Album & Live Reviews

Saturday night saw an all female Nirvana tribute band called Nirvanher perform at Hull's often overlooked O'Riley's on Beverley Road. Despite it being a small crowd, they rock the room and with powerhouse lead singer, London King's, raucous attitude and strong vocals, they left a lasting impression. London did all she could to get a small audience going and had a sassy, confident persona. Her strong stage presence was phenomenal and she demonstrated a very impressive physicality in her performance: she did backbends, rock kicks and raged around the stage with more high energy. Her raspy, sexy vocal delivery along with her dynamic stage presence demanded attention and it's evident that she has decades of experience, having performed at iconic venues, such as Whiskey A Go Go and the 100 Club, as well as the Rebellion Festival. She brought unbelievable energy to her performance and witty banter between songs. London engaged with the other band members, who consist of Pat on bass guitar and Cristina on drums, and they clearly have a love of Nirvana and grunge. Pat's bass lines and intricate riffs provide the groove and depth that drive Nivarnher's sound whilst Cristina's versatile drumming provided a powerful rocking rhythm to Nivarnher's explosive performance. Although they are usually accompanied by guitarist, Ezra, but she was unable to attend for personal unforeseen family issues so they have had to cancel their Bournemouth show and postpone the one in Leicester. However, you can still catch them in their rescheduled shows in London on 28th September and in Winchester on 21st February 2026. For Saturday night, they had a male guitarist fill in so they were able to fulfil their commitments but it's really unfortunate that they've been plagued with bad luck because they are a brilliant band worth watching. They were supported by Lux Lisbon, who are an impressive up-and-coming local Hull band, who've performed in other local venues, such as Adelphi. Fronted by lead singer, Isaac, they are starting to get more gigs for good reason.

When I mentioned to anyone that I was going to see Guns N’ Roses this year, I discovered that the standard response was “have you heard Axl’s voice lately?” and to suggest that my experience might be sub-par as a result. Someone asked if I thought Axl would turn up on time, but as it turns out, audience punctuality is more of a problem! It’s bang on 7 o’ clock, and the unmistakeable introduction to ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ is already reverberating around a less than full Wembley Stadium. It’s early, yes, but the doors have been open for three hours and there’s no way I’d risk missing this. Some songs are just so iconic, so much part of the fabric of life as a rock fan that to hear them live is nothing short of complete joy. I’m a first timer, having put off seeing Guns N’ Roses before on the basis that I don’t really like stadium shows, but I’ve given in because I know I’ll probably never see them any other way. It’s a decision I realise very quickly is the right one. Admittedly, the sound isn’t perfect (I’ve since heard it described as ‘dogshit’!) and my gripes with stadiums remain - too much talking, too much to-ing and fro-ing as people collect drinks or nip off to the toilet, and definitely too many phones. But there is something quite wonderful about the congregation of thousands of people in one place, united in their love for a band who have remained exciting, unpredictable and relevant despite releasing relatively little music in their 30 odd years of existence. Much of that music is aired over the course of this evening, a tour de force performance that is both sprawling and magnificent. It calls to mind the band’s Use Your Illusion albums which which have been described over the years as bloated, over-ambitious and in need of some quality control. I suspect there are some who might feel similarly about this set that spans an unwieldy three hours and fifteen minutes, but I welcome the diversity. ‘Appetite for Destruction’ is rightfully dominant, but there is time for epics like ‘Coma’ and ‘Estranged’, the crushing riff of the former contrasting nicely with the elegance that Slash’s guitar playing brings to the latter. There’s an enthusiastic run through of Velvet Revolver’s ‘Slither’ and a handful of covers both expected (‘Live and Let Die’, ‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door’) and unexpected, Duff McKagan taking the lead vocal for Thin Lizzy’s ‘Thunder and Lightning’. It’s frustrating to see so many heading for the stairs every time the band play something relatively new because ‘Chinese Democracy’ is probably better than you remember and recent single ‘Absurd’ snarls with punk attitude. I would argue that much of the flack Axl receives seem unfounded; of course his voice isn’t quite the same as it used to be, but forgive him for being 63. He still has the energy and the charisma that made him a star and is seldom static, careering around the stage whilst hitting his notes, at least for the most part. And a cover of Glen Campbell’s ‘Wichita Lineman’ suggests that if he gets fed up with rock and roll, he could do a decent job as a country singer! The crowd pleasers are all present and correct, from ‘Civil War’ to ‘November Rain’ and ‘You Could Be Mine’ to ‘Patience’, a song I hadn’t expected to make the set list. But ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’ generates one of the biggest reactions I have ever seen, Wembley Stadium a mass of phone screens held aloft as everyone scrambles to capture this moment. Better just to soak it in and enjoy I think, and though it’s weird to admit, I’m a little emotional as the song builds to a crescendo, a band once labelled ‘the most dangerous in the world’ bringing a tear to my eyes. Don’t listen to the doubters, Guns N’ Roses have still got it. SETLIST Welcome to the Jungle/Bad Obsession/It’s So Easy/Chinese Democracy/Live and Let Die/Mr. Brownstone/Slither/Coma/You Could Be Mine/Hard Skool/Estranged/Reckless Life/Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door/Double Talkin’ Jive/Catcher in the Rye/Thunder and Lightning/Anything Goes/Down on the Farm/Civil War/Slash Guitar Solo/Sweet Child O’ Mine/Perhaps/Absurd/November Rain/Wichita Lineman/Patience/Rocket Queen/Dead Horse/Human Being/Nightrain/Paradise City

