Pop Music

Maximo Park – Queen’s Hall

Live music, Music Review

Maximo Park are thrilled to play the Queen’s Hall for the first time, even when things don’t go exactly to plan.

The music of Maximo Park, the indie rock outfit from northeast England, has been called many things over the band’s 20-plus-year history, including – but not limited to – “intellectual”, “energetic”, “intense”, “political”, “optimistic”, “endearing”, “romantic”, “emotional”, “passionate” and “sincere”. A lot of very broad, human qualities embodied in their sound and in their lyrics especially. At different times they’ve been categorised as “alternative rock” and “post punk” and “art pop” but regardless of pigeonholing the loudest reviews have generally been quite positive; critics like to say nice things about this band.

I’m not here to argue with the tastemakers of history but one thing that isn’t mentioned enough, in my opinion, is how awkwardly self-aware this band is and has always been. And when I say “this band” I’m really talking about its most expressive incarnation, its mouthpiece. I’m talking about Paul Smith, frontman, lyricist, self-anointed spokesperson, social media manager, mailing list usurper. The singer who appears to be 105% present in every performance and 110% in his head at all times.

Paul Smith has made a career out of turning the banal surreal, out of punctuating abstract scenes with his own unmistakable, visceral, whiplash-inducing lyrical couplets. He’s very good with the words. And dancing. And singing, too; excellent with the singing. Yet, when he’s on stage he often comes across as if he’s dodging imaginary word bullets. It’s like his superpower is intuiting what not to say so as to avoid getting retroactively cancelled in 30 years’ time. It must be a real struggle when you have such an actively extensive lexicon, to find just the right way of saying “this song is about geographical privilege in the arts” or “bodily autonomy”, for example – legitimate examples, by the way – and yet Smith insists on trying this for every song, or at least every other song and most songs in between. It’s distracting to watch him calculating in real time – he talks a lot for someone who says very little – but true fans and word nerds understand and appreciate the effort. He’s really a sensitive, new age guy.

Anyway, no-one talks about this nearly enough for my liking.

You know what makes this band so great? And, especially, what makes this band so great live?

Duncan Lloyd: Founder, guitarist, songwriter and former co-frontman – once-upon-a-time, before the incumbent magnetic frontman arrived – this guy is just effortlessly cool. His mere presence brings the average temperature of any room down by approximately six degrees Celsius. Understated is an understatement when you’re talking about Duncan Lloyd – he’s on stage, guitar is everywhere but you have no idea where it’s coming from because this guy has effervesced into pure sonic air. That’s right, this guy is so cool he defies physics. Also if you look up the Maximo Park Wikipedia timeline of band members you’ll see that for the last five years Lloyd is credited with guitars, keys, bass and backing vocals; the guy could literally form a Maximo Park one-man tribute band.

Speaking of one-man bands…

You know what else makes this band so great?

Tom English plays the drumkit like it’s an orchestra, like he’s an orchestra. Like he’s conductor and concertmaster; melody, counter melody, harmony and – of course – percussion. He exacts tonality, timbre and tempo from his instrument with the stone-faced charm of Charlie Watts doing his best impression of Animal from The Muppets, or vice versa. His style is emphatic, idiosyncratic. His fills often underscore the ferocity of Lloyd’s own percussive strumming without ever entertaining the spotlight for even a second, though you’d happily listen to him pound out a sixteen-minute solo, given half the chance.

I could go on. I will go on.

Jemma Freese, joined the band as a touring member in 2019 following original keyboardist Lukas Wooller’s departure and immigration to Australia – he’s doing fine; he DJs with a friend of mine in Melbourne sometimes, comes back to visit family in Yorkshire and complain about the weather. Jemma Freese is now an integral part of the Maximo Park live set-up and like Smith’s higher consciousness she probably doesn’t get the attention she deserves. There are times when, especially on the earlier songs, the only thing elevating their performance above the band’s very energetic original recordings is that deliciously indefinable X-factor that is the human voice, Jemma’s voice, and also a particularly juicy keyboard line delivered with just the right amount of spice. Jemma Freese is a musical master chef and connoisseur of tone. When she sings, you listen. When she plays, you feel something: sated.

What’s missing?

Bass. Okay, sure, sometimes in acoustic sets they’ll go without, but you wouldn’t go without, if you had a choice. Listening to Maximo Park songs without bass would be like watching The Wizard of Oz without the colour green. It’s the same story and the characters are all accounted for but suddenly that witch isn’t so scary and the Emerald City is, well, it’s just a city, isn’t it? There’s a fantastical magic about the basslines that Maximo Park deploy, something elemental, that was forged in their very beginning and that carries on today through the presence of Andrew Lowther who was loaned to the band by their musical brothers, Field Music, and who now, like a shared favourite toy, has to be agreeably passed back and forth between the two bands seemingly until one of them outgrows their enjoyment of him, or he’s broken beyond repair. Hopefully never the latter.

