Ash were an absolute force—louder, heavier, and more guttural than on record. There’s something thrilling about revisiting a band after years away, and while their latest album impressed me, live they’re a beast. A relentless, full-throttle assault of sound.
It felt like stepping back in time. The last time I saw Ash, they were supporting The Darkness two decades ago at the MEN Arena. Back then, my wife was several months pregnant—now that same bump is off at university, texting us for beer money throughout the set.
Live music in Liverpool on a Friday night—does it get any better? I doubt it. Ash aren’t my favourite band, not even close, but did they blow me away? Absolutely. Their guitar-fuelled take on Harry Belafonte’s Jump in the Line was an unexpected highlight, and this time, I actually caught Girl From Mars instead of missing it mid-set in the loos.
For a three-piece, Ash make an astonishing amount of noise—tight, raw, and electrifying. If this was just the warm-up, The Darkness had serious work to do.
The Darkness are a throwback, and I fucking love them for it. They kicked off with Rock and Roll Cowboy from the new album, striking the same ridiculous power pose that the Tories once used under Theresa May’s leadership—a knowing nod to the absurdity of it all.
Growing on Me followed, as brilliant live as ever. Liverpool was fully on board. The Darkness may have disappeared from the mainstream for a while, but they’re back, baby! No life-sized white tigers this time, just a bunny hop to get the crowd bouncing—not that they needed much encouragement.
Justin Hawkins was clearly relishing the atmosphere, declaring his joy at playing a standing venue while taking a dig at Ipswich and other stops on the tour—”fucking shit!” he quipped, no doubt tongue-in-cheek. Then came Get Your Hands Off My Woman Motherfucker, during which he somehow managed to stand on his head and clap his ankles. He wrapped it up with a Freddie Mercury-style call-and-response, repeatedly belting out “Motherfucker!” You don’t get this at a Coldplay gig.
The set was packed with intertextuality and cheeky nods to rock history—wry, witty, and unmistakably British.
Twenty years ago, when I last saw them with Ash, The Darkness were still road-testing their material, playing half of English Country Garden. Tonight, the new tracks were fully formed and well-rehearsed, and the crowd responded accordingly.
Midway through, Hawkins urged the audience to buy their records from the merch stand. They’re independent now, no big label control, so they could outsell Ariana Grande (’cause she needs the fucking money) and Mumford & Sons (‘with their alt-right, goose-stepping banjo player—fuck those cunts!’). The moment had the energy of Kevin Keegan’s legendary ‘I’d love it if we beat them!’ rant. Then came Walking Through Fire, featuring a Beatles-esque bridge, which Hawkins interrupted with yet another “Fuck you, Mumford & Sons!” Clearly, there’s some beef there.
Then Barbarian—heavier, darker, a shift in gears. The Darkness proved once again why they’re one of the most entertaining live bands out there. No pretense, no subtlety, just pure, theatrical rock and roll. And Liverpool lapped up every second of it as the shirt came off.
Rock ballad and crowd pleaser – Love on the Rocks followed. Outstanding stuff. The catsuits may be gone, but the Brian May-like solos remain.
First single off the forthcoming album Dreams on Toast followed, The Longest Kiss – the record that really piqued my interest again after I had lapsed. Forgive me, Justin, for I know not what I do! The keys have a distinct sound of Queen. It’s never far away but rarely more apparent than in this. Unhappy with the crowd missing their cue, we’re reprimanded, playfully and the solo is replayed and we do our civic duty and retort with wild screams.
Hawkins gives up his microphone to Rufus Tiger Taylor – son of Roger – and we’re treated to doo-wop reminiscent of the New York Dolls and The Ramones. I wasn’t expecting this.
Admittedly not everything lands perfectly. There are lesser known tracks that the crowd don’t totally dig – and I hope I’m not chastised for this, but some of it is a little paint by numbers, think how latter day Rolling Stones and AC/DC output is a facsimile of the great early work. It’s true, the musicianship never wanes, but sometimes the songwriting doesn’t stand up. But it didn’t detract, so who cares?
Friday Night opens with an angelic vocal performance, drawing the biggest reaction of the evening before the full band kicks in. Then, a condensed but blistering take on Led Zep’s Immigrant Song,
We’re told off for having phones out during I Believe in A Thing Called Love, in fact he stops the show – calls Mumford & Sons ‘cunts’ again and restarts when we behave ourselves collectively. My night ends with another nod to Queen with an extract from Crazy Little Thing Called Love. I had to dart to catch my transport as the band played on. I’d heard everything I needed to, and picked up my lanyard at the merch stand as instructed as I left.
Two decades on, The Darkness are still ridiculous, still electrifying, still one of the most entertaining live bands on the planet. Their energy hasn’t dimmed, their theatrics haven’t softened, and their frontman still knows exactly how to work a room.
The excess might be tempered, but the magic isn’t. And on a Friday night in Liverpool, with the amps cranked and the beer flowing, that’s all that mattered.
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