Like so many thousands of others, I was stoked when AC/DC announced a date at Murrayfield – a stadium show with rock legends I could literally walk to from my house. Again, like those other many thousands, I was gutted not to get a ticket. There had to be a ‘Plan B’. I found that there was, but it would involve a trip to Prague to make it happen. I managed to secure tickets to the AC/DC gig for Prague and went about sorting planes, hotels and taxis to get us there. First up, anyone who says going abroad for this type of gig is cheaper than going at home is just plain wrong. The gig tickets were cheaper, but not by much and by the time flights and a place to sleep were added in it was certainly going to cost more that the top tickets at Murrayfield would have. But it was going to be so worth it! So, just to make sure we made it to last Thursday’s gig on time, we left the house on Tuesday morning at 6AM and made the journey. That got us to the hotel in time to dump our bags and get out for a lunchtime beer in Prague. I’ll not bore you with a city review, safe to say it was a nice place with lots to see. The big focus for us was Thursday. We were up and out the hotel by 11 o’clock grabbing lunch and a beer before heading over to the Praha Letnany, a disused airfield on the outskirts of the city which now serves as a venue for some pretty big gigs. This was a Live Nation event, and if you are a lover of Live Nation, look away now. I never feel they do much to make the concert experience easy for the fan and always look for a way to make a bit of profit. This was a cashless event, but we had to buy a chip upon which we deposited cash. The chip was cheap, about 50p, but multiply that by 62,000 and that’s a nice turn for the promotor. There was a deposit for AC/DC branded glasses, fair enough, but this could not be redeemed until after the show, so every beer bought came with an added cost. Finally, and the thing that really ripped ma knitting, was the search policy. The weather was due to be 31°C, which for this fair-haired Scot, was at least on the warm side. My small tube of factor 50 was not allowed in – a wee bit dangerous in my view. Yup, Live Nation are not in the business of making friends. We were keen to bag a good spot so got there at 1530 and remained in place looking forward to the support band. From our vantage point it was great to see middle aged men appearing in schoolboy outfits and flat caps in obvious homage to the two men who are now, very much, the heart of the headliners. I last saw The Pretty Reckless at Download, I think 12 years ago and have been an on and off listen to list since. Bang on 6 o’clock they strolled on stage and started to hit us up with some banging riffs that were the start of “Death by Rock and Roll”. Just before the lyric kicked in, singer Taylor Momsen appeared from the side of the stage, took the mic and set about delivering 50 fantastic minutes of music for the many thousands who had arrived early enough to hear them. The stick outs for me were “Witches Burn” from the latest album and “Make me Wanna Die” from their first album. I really enjoyed their 50 minutes and The Pretty Reckless have been on my personal listen to list since Friday. There can be few bigger opportunities for a rock band than having the support slot for AC/DC, I felt The Pretty Reckless grabbed their chance with both hands and really made the most of their opportunity. A fantastic start to the night. By stadium standards, this was a mega quick turnaround. Forty minutes after the support left the stage, the lights dipped and the intro animation for the headliners came on. AC/DC were about to hit the stage. They blasted forth with opener “If You Want Blood (You’ve Got It)”. That got the toes tapping, “Black in Black” was next up, a real crowd pleaser and “Demon Fire” from the Power Up album completed the openers. Wee, quick grumble…put your phones away folks. Be in the moment and let others do the same. A quick photo is not something, I think, many people have an issue with, but to all the ‘fans’ who think they are making a Cecil B De Mille classic recording of a concert – you are not, you are simply being a selfish…I will let you finish the sentence. As with all AC/DC shows, it really was a show! The Marshall stacks, the graphics and the camera work take this from being a gig into being an event. Brian Johnston, strutted about the stage in his flat cap and sleeveless shirt. His shoulders hunched and smiling like he had just got the call to let him know he’d been given the gig in the band. Angus was in his red, velvet school buy outfit, a colour that drew the lights and the eye to this most diminutive of guitarists. The band was completed by Stevie Young, who on the rhythm takes the berth