So these five humans get together in Edinburgh on a gloomy, autumnal Friday night in 2024. They bash out 18 songs in roughly 75 minutes. I know without checking my watch that it’s about 75 minutes because in the 30-something times I’ve seen them live they’ve only once pushed the 80-minute mark. They have a setlist formula and – eight albums in – they’re sticking to it. The sound is surprisingly good for a room that’s not designed for or suited to amplified instruments.

It’s going well for them until halfway through when a crackle in the monitors breaks Smith’s concentration and the system has to be rebooted. It’s fine, actually, they weren’t building great momentum with the new song / old song / new song rhythm at that point anyway, more of a haunted house stop-start carnival ride energy. This added bit of improvised drama plays into the performance-as-art-installation vibe they’ve been cultivating on the recent instore junket for Stream of Life, their latest collective release about geographical privilege and bodily autonomy (among other things). They persevere serendipitously towards emotional and technical catharsis through a semi-acoustic rendition of the album’s title track that’s really nice. And then they power through the rest of the set like it’s business as usual, which it is: Two back-to-back smash hits to close out the set and then two unsuspecting old favourites for the encore.

Now there’s a word to describe Maximo Park that doesn’t come up very often: Consistent. They’re a consistent live band. They’re consistent on record. They’re reliable. Professional. These aren’t the sexy qualities that we lust after in our Rock Gods and Pop Stars, these are traits on a whole other level. These are the characteristics we seek out in life partners, ride-or-die besties, colleagues, godparents to our children and, importantly, qualities we aspire to embody ourselves. We seek and we find them in our favourite bands. No wonder critics like to say such nice things about them.

Bleachers – Barrowland Ballroom

Live music, Music Review

On their triumphant return to Glasgow, Bleachers prove that the only way from here is up – and two saxophones are better than one!

Bleachers’ frontman Jack Antonoff alleges that the first and only time his band played in Glasgow there were nine people in the audience. Speaking to fans who were in attendance that night it was more likely into triple digits but for the bargain price of £10 – even in 2015 – it seems almost criminal that anyone could’ve passed up such a gig. In the nine intervening years, the band has expanded their catalogue to four albums of nostalgia therapy; Breakfast Club anthems touching on love, loss and the general specific of 21st century angst. While Antonoff has collaborated on many, wildly successful projects with other artists it’s in Bleachers that his musical identity is its most raw and authentic. The sound is iconically New Jersey, iconically millennial, and in this Bleachers has forged an irresistible dynamic. And so for their second Glasgow outing – at more than triple the ticket price – Bleachers upscaled not once but twice, from SWG3 to the iconic almost-2000-capacity Barrowlands Ballroom, and sold it out.

Scottish-born, London-based artist Kaeto landed the coveted support slot for this From The Studio to The Stage Tour and duly delivers an uncompromising set of amalgam pop which is simultaneously ethereal and violent. Closing with the instantly familiar groove of No Body, she ensures the energy in the room is high ahead of the main event as she heads to the merch desk to give away postcards.

With the pervasive oscillation that is characteristic of their songs, Bleachers opt for an understated start as latest album opener I Am Right On Time winds the crowd up gently. It’s going to be a long night but no-one quite knows that yet. They come out all guns blazing on Modern Girl though. There are three saxophones on the stage and they’re immediately threatening on this track. In fact, there’s very limited relief from the intensity of dual saxes and dual drums throughout.

The fierce urgency of How Dare You Want More fades into the sweet simplicity of Wake Me. Antonoff recalls that first Glasgow gig with energetic sincerity and dedicates his cathartic grief bop Everybody Lost Somebody to the supposed nine people who showed up in 2015. His affection and genuine appreciation for the Scottish audience is voiced often and the love is clearly reciprocated with exaggerated ovations and occasionally thunderous singalongs.

The romantic devotional Me Before You carries tones of Springsteen’s Secret Garden and so when it segues tenderly into an actual Springsteen collaboration – hypnotic dream sequence, Chinatown – the crowd is already there waiting. As a songwriter, Antonoff really excels at building these quite straight-forward, mildly intense and melodramatic, love songs and the mid-set is loaded with them. There’s very few artists who can pull off 80s pastiche with both earnestness and self-awareness but this is where Bleachers have made their niche. Addressing the crowd, he speaks with an almost aggressive friendliness (New Jersey, man! IYKYK) about what it all means to him; where music comes from, inspiration and genius; what he loves to feel in music as a listener and as a performer, and eventually he rambles onto a cover of The Waterboys that nearly brings the house down through audience participation.

They carry on, unrelenting still. The one-two punch of Rollercoaster and Let’s Get Married sees Antonoff commanding the crowd to rise on one another’s shoulders and later he even plays his acoustic guitar with such ferocity that his hand requires minor medical attention. They’re not fucking around. It’s after 10.30pm when Antonoff announces that they’re foregoing the false-encore protocol. Thank God! the applause has been exhausting!

