high-energy burst, smoke filling the room and the crowd fully engaged.
Closing on ‘Comedown Song’, Maine leaned into the moody, grunge-tinged guitar lines and brooding vocals. The crowd, buzzing and clearly not ready for it to end, erupted into chants of “one more tune,” banging the floor for an encore.
Returning solo, Maine offered up a tender, stripped-back song “for the lovebirds”—just him and a mournful electric guitar. It was a touching moment of vulnerability. Finally, calling the band back on stage, he invited the crowd to choose the last song. Among scattered shouts, ‘Country’ rang out clearest and closed the night on a perfect, fan-picked note.
It may have been a grey, wet Sunday in Glasgow, but Porches made it feel electric.
I have fellow Glasgow photographer Rosie Sco’s amazing imagery to thank for introducing me to Divorce’s music last year—and for leading me to their Glasgow show on the Drive to Goldenhammer tour, promoting the release of their debut album of the same name.
The album takes me back to the moment I decided to move to Scotland—to find my own Goldenhammer. My initial plan was to pack a small backpack, grab my camera and a few books, and drive through the northern part of the United Kingdom (still post-Brexit, of course). But instead, I ended up taking a boring flight with all the usual frustrating procedures. Still, I think I’ve found my ideal town—and here I am.
But let’s move on…
Divorce played to a sold-out crowd at Stereo on the 5th of April 2025, with support from Dug, a lively duo who had us all dancing to their upbeat Irish folk tunes.
The four-piece headline band from Nottingham were greeted with joy as they took the stage, opening with two tracks from their album: the melancholic Fever Pitch and the funky All My Freaks.
What struck me most—beyond their incredible sound and poignant lyrics—was the way the voices of lead singers Felix Mackenzie-Barrow and Tiger Cohen-Towell blend so beautifully throughout their set. A perfect example is Gears, released in 2024, which captures the emotional tug-of-war many of us face trying to be there for everyone we care about, while daily responsibilities pull us in other directions. Another highlight is Lord, from their debut album, which powerfully explores identity and sexual desire.
Their set continued with a mix of Drive to Goldenhammer tracks and favourites from their EP Heady Metal, including Sex and the Millennium Bridge and one of my personal favourites, Scratch Your Metal.
After playing their latest hit, Hangman, the band briefly disappeared behind a tiny curtain, only to be called back for an encore. They closed the show with the stunning and satirical ballad Checking Out.
This was a deeply emotional and powerful gig, and I feel truly lucky to be discovering so many rising artists lately.
If there’s one thing Glasgow hates more than warm Tennents and flat chat, it’s liars—and Mass Text knows it – making a perfect analogy to this solid fact in between song banter. Kicking off the night with their snarling sermon “Truth Dies”, this solo venture felt less like an opening act and more like a synths holy reckoning on a barstool. Part Daniel Johnston in a bad mood, part Neutral Milk Hotel after a breakup in a Lidl car park—it’s stripped, spartan, and strangely soul-snatching.
“Were You Ever Birthed?”, they ask us—half whimsical, half accusatory—like some lost poet who’s just discovered sarcasm. It’s tragicomic, like reading Nietzsche scribbled on the back of a Greggs receipt. Somewhere between absurdity and raw vulnerability, it hooks you. A folk-tinged, existential crisis mired in guitar pedals and synths. It’s easy to like.
And then—like a glimmer of guilty joy in a hangover haze—they drop “Sister Golden Hair”, a cover of America’s classic, twisted into a shimmering downer hymn. Jason and Emily from Dehd join in like angels in ripped oversized hoodies and vintage jeans their harmonies jangling like rhinestone tears on a jukebox.
The Chicago DIY darlings, our holy trinity of grit, glow, and gumption, take the stage like they’ve just wandered in from some mythic 3am alleyway gig. It’s their first headline show in Glasgow—a moment TGB has waited for since we went along to see them support Dry Cleaning at the Barrowland a few years ago.
We fell in love with Dehd the way some people fall into rivers: accidentally, and with total abandon. Sailing on a houseboat on a trip to Chicago a few summers ago, a dear friend and I blasted Dehd from tinny speakers while downing White Claws like we were being sponsored…
In the ever-churning sea of indie rock, few bands exude the effortless cool and chic of Chicago’s Dehd. Comprised of bassist and vocalist Emily Kempf, guitarist and vocalist Jason Balla, and drummer Eric McGrady, this trio crafts a unique blend of surf rock, post-punk, and dream pop that captivates with its raw authenticity. Kempf’s commanding stage presence and husky vocals provide a magnetic focal point, while Balla’s reverb-laden guitar riffs weave a sonic tapestry that is both nostalgic and fresh. McGrady’s minimalist drumming, characterized by its steady, unembellished beats, lays a solid foundation that allows the band’s distinctive sound to flourish. Together, they channel their diverse influences into a cohesive style that is unmistakably their own.
Tonight, from the moment that lullaby-laced opening bars of “Window” unfurls, it’s obvious: this band doesn’t play gigs—they perform low-fi exorcisms. Frontman Jason’s baritone could make Pavarotti blush and go baritone himself. It’s rich, raw, and smells faintly of cigarettes and divine heartbreak.
“Mood Ring” is up next—jangly, joyous, and full of bite. The band, never ones to hide behind effects or egos, are all sweat and sincerity. No pretence. No posturing. Just proper musicians with calloused fingers and kind hearts.
They rip through a greatest-hits safari of their back catalogue of albums —from Water (the glistening debut) to the ghostly glory of Blue Skies, the chest-thumper Flower of Devotion, and the sonic kaleidoscope that is Poetry. Each track drips with reverb, heartbreak, and the sense that they recorded it at 3am using a broken heart and a a 8-track from yesteryear.
“Loner” is a standout—like if Roy Orbison had a nervous breakdown in a basement full of fairy lights. It’s got that dreamy, sad-boy strut of The Velvet Underground crossed with the sneer of early Hole.
“1000x”? Jesus wept. It’s like floating in a tub of glitter and tears. Soaked in longing and distortion. It’s a breakup song for people who still keep their ex’s playlists saved.
And then there’s “Clear”—a track so tender, it could make a first dance at a wedding feel like an acid trip in the best way possible.
Our personal favourite, though? “Palomino”. It gallops (of course it does), all dreamy swagger and vocal swoops. It’s like Mazzy Star hijacked a cowboy bar and made everyone cry in time.
New tracks are teased—louder, thicker with distortion, but smoother somehow. “Bad Love” transitions like silk melting into fire without pause into “Flood” it’s all guitars and ache.
By the end, “Alien” becomes less a song and more a prayer: with Emily and Jason return to the stage for a short encore they perform the song in a stripped back acapella rendition with Jason hammering away on a solo snare drum.
Dehd aren’t just a band. They’re a time machine. They’re the smell of summer on a porch you’ve never been to. They’re the reason you still believe in live music, in feelings, in the untouchable weirdness of it all.
The Golden Bough 