where his uncle Malcom used to play, Matt Laug was on drums and Chris Chaney kept solid rhythm on bass. These guys were as tight as any AC/DC line up. Five songs in and the opening bars of “Thunderstruck” brought a huge roar from the crowd. Now, it's fair to say this was also the song where my own doubts crept to the front of my thoughts. No matter how hard anyone runs, time will always start to catch up and, I felt, during this song both main protagonists may have felt Father Time’s breath on their necks. Neither Brian nor Angus could quite make their notes. The crowd were there to carry them through, but the polish had dulled a little on who were always a couple of stick out performers. Time, that’s all it was, just time. These were thought that returned across the set. But this is AC/DC and they still rock! There are, thankfully, very few surprises in an AC/DC setlist. Fans come to hear the same bluesy rock the band have been consistently producing for the last 50 years. “Have a Drink on Me”, “Hells Bells” and, of course “Highway to Hell” are found in the meat of the show, but it was the last few that really made me smile. “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap”, “Riff Raff” and “You Shook Me All Night Long” took us to the crescendo. Then the graphic of Rosie appeared – she may not be exactly pretty or exactly small, but she got one of the biggest cheers of the night. The main set ended with “Let There Be Rock” which included a solo from Angus, which, whilst enjoyable, perhaps overstayed it's welcome just a little. After the shortest of breaks, “T.N.T.” and “For Those About to Rock” finished a two-and-a-half-hour trip around some of the highlights of the back catalogue belonging to one of the greatest rock and roll bands ever. We left the stadium and went for a beer. We got talking to other fans. Like us, everyone had loved the night but thought it was a good tour and gig for the band to bow out on. I was there with my 19 year old, Gregor. He agreed with that sentiment but was very keen to point out, that we had just seen AC/DC and they were still awesome and that he was now able to say he’d seen them, something most of his mates never would be able to say. He was right on both counts, and, judging by his smile and mine as we discussed the night, it had been a cracker.

Whilst meandering towards this massive venue, I still have to take several looks to fathom just how far Iron Maiden have progressed since I first started following them. In the days of yore, I saw regular adverts for them playing London club venues such as The Ruskin Arms, The Bridgehouse, The Cart and Horses and The Marquee. The London Stadium states that it holds 80,000 for concerts. I'd say all other than a few here this evening are wearing IM shirts, too. Maiden have been at this level for some time, though it still astonishes me. The fact that they are also able to evaporate the cavernous space with their presence, (on so many levels), is utterly commendable. This tour goes by the sobriquet of "Run for your Lives", celebrating 50 years of Maiden, and also touted as containing songs from 1980-1992. The start of the show hints at a sort-of chronological feel, with a wonderful CGI sequence taking us through the streets of the East End of London, incorporating many IM reference points along the way. Playing along to this, is the intro tape of "The Ides of March" from the "Killers" album. We then fly right into "Murders in the Rue Morgue", giving new Drummer Simon Dawson a chance to stamp his personality on proceedings immediately. His characterful style is closer to earlier Maiden drummers, Clive Burr and Doug Sampson (now with Airforce). With his arrival, the band appear to be playing songs closer to the tempo of the original recordings. Over the next three songs, we are treated to more of the Di'Anno era, namely "Wrathchild", "Killers", and "Phantom of the Opera". The sound is holding out fantastically well, just the right volume and clarity. Bruce's voice is on great form, taking no time at all to settle. He also changes his clothes/costumes more often than a West End actor. Unusually for him, Bruce says very little during the first handful of songs. When he does, he describes this gig as a homecoming gig for Steve Harris, and in a different way, for the band themselves. As we know, Steve is a hardcore West Ham United fan. This must be a very special day for him. Not only that, this venue is also very close to where he formed the group in 1975. He delivers the goods tenfold today. Although they now have a new drummer, the IM line up hasn't really altered for half of the band's existence thus far. The three-guitar combo of Dave Murray, Janick Gers and Adrian Smith remains as strong and as awe-inspiring as ever. Such wonderful variety and seamless interplay. So many syncopated sections to cover, and all very masterfully shared out. The next part of the gig is really a "Powerslave" and "Seventh Son" section. Very welcome, as to me, those two albums are where the Dickinson line up (at that point) really hit it's stride fully. Highlights of this segment for me, are the title track of "Seventh Son", with it's Prog twists and classical leanings, and "2 Minutes to Midnight". The latter is a contender for one of the most perfectly written Rock/Metal singles ever. A stunning riff, hard-hitting lyrics, and a stirring chorus. Nothing wasted. Everything is flying past expeditiously, and we are soon roaring into one of the fan favourites, "The Trooper". Bruce is sounding very fine on these challenging songs