Their 20-song set crescendos in the last quarter with a sequence of what can only be described as “absolute bangers”; an embarrassment of riches representing each of their studio albums. At 11pm Antonoff calls to put the lights up on the audience so that the band can take in the full glorious scene of their triumphant “Glasgow 2” and with the promise of “Glasgow 3: as soon as fucking possible” they launch into Don’t Take The Money, closing the night with a crash of euphoric bitter-sweetness. Bleachers leave it all on the stage, regardless of how many people they’re playing for, and the feeling from this performance is that it could’ve been a lot bigger. For certain it could not have been smaller and it might not be this small again. Time will tell. Hopefully not too much time though.

The Vaccines – Barrowland Ballroom

Live music, Music Review

No-one else does glamorous indie rock and roll quite like The Vaccines.

When The Vaccines emerged onto the UK music scene with their debut album in 2011 they immediately landed themselves in no-band’s land. Pop music was in a transitional phase with the girls (Rhianna, Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, Adele) on top and the folk rock revival (Mumford & Sons et al.) gaining momentum. Guitar bands were already “so two-thousand and late”. Arriving at the wake of landfill indie to find the buffet cleared and the chairs stacked, The Vaccines had no business hanging around. And yet…they delivered their first two LPs with such a moreish blend of earnestness and – ironically – irony that they almost single handedly revived the genre. Thirteen years later it’s hard to say whether the longevity and success of The Vaccines is an underdog story, or if contempt for their particular brand of English lad rock is merely a play in the culture wars waged between those Millennials utilising their university degrees in gainful employment and those who are not. It doesn’t really matter either way. What matters is that they’re still doing what they do, and doing it incredibly well.

In support of their latest studio album, Pick-Up Full of Pink Carnations, the band brought a scintillating energy to their sold out show at Glasgow’s iconic Barrowland Ballroom. Their 75 minute performance encompassed an unrelenting 21-song set that made the two opening acts – Divorce and Teen Jesus & the Jean Teasers – seem like a completely separate gig, on a whole other night of the month, such was the intensity and immersive quality of The Vaccines frenetic musical joyride. Each of their six albums was honoured and, as is the measure of any decent live act, the songs cohered seamlessly over the course of the set. One could argue that The Vaccines’ biggest weakness is that their songs all kind of sound the same but the flaw in this thinking is that it’s actually a fantastic sound. Tonally, there’s not a lot of diversity but each and every song contains a top tier melodic hook and at least one indisputably relatable lyrical truth.

Articulating highlights among the no-filler set is super subjective: Wetsuit sounds more poignant than ever; Discount De Kooning (Last One Standing) offers a cathartic, jubilant singalong; singer Justin Young in his element, effortlessly windmilling his way through Headphones Baby is something to behold and has the crowd frothing. It’s all delightfully inconsequential. With an average bpm somewhere around 140 the show is over breathlessly quick. A four-song encore that ends with an entirely crowd-sung Norgaard underscores the need for both fresh air and levity.

“The longer we do this the luckier we feel” declares Young and in the current music industry landscape it’s easy to believe him. No-one does it quite like The Vaccines, anymore.

Marcus Mumford – SWG3 TV Studio

Live music, Music Review

Marcus Mumford’s (self-titled) is one of this year’s best albums. However you want to qualify it – by genre, by gender, by place of origin, by personnel – it’s a stunning piece of work. The songwriting is imbued with vulnerability, integrity, joy and resolution; the performances reflect a deep respect for and cohesion with the songs, and the production is flawless. Of course, none of that guarantees a great live show, even for an experienced artist like Mumford. For a really brilliant gig, the stars have to align in just the right formation; the venue, the crowd, the setlist, support, the band, even the weather conditions play a role in conjuring those truly memorable occasions. Was Saturday night in Glasgow one of those nights? Probably. Yes.

Despite musically never expanding massively beyond their humble indie-folk beginnings, Mumford & Sons have been a big deal – worldwide – for over a decade now. The idea of Marcus Mumford playing a room as (relatively) intimate as SWG3’s TV Studio is almost too much excitement for a lot of fans who have queued since the afternoon, somehow evading the periodic heavy showers. The venue is three-quarters full by the time Monica Martin steps on stage for her too-beautiful and too-brief support slot.

The former Phox singer has been honing her solo material for a number of years now, revealing that an album is finally imminent. Martin opens her set with the raw and melodic Cruel, accompanied on keys and stripped down percussion by Jake Sherman. The sparse arrangement allows her smoky and tender vocal to shimmer. She follows up with one of Sherman’s songs, Maureen, which she remixed and featured on this year, apologising to anyone in the audience named Maureen. “It’s not about you, I promise,” she quips. The crowd participation on “sad disco” track Say is encouraging and Martin is obviously delighted by the audience’s engagement which allows her to adlib some delicate and alluring vocals over the song’s ending. The highlight of her set though is its closer, Go Easy, Kid. A song about showing self-compassion, recognising one’s own flawed humanity, and not taking life’s knocks too seriously, it’s a perfect starting point for what’s to follow. Delivered with such a classically constructed melody and starkly vivid lyrics, it swaddles like a decades-old number 1.

