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.
Since its inception in 2009, Stag & Dagger has been Glasgow’s crucible for emerging talent, offering a multi-venue platform that spans The Garage (main stage, G2 & attic), Nice N’ Sleazy, The Berkeley Suite, and the Renfield Centre. The 2025 edition was no exception, delivering a kaleidoscope of performances that, despite some technical hiccups, showcased the city’s vibrant music scene.
Fog Bandits – The Garage Attic
Glasgow’s own Fog Bandits, whom we fell in love with after a raucous night in The Hug and Pint in January delivered a set that was both sonically rich and politically charged. Their glam-infused rock, reminiscent of a glitter cannon exploding in a dive bar, was anchored by a drummer whose hair could rival any 80s rock icon. Addressing the venue owner’s controversial political remarks, they dedicated their track “Vile” to the venues owner who has become a big of a social pariah after making comments both in support of Trump and speaking out against the Trans community , they (like most of the bands playing this particular venue) made it very clear that they do not condone this behaviour and that all proceeds from this gig would be going to a Scottish Trans charity. Our stand out track of the set was “Toxic” and “Ready or Not”.
Sick Pay – The Attic
Sick Pay, a Glasgow-based band, brought their post-punk slacker rock to The Garage, weaving internet culture references into their lyrics like a meme-laden tapestry. Their standout track, “Girl on the Screen,” felt like a sonic middle finger to societal norms, blending gritty guitar riffs with sardonic vocals, all over a fun emo-adjacent sound.
Waverly – Nice N’ Sleazy
Emerging from Glasgow’s vibrant indie scene, Waverly took the stage at Nice N’ Sleazy with a performance that felt like a sonic tapestry woven from threads of shoegaze and dream pop. Their music enveloped the audience in a haze of reverb-drenched guitars and ethereal vocals, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of a foggy Scottish morning. Standout track “The Corner” the bands latest single resonated deeply, its melancholic melodies lingering like the aftertaste of a bittersweet memory. The band’s ability to blend introspective lyrics with lush soundscapes made their set a poignant highlight of the day.
Park Safely – G2
Park Safely, by far our new favourite emerging Glasgow artists (we’ve been rinsing their back catalogue of EP’s on Spotify ever since) an impressive duo from Glasgow, transported the audience to the grunge-soaked 90s with their performance in the G2 basement daubed in a swirling sea of violet light gave the band a melancholy air to music that is far from whimsical. Their track “Drowner” submerged listeners in a sea of distorted guitars and raw emotion, evoking the spirit of early Nirvana with more than a few Cobain-esque guitar sequences it’s easy to instantly love the layered sound they produce. Despite an early billing, their set was a highlight, proving that nostalgia, when done right, never goes out of style.
The Easy Peelers – The Berkeley Suite
Bath-based The Easy Peelers delivered bittersweet jangly pop that felt like sipping lemonade on a melancholic summer day. Their sun-drenched guitars and pithy lyrics were somewhat overshadowed by The Berkeley Suite’s red lighting, which bathed the band in a hue that was more hellscape than stage ambiance. Despite the tricky shooting conditions the band played a frenetic set that is reminiscent of early Blink 182 with our favour track being; “Empty Bottle”
Polly – The Berkeley Suite
Following The Easy Peelers, Polly, a quarter from Glasgow, unleashed their noisy guitar pop with a fervor that was both chaotic and cathartic. Their performance was a whirlwind of distorted chords and impassioned vocals, leaving the audience both dazed and exhilarated. Our highlight track was, “Slump”
Saint Sappho – Nice N’ Sleazy
Glasgow’s Saint Sappho, a queer duo, delivered a DIY alternative rock set that was as raw as it was resonant. Their music, a fusion of 90s rock and melancholic vocals, felt like a diary entry set to a distorted guitar, deeply personal yet universally relatable. The band who are known to produce, mix and curate their own artwork have earned a decisively dedicated following in Glasgow and it’s clear to see why with a tight set like this interwoven with tracks old and new. The duo were supported in this set with the addition of two others playing guitar and bass which levelled up their overall sound. Our favour track was, “Two in the Room”
Silverbacks – Nice N’ Sleazy
Irish band Silverbacks showcased their art-rock prowess in the basement of Nice N’ Sleazy. Their intricate finger-picking and eclectic soundscapes captivated the audience, proving their growth since their previous Glasgow gig. Tracks like “Sellinh Shovels” shimmered with complexity, much like a kaleidoscope in musical form. But the nuances overtones of “Dunkirk” won us over. A band I expect to see on much bigger stages very soon.