too, where breath control and force are required in equal measure. Very fittingly, the main part of the set wraps up with "Iron Maiden". The band trot off very modestly, though that's due to the fact we know they are returning anyway. After a few minutes only, the sound of war planes is heard, so we know it has to be "Aces High". It's interesting to hear at this point in the set, as it was so often the opening song many years ago. "Fear of the Dark" and "Wasted Years" conclude the evening. "WY" is a lovely way to end the evening, as it was initially written to convey how gruelling the touring schedule was for Maiden during the 1980's. Thankfully for them, they are now able to reduce the gigs and play in larger venues. To analyse how rock groups can become so popular is multi-faceted; it has to be. If it wasn't a multitude of factors, then they simply couldn't be this great. Iron Maiden have always had so many constituent parts. Very driven individuals, great performers, and immense song writing. And oodles of charisma. They've also achieved it all without compromise on any level. You can add many more factors, too. With a new line-up, I'm also starting to imagine how new material might sound if they translate it to the studio. A fascinating thought. Oh, and I can't finish without mentioning Eddie, who appears strikingly in different formats throughout. What a wonderful evening, a classic (in all senses) rock group still performing to such an distinguished level. Walking out of the Stadium, I take one last look over my shoulder. Was that really a Stadium? I'm sure it was the Cart and Horses. I really am.

Somewhere between a busted jukebox in Asbury Park and the last cigarette in a Brooklyn dive, “The Great Yellow Light” crackles to life. Willie Nile returns with an album that threads punk brevity through the heart of Americana yearning. New music from Nile is always cause for celebration, but at a spry 77 (his father is 107), this latest set of electric anthems is especially remarkable. Inspired by Vincent van Gogh’s letters to his brother Theo, the album’s title reflects its glowing, emotional core. Nile is still championing the everyman, still wearing his heart on his sleeve, and these ten tracks feel both urgent and lived-in—punk lullabies penned in a 24-hour diner after reading “The Grapes of Wrath.” The album bursts open with “Wild Wild World,” a punch of garage grit and punk vigour. It tears in like the Ramones via the Jersey Turnpike—anthemic, raw, and tightly wound. Nile’s core band returns in full force: Jimi Bones (guitar, backing vocals), Johnny Pisano (bass, backing vocals), and Jon Weber (drums), all sharpened under the seasoned hand of producer Stewart Lerman (Elvis Costello, Patti Smith, Neko Case, and more). Nile’s throaty roar is front and centre, full of grit and conviction. It's hard to imagine many artists at Nile’s age delivering this much fire across a full-length LP. “Electrify Me” channels the energy of a debut record, not that of a seasoned veteran. Then comes “We Are, We Are”—a Springsteen-tinged anthem of hope that feels like a spiritual cousin to “Radio Nowhere.” Nile’s voice cracks at just the right moments—worn, tender, and heartbreakingly catchy. Guest spots add texture without disrupting the album’s drive. Paul Brady joins Nile on “An Irish Goodbye,” a wistful Pogues-esque tune that mixes romance, nostalgia, and sorrow. It’s lyrical, sharp, and deeply affecting in its simplicity. Nile’s sense of political awareness often flies under the radar, but it shines brightly here. The title track, “The Great Yellow Light,” steps back from the album’s muscular rock for a moment of graceful reflection. There’s a reverent spirit in its bones—one that situates Nile alongside Dylan, Patti Smith, Leonard Cohen, and Lou Reed as a songwriter with poetic weight. Sentimental, but never saccharine. The second half of the record kicks off with “Tryin’ to Make a Living in the U.S.A.,” a Celtic-tinged rocker that pairs toe-tapping buoyancy with smart, self-aware lyrics about the grind of a working musician. It’s a welcome moment of levity wrapped in one of the album’s most infectious hooks. “Fall on Me” reveals Nile’s romantic, nurturing side—an intimate pledge of support in hard times, softly delivered and quietly powerful. On “What Colour Is Love,” he shifts musical gears once more, piano centric, Nile creates a world-weary ballad about unity, identity, and belonging. It aches with restrained grace. Then “Wake Up America” arrives like a fist pounding on the table. Nile’s battle cry for change snarls from the speakers, all urgency and raw defiance. His call for collective action is both timely and global—urging people to shake off complacency and resist division. Steve Earle lends weight to the message, trading verses with Nile and joining him in a chorus that roars with conviction. The album closes with “Washington’s Day,” a reimagining of The Hooters’ 1987 track. Featuring Rob Hyman and Eric Bazilian themselves, the song looks back with clarity and forward with resilience—a fitting end to a record steeped in memory and purpose. Willie Nile has delivered one of 2025’s great albums. The Great Yellow Light is a blue-collar fever dream—part jukebox confessional, part roadside manifesto. The tracks are lean, heartfelt, and perfectly paced; when the album ends, you instinctively want to cue up side A again. It’s a record for the 99%, bursting with hope, fight, and the undiluted spirit of rock ’n’ roll. Punk urgency meets lyrical depth in a way that’s messy, magnetic, and full of soul.