When Marcus Mumford appears on stage the applause is a mix of nervous anticipation, polite expectation and unbridled adoration. He almost delivers his own warm-up in the first two acoustic songs – both Mumford & Sons hits, Awake My Soul and The Cave – which lyrically and thematically foreshadow a lot of (self-titled). This seems to placate the audience’s appetite for the old material while giving Mumford a chance to pace his introduction of the new project. It’s been a while since Mumford & Sons have toured or recorded together, so the singer is quick to address the elephant in the room; once these solo shows are over he plans to get back to his day job with the band.

Accompanied now by a four-piece band, the body of the set follows the running order of (self-titled). It couldn’t really be any other way. The album has a natural arc; a tension and discomfort which reveals at Cannibal and resolves at How. It’s a progression and journey towards healing and liberation with some very dark stops along the way. However, far from being an ugly and painful sonic exploration, the darkness is cut with so much beauty and love and understanding and forgiveness.

The captivating beginning of Cannibal eventually crashes with so much explosive release that it causes punters at the bar to jump. The sound ricochets off SWG3’s bunker-like walls and ceiling, hitting the audience with invigorating force. The room is alive! Grace immediately sees hands and pints swaying in the air as the intricacies of the full band set up are revealed. It’s definitely a rock show, there’s no doubt about that. “I can tell already this [show] is going to be one of my favourites,” Mumford declares.

Better Off High is another big hit with fans that sees Mumford unleashing his distinctive vocals and exorcising some problematic self-perceptions. Who can really judge whether singing about addiction should feel this good? Dangerous Game swells majestically, accompanied by pulsing red light and concluding with a blistering guitar solo from Mason Stoops. Mumford appears to be having the time of his life with this band and crew. Highlighting the fact it’s his guitar tech Ryan’s birthday, he leads the crowd in a Happy Birthday singalong before recording a “fuck you” message to his former tech who left him to tour with Harry Styles. It’s a most charmingly passive-aggressive bit of stage shenanigans that punctuates the last part of the main set.

Bringing Monica Martin out to sing her part on the stunning hymnal Go In Light is an obvious crescendo but, not content with this confection alone, the audience is then treated to the heavenly vocal talent of Madison Cunningham on Stonecatcher. Performing an entire album that clocks in under 40 minutes – even with expansive guitar solos and Billy Connolly references – doesn’t make for a long show so following the arresting set closer How, Mumford leaves the stage for an ornamental encore effect and returns without even feigned demand.

The conclusion then consists of a Taylor Swift cover and two of Mumford’s Bob Dylan/Taylor Goldsmith co-writes from The New Basement Tapes record Lost On The River, each far sultrier than Bob would’ve ever dreamed. The night finishes with Mumford alone and unplugged on the edge of the crowd singing I Will Wait, ironically after a much delayed start due an audience member having fainted deep within the crowd and requiring assistance. The whole experience has been harmonious and communally blissful, and this final act of trust and intimacy is a rare privilege which the audience dutifully respect and reciprocate. The room remains almost pin-drop silent until the crowd is invited to join in on the final chorus. Truly an unforgettable evening.

Photo: Marcus Mumford by Kendall Wilson

Brett Young – O2 Academy Glasgow

Live music, Music Review

As the shutters roll up on Glasgow’s O2 Academy at precisely 7pm there is a queue bunched along the footpath south, past the bus shelter, 150 meters to the corner of the block, and another 50 metres past the bend. The O2 priority queue runs half the width and the full length of the building in the opposite direction. It is busy! Even the threat of imminent rain hasn’t deterred fans from showing up early to wait it out: that’s a special kind of devotion typically reserved for pop music’s elite and their often youthful audiences. Increasingly though, UK music fans all over the country are coming out in unprecedented volumes for any live music veiled under the “country” banner and it’s unsurprising, given the statistics on streaming and sales of the genre in recent years. Ironically, much of country’s growing popularity here has been attributed to a lack of attention to genre or categorisation by Millennial and Gen Z audiences; that the music is thriving here in spite, rather than because, of being country. There is also something to be said for the genre-fluidity of UK radio and its listeners compared to the US where the scope for discovery is more rigidly limited. Whatever the reasons, Brett Young has sold out his entire UK run of shows this autumn. Having already delivered a headline-worthy performance at Glasgow’s OVO Hydro for C2C back in March, the California-via-Nashville singer songwriter has nothing left to prove to his Scottish fans tonight.