Water Machine – Nice N’ Sleazy
Glasgow’s Water Machine were next on the Nice N’ Sleazy lineup with their experimental soundscapes. Their blend of synths and loops created a mesmerizing atmosphere, leaving the audience in awe. Their performance was akin to a sonic lava lamp, constantly shifting and entrancing. The band look like they are best friends and brought with them a bunch of party hats that they enthusiastically handed out to the audience members as they “wanted to bring the party” and a party the certainly brought. With sublime pop overtones and angular cow bell of “Stilettos” the band had the packed out basement dancing along with each track delivered with bubblegum perfection.
Vundabar – The Garage Main Stage
Boston’s Vundabar electrified The Garage’s main stage with their infectious blend of indie rock and post-punk energy. Their performance was a whirlwind of angular guitar riffs, punchy rhythms, and charismatic stage presence that had the crowd moving from the first chord. Tracks like “Ash in the Sun” and “Alien Blues” showcased their knack for crafting catchy hooks layered over complex arrangements, much like a well-constructed labyrinth that invites exploration. The band’s dynamic interplay and palpable chemistry turned their set into a communal celebration of sound, leaving the audience buzzing with exhilaration.
Grandmas House – Renfield Centre
Bristol-based Grandmas House faced significant sound issues at the Renfield Centre, with feedback and distortion marring their set. However, the band turned adversity into advantage, weaponizing the distortion to amplify their post-punk grunge sound. Their commanding stage presence, gruelling vocal delivery sets them apart from their peers. We adore the gutteral wail of, “Body” with its brooding stomp of a bassline, infact Zoë Zinsmeister (bass) looks just like Catwoman as she makes her transformation in Batman Returns, to a total badass with multiple hair flips this set was unforgettable.
Big Special – The Garage Main Stage
Big Special, a duo from the Midlands, brought raw energy to The Garage’s main stage. Frontman Joe Hicklin’s manic stage presence, combined with the band’s heavy guitars and pounding drums, created a powerful performance. Part spoken word part manic steer preacher giving a sermons directly from the mosh pitt Big Special are hard to forget. Infact, TGB fell in love with them recently when they supported John Grant at the Barrowland and tonight it’s evident that they have more than cut their teeth with their relentless touring schedule delivering a fast paced sight that is incredibly tight. The audience, donning party hats handed out earlier by Water Machine embraced every moment. We loved tracks like, “Black Country Gothic” with its duel vocal stylings and the dancy stomp of “Desperate Breakfast”
Martha May and the Mondays – The Garage Attic
Martha May and the Mondays delivered a high-octane set in The Garage’s attic. Their unique blend of saxophone, violin, and distorted bass, coupled with Martha’s commanding presence, made for a standout performance. Their cover of Electric 6’s “Gay Bar” served as a bold statement against the venue’s owner. At one point, Martha scaled a speaker to usher “all the men” to the front, culminating in an expert stage dive that blurred the lines between performer and audience. The set was laceratingly tight. We loved “SPIT!” and the theatrical delivery of “Touch Me” get yourself down to a show soon as you won’t be disappointed.
Babymorocco – Renfield Centre
Babymorocco, the alter ego of Clayton Pettet, closed the festival at the Renfield Centre. Despite the venue’s ongoing sound issues, his performance, characterized by synths, loop machines, and provocative dance moves, brought early 90s disco and rave energy to the forefront. His stage antics, including hat-snatching and stripping to boxers, ensured a memorable finale. We loved the gleeful “BigCityBoys”
Stag & Dagger 2025 reaffirmed its status as a vital platform for emerging talent. While sound issues at venues like the Renfield Centre were a drawback, the festival’s commitment to showcasing diverse acts across multiple venues remains commendable. As always, the festival served as a launchpad for bands poised to make significant strides in the music industry.
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 Golden Bough 