Olby’s, in Margate’s Old Town, is advertised as a soul cafe. But if you’re here this evening in search of smooth grooves and honeyed vocal performances, you’re in for a shock as hard rockers Black Spiders, with support from Gurt, come rolling through on their Sons of Beaches tour. The venue isn’t very busy (well… there’s at least 9 other people!), perhaps the result of Supergrass playing a huge show at the neighbouring Dreamland, but it’s hard to imagine there’s much crossover between their audiences. If you like Supergrass, you’ll almost certainly be horrified by Gurt, who label themselves as 100% premium British sludge, a fairly accurate description that possibly doesn’t prepare you for their vocal approach. Even when introducing the band, frontman Gareth Kelly sounds like he could do with clearing his throat. It’s intentional, of course, and his growls pair nicely with the huge, grooving riffs that are at times reminiscent of Clutch. I particularly enjoy ‘Squidgy Black Slide’, though the lyrics aren’t that easy to decipher (I’m initially convinced they’re singing about a sticky bum slide… whatever that is!). ‘Sludge Puppies’ might have a disarmingly cute title, but is about as cute as an angry Rottweiler who’s hoping to bite your face. Despite a very modest crowd, Gurt play like they mean it, and make an impression with the few of us who have bothered to show up early. The room fills up a little bit for Black Spiders, though there’s still more space around me than I’m used to. ‘Death Comes Creepin’ gets things underway, a fast-paced rocker that is as no-nonsense as anything from the band’s catalogue. Like many of the greats (think Motörhead, AC/DC, Status Quo), Black Spiders seem to have hit on a formula that works and they’re sticking with it. Powering through sixteen songs in little more than a hour, it’s a relentless riff assault with gang-style choruses that bludgeon you into submission. Impossibly high energy throughout, it’s difficult to know where to look as the band bound around the stage and throw their best rockstar poses. With three guitarists, they make an impressive sight, sometimes lining up with bassist Adam Irwin at the front of the stage for maximum impact. Frontman Pete Spiby is at his best on ‘Just Like a Woman’, a song that shows off his range perhaps better than any other. Taken from the band’s debut, along with ‘Stay Down’, it’s clear that their identity was established quickly and has only been cemented with the passing of the years. ‘A Rat is a Rat’ is spectacularly frantic, and ‘The Mofo Sauce’ generates a joyful, swear-fest of a singalong. I’ve had my middle finger in the air at gigs a lot recently, and so it is again tonight, Spiby insisting on us shouting ‘F*** you Black Spiders’ as has become tradition. ‘KISS Tried to Kill Me’ brings the set to a raucous, and abrupt conclusion. It’s only 9:30, but there’s no encores and no fuss. Far from feeling short-changed, I feel like I need a bit of a rest after trying to keep up with the energy displayed on stage. Supergrass might have the bigger crowd, but I’d choose to be here every time.

In the spiralling lexicon of post-punk revivals, few debut albums summon the ghosts quite like Black Rain, the eponymous release from Sunderland’s three-piece of the same name. They enter the fray not with reinvention but with resurrection—resurrecting unease, urgency, and the taciturn swagger of throbbing basslines under sodium glare. This is music made for flickering streetlights and cracked windshields: equal parts Joy Division pallor and Stranglers’ sneer. The album splits itself, artfully, between the embalmed sterility of studio control and the beautiful mess of stage abrasion. The five