Some pressure, in theory, should sit on the shoulders of the tour’s opening act, Callista Clark, who is first to face Young’s hardcore fanbase each night. If the young Georgia-native is feeling any urgency to impress she doesn’t show it. Her delivery is easygoing as she takes time to introduce herself and each of her songs in turn, by title and theme. The opening lyric “Too old to cry and too young to drive” begins the title track of her debut album Real To Me: The Way I Feel and positions Clark’s youth and vulnerability at the fore of her songwriting. This bluesy lament feels familiar yet fresh with Clark’s surprisingly rich tone resonating cleanly over her acoustic guitar. An R&B influence shines equally bright on songs like Brave Girl and the lilting Sad, the latter of which Clark prefaces as one of her “sassy” country songs. Following this up with Worst Guy Ever, she demonstrates how sweet sincerity and witty wordplay have been foundational to the best songwriting within country, particularly in launching some of the genre’s biggest stars. Her straightforward lyricism and understated emotional delivery cut to the heart, especially in the live setting, and the audience grows increasingly attentive and endeared with each song. Closing her set with the catchy upbeat single It’s ‘Cause I Am ensures both Clark and the audience part in a high spirits.

The transition into Brett Young’s smooth country pop is seamless from here. Love is his lyrical specialism and over the course of 15 radio-friendly songs he dissects this subject – both noun and verb forms – from various angles. His vivid storytelling and affecting voice are an engaging combination; Catch and 1, 2, 3, Mississippi start the set off in heady new-romance territory, all butterflies and dizzying distraction, before the crushing comedowns of Like I Loved You and You Ain’t Here To Kiss Me. The tempo and energy switch up with the lyrical tone but the audience remain elated throughout, happy to sing along at every opportunity. Young is most dynamic when he is free to move about the stage, pointing, smiling, waving and directing his gaze towards fans, but when he takes up acoustic guitar in front of a static microphone he surrenders a degree of that connection. The performance doesn’t suffer for it though; the added instrumentation provides an extra layer of richness and vibrancy while grounding Young’s songs with a simplicity that is irresistible.

Tracks from his latest LP, Weekends Look A Little Different These Days, showcase a natural maturing in Young’s perspective and presentation of romantic relationships, whether he is mining personal experience or not. This and Not Yet muse on the power and potential of growing deeper in love with “your person” while later in the set, an earnest introduction precedes Lady, which is dedicated to Young’s wife and two daughters, his inspirations for writing it. Acknowledging that a lot of his songs are directed at happy couples, having just encouraged slow dancing to the dreamy ballad In Case You Didn’t Know, Young also offers some solace for the broken hearts in the room. Mercy is especially moving as the band is stripped down to just Young on vocals with bandmate Matt Ferranti on keys and the audience forming a boisterous but tender choir. The reception to this is so loud and sustained with applause, cheering and stamping, that Young is forced to pause for more than a minute before delivering the final “…have mercy”.

It’s unclear whether the final three songs are intended as an encore given Young’s periodic absences from the stage throughout the set. Perhaps he’s not well? Feeling homesick? Road-weary? Whatever the reason, the night winds up with You Didn’t, a track seemingly torn straight out of the Boyz II Men songbook, before closing early with a rousing singalong to the chart-topping single Sleep Without You. Despite being tightly packed in from the outset the crowd somehow find space to move and dance around for one final number, maximising every last note as the band plays on even after Young’s departure. Having waited so long, it’s totally understandable.

Kaiser Chiefs – OVO Hydro

Live music, Music Review

Seasoned indie rockers Kaiser Chiefs proved worth their billing at Glasgow’s OVO Hydro on Friday night.

The “All Together” Tour arrived in Glasgow at the end of a long week for Ricky Wilson. An exceptional off night at London’s O2 last Saturday gave fans and music press cause for concern that the Kaiser Chiefs’ singer might not be up to headlining an arena tour right now. All fears were emphatically allayed with a consummate performance by the band on Friday night.

Charged with opening proceedings was Yorkshire band The Sherlocks, followed by Glasgow’s own The Fratellis with their modern take on rock’n’roll that featured both brass and a sassy trio of ladies on backing vocals. From the outset, fans were treated to a solid night of radio-friendly guitar anthems with plenty of opportunities to raise their pints and sing along, arm-in-arm, with friends and strangers alike.

Dancing and pleasure were major themes throughout Kaiser Chiefs’ set, whether intended figuratively or literally, and it took the band all of about 20 seconds of being onstage before the audience had entirely submitted to their will for the evening. Never Miss A Beat still embodied an ironic joy just as prescient in 2022 as when it was released in 2008. The same could be said for a few of the older songs on the setlist, such as Modern Way and The Angry Mob but it was obvious that, for the most part, audiences were expected to feel rather than think their way through the performance.

New single How To Dance was introduced as something of a cure for anxiety which, if true, delivered a great deal of relief to those in attendance. Northern Holiday elevated the positive energy of the room further through its irresistible disco beat while a lengthy call-and-response introduction was added to mega-hit Everyday I Love You Less And Less in case the audience needed to warm up for the ensuing singalong. Wilson dedicated a fabulous rendition of Hole In My Soul to “everyone of you that’s stuck with us over the years”, jumping, dancing and generally running himself ragged all without missing a note. Any critics doubting his dedication or ability to deliver a thrilling arena show were resolutely silenced by the end of the night.

Fan favourite I Predict A Riot brought punters racing back from the bar and toilet queues as shirtless lads on their mates’ shoulders embraced their moment of revelry. A respectable turn around allowed for a two-song encore but with closer Oh My God running to about double its recorded length there was ample singing and dancing to get in before curfew, the band finally leaving to rapturous applause and a chorus of voices sing-chanting their lyrics all the way home.

Jamie T – O2 Academy Glasgow

Live music, Music Review

Jamie T is back in the game!

The indie punk poet kicked off his first headline tour in five years at Glasgow’s O2 Academy – the first of two sold out shows at this venue. Where it’s typical for big acts to schedule gaps in their tours for adding extra shows once the original dates sell out, Jamie T (real name Jamie Treays) is bookending his now-11-date run somewhat unconventionally with second visits to Glasgow and Manchester respectively. Read into it what you like but the singer-songwriter’s unwavering popularity in university towns, particularly across the north, is undeniable.

What’s also apparent from the excitable crowd in Glasgow is that Jamie T inspires the kind of obsessive loyalty in fans that’s usually reserved for rock legends and pop music’s elite. These are a different breed of devotee who can withstand years of relative silence, an absence of musical output, and minimal social media interaction and still be ready to swarm on any opportunity to see their man perform. Fans have travelled from all across the UK and some even made the trip from Europe to be at the opening night of The Theory of Whatever Tour. If Jamie T has casual fans they likely missed out on tickets; this show is packed with only die-hards!

Those who arrive before 8pm – a good majority – are treated to the first official public performance by new outfit 86TVs. The band sound like all the best elements of your parents’ record collection with mind-altering melodic hooks and irresistible vocal harmonies, crisp, steady drums and groovy bass lines, all delivered with an unassuming air of confidence. It’s the kind of performance to convince naive audiences that great songs come easily and genius is the default of true creatives. The fact that 86TVs comprises four veterans of the indie rock scene maybe goes some way to dispelling this myth but it doesn’t detract from the exceptional quality of their opening set. That they only play for 28 minutes is a real disappointment.

There’s no false bravado when Jamie T takes to the stage; the artist possesses a genuine and earned swagger. In the 15 years since the release of his debut album, Panic Prevention, Treays has established a unique status within the UK music scene through his authentic vulnerability, disarming wit and unashamedly astute lyricism. Largely evading the burden of hype and expectation, he has committed diligently to his craft and consistently delivered savvy, incisive, relevant and fun songs that defy the boundaries of any one genre. His fifth LP, for which the tour is named, is a collection as clever as it is charming.

The Glasgow crowd is a mix of ages – young couples brace and embrace along the barrier beside an adolescent boy and his guardian, and on the other side an older gentleman raises his walking stick with vigour. The set opens with 90s Cars and The Old Style Raiders, as per the latest album, and the audience responds like they’re old favourites. Jamie T has always been something of a sonic shape-shifter, and comfortably anachronistic, so it’s curious and exciting that right now he sounds the closest to indie that he ever has.

Acknowledging that he hasn’t played out in a while, Treays intends to deliver a set that covers all eras of his career, with something for everyone. And he does. There are highlights upon highlights; to borrow a phrase, it’s all thriller no filler. The ukulele foundation of Spider’s Web underscores one of many joyful singalongs and sees friends boosting friends on shoulders; the opening chord of Salvador chimes like a call to attention and is met with a plaintive chorus of voices near enough to wake the dead. A Million & One New Ways To Die is another song that embodies the “new fave” with its oddly familiar guitar motif and anthemic pseudo-emo chorus. Solo ballad St. George Wharf Tower is a bold but beautiful move in front of a restless crowd and he follows it up with Back In The Game – just a man and his acoustic bass guitar – showcasing the accomplished intricacy and vibrancy of his songwriting, as it was and continues to be.

Pint cups are launched towards the Academy’s central dome as The Man’s Machine and 368 bring the show towards a ferocious climax, yet both audience and band remain equally buoyant, in synchronised ecstasy. Chants of “Jamie-fucking-T” bring about a three-song encore during which the audience, facing in all directions, bounce, swell and radiate jubilation en masse. At the end the atmosphere is simultaneously chaotic and focused, pure, ragged, and elated; an honest reflection on the music of an artist still finding his edge and an audience willing to follow him there.

Maggie Rogers – O2 Academy Glasgow

Live music, Music Review

November this year begins, as we’ve come to expect, mild and rainy. It’s an otherwise innocuous Tuesday, perfect for doing nothing after a weekend – and Monday – revelling in our first proper Halloween celebrations for three years. Maggie Rogers has other plans though; she wants us to be together, to dance and sing and scream, and who are we to refuse such an invitation?

Our evening commences with a sweet serenading by Samia, whose charm exists somewhere between her lofty vocals, a cute ra-ra skirt and cowboy-boot combo, and the dance school finesse of her stage presence. She’s radiant as she introduces her songs, vignettes of youthful innocence and disillusionment, romantic fantasy and the banality of everyday life, each received with generous screams of recognition. With two songs left she asks, “Can you come on the rest of the tour? I feel like we’ve really…connected.” I feel like we have too, in pursuit of escapism.

That’s what this night is all about: Feeling connected. Rogers said via social media that her aim for each night of this tour is to deliver a set which “starts with some heat, leaves the middle for an emotional release, and still brings us all together at the end.” This is precisely what ensues.

Latest album Surrender is played out in its near-entirety over the course of the night, giving ample opportunities for catharsis both on the stage and within the audience. Want Want is explosive. Alaska and Love You For A Long Time elicit exuberant singalongs. Shatter leaves everyone desperately breathless. Silhouetted like a phantom at the back of the stage, Rogers exorcises some deep frustration on Honey before composing herself within the quiet solace of The Blue Nile’s Let’s Go Out Tonight. It’s a perfect turning point, a place to rebuild from. In the live context Symphony has an air of Fleetwood Mac about it, emphasised towards the end as Rogers dances and spirals in perfect synchronicity with the band’s tight ritard.

“I missed this,” she declares simply. Like a close friend, a sense of identity, a vital organ? One can only imagine what “missing this” for the last three years has felt like for an artist with so much emotional investment in their live exchange. Back In My Body presents as a kind of reconciliation with that touring life. It’s not always glamorous but it has a purpose that Rogers, now even academically, understands. Between the powerful percussion that closes Begging For Rain and the raw vocal and acoustic guitar on Horses, Rogers mines a deep seam of emotion to wrap up the set. Even before the climax, following Anywhere With You, the crowd erupts into such thunderous applause that it delays the big finale of Light On and That’s Where I Am. Rogers and her band stand in awe, gratitude glistening all over them. They drive the performance to its incendiary conclusion and return for an encore that feels both extravagant and essential. Surrender’s closing track Different Kind of World exists to mollify the end of this night together; a feeling and a memory to carry with us as we walk back out into our dreary reality. A connection. Thank you, Maggie.

A version of this review is published by The Modern Record

Maximo Park – Barrowland Ballroom

Live music, Music Review

Paul Smith is selling socks at the Barrowlands.

“We’ve got three-hundred pairs to shift,” the Maximo Park frontman tells his attendant audience, “and tea towels!” Hosiery and kitchen linens may not be conventional stock at most indie rock concerts but in the face of unsustainable economic structures and an industry in crisis, creative merchandising is a necessity. It isn’t enough to simply write, record and release great songs because no-one pays for great songs; artists have to sell stuff, and sell well, to finance their musical endeavours and basic living. Having great songs will help though.

To this end Maximo Park have hit the road to tout their wares throughout the UK. As Smith explains at one point, “We had a single. We wanted to tour the single hence, the Singular Tour.” Following the release of their nearly chart-topping seventh studio album, Nature Always Wins, in 2021, and a run of sold out shows across the country just over 12 months ago, the band are now treating audiences to a Maximo Park retrospective comprising “only the singles” – and for tonight, one B-side – with each city’s set containing select songs voted for in advance by the local fan base.

Dutch outfit Pip Blom are tasked with warming up the steady stream of early arrivals. Their formula of sugary vocals and occasionally fuzzy guitars is a bright and effervescent delight, dynamically building through the bluesy lilt of Tinfoil into the grungy Pussycat before overflowing with quaint garage-pop on Keep It Together. Heads are bopping throughout the crowd. It’s a good sign.

The Park’s set, by contrast, takes more than a moment to find its rhythm and direction. Or rather it opens with a certain rhythm, alternating consistently between crooners and kickers, before switching to a smooth, upward cadence for the latter half. The aforementioned B-side, The Night I Lost My Head, comes out of nowhere within the first three songs and, while a generally energetic bop, it sits incongruous to the more mellow grooves of Leave This Island and Hips and Lips which follow. The crowd are undeniably into it though. “If you wanna do a bit of dancing I will also do a little shuffle” Smith declares, as if he had no plans to move otherwise.

This isn’t a nostalgia trip proper and it’s evident that the nature of the tour has been successful in drawing out fans of each and every part of the band’s catalogue. The emphasis of the singles tour is on songs all people (theoretically) will have heard, not just die-hard or historic fans, and as such the audience has a more diverse emotional investment in this set. No song is ever met with indifference despite some having not felt the spotlight for a few years.

“Stay hydrated; we’ve got a lot of hits to get through” Smith quips, semi tongue-in-cheek, before launching into The National Health, during which the audience are surprisingly well-behaved. This one used to be quite a rager. It’s not much longer though before pints are flying and Smith is leaping, scissoring the air, illuminated in deep red and blinding white; the tones of A Certain Trigger. A thickset man is propped up on shoulders during Karaoke Plays and the atmosphere is becoming intensely sentimental.

Great Art, the single that precipitated this roadshow, repackages the band’s typically poetic social commentary while deploying as iconic an earworm as Radio 1 could ever hope for. It’s a popular one across the generations of listeners in attendance and serves to unify the energy from the stage all the way to the lighting desk. What follows from this point could be described as a passionate ascension which says as much about the music as it does about the band-audience relationship.

The intense romance of Questing, Not Coasting, a song about “falling in love in a thunderstorm”, has fists punching the air and arms swaying hypnotically. Our Velocity is a perfect song, worthy of dissertation, that somehow delivers more with every performance – especially in this room. The Kids Are Sick Again feels weighty and poignant, perhaps more than it ever has.

“If this is your first gig, welcome to Maximo Park. This is for you!” Smith announces before walking to the side of stage, allowing spotlights to focus attention on Duncan Lloyd’s silhouette and coarsely chiming guitar intro to Going Missing, the band’s first ever single. The crowd response is unparalleled with sustained, rapturous applause and spontaneous stamping. The same follows Books From Boxes, arguably the most beloved of fan-favourites, leaving Smith speechless for a few moments before humbly declaring, “This is why we do it.”

The set concludes with superb renditions of Versions Of You and Apply Some Pressure, both immaculate demonstrations of the band’s musical ethos and proof that the key to artistic longevity lies not in sales techniques or creative merchandising but in perfecting one’s craft. Great songs are what really matter. They drill this point home with a masterclass of an encore; Midnight On The Hill, Girls Who Play Guitars and Graffiti. Smith introduces his bandmates over relentless cheering, finally stating “My name is Paul and I’ve had a wonderful time”. You can’t half tell as he lingers long on the stage, radiating joy and gratitude, and basking in its elated reciprocity.

Here’s hoping they sold a lot of socks, because they certainly rocked plenty off.

A version of this review was published by The Modern Record

The Big Moon – Summerhall

Live music, Music Review

If there was ever any question over the popularity of guitar bands in the last few years consider this; The Big Moon are on their second round of touring through the UK since releasing their sophomore record at the beginning of January. And they’ve only gone and sold the place out! Following on from a successful run of shows supporting Bombay Bicycle Club earlier in the month they return to Scotland on the very last – leap – night of February to headline Edinburgh’s Summerhall.

Anticipation is palpable with a queue snaking down the stairs and out into the courtyard. Fans are eager to get in early and snag a good position. They’re also keen to look the part and the merch table is already busy flogging t-shirts and albums; a positive sign for any artist in the streaming age but especially for new and breaking bands.

There’s a big portion of the audience already in place when tour support Prima Queen take to the stage. They don’t say much for the first few songs and only really get chatty before the end of the set when they mention that their bassist got dumped 20 minutes before soundcheck – “so rock’n’roll” – and that they put their band name on the drums because they forgot to mention it at previous shows. The mood is light and the band have a great chemistry on stage. Lead vocals are shared between guitarists Louise MacPhail and Kristin McFadden. They have that kind of effortlessly powerful command of harmonies, familiar to fans of boygenius and Alvvays, and with tones and melodies made for summer festival afternoons blissing out under blue skies. It’s a gentle kind of warm up set that closes out with “Milk Teeth” and “Mexico” and leaves the crowd slightly swaying, slightly nodding, ready for the main event.

From the moment The Big Moon appear there’s a buzzing warmth in the room. It’s not quite Beatles hysteria but it’s damn infectious! They meet that audience energy with the scratchy jangle of debut album opener Sucker which, despite its usual dynamic shifts, remains buoyant throughout. They follow up swiftly with the pulsing disco vibe of Don’t Think before settling into a lyrical groove with Take A Piece. The new songs are just as enthusiastically received as those from the band’s Mercury nominated 2017 release Love In The 4th Dimension despite being vastly different in both sound and subject matter. Of course in the live setting there’s minimal production to hide behind and every catchy chorus and driving guitar feels just as vibrant and raw as it should. Lyrically, Juliette Jackson’s direct and literal style is engaging whether lamenting youthful relationships, wrestling inner demons or staring defiantly into the void. Witty couplets cut through the repetitive choruses and reconnect the audience with the characters and emotions at the heart of each song. There’s flutes, there’s sing-alongs, there’s even a Fatboy Slim cover, either side of which Jackson is off the stage and down on the barrier leading “a gentle song with some yelling at the end” (Waves) followed by a riotous crowd favourite (Bonfire). The end comes around too quickly for fans who are vigorous in their applause and even after the last song, after the house music starts playing, are unwilling to accept that there won’t be an encore tonight. Naturally it’s disappointing for everyone who wanted to hear more from the band but there’s something so heartening about an authentic rock performance that elicits such an organic reaction from those present. It’s refreshing. It’s invigorating. It’s healthy. Guitar bands like Prima Queen and The Big Moon are good for the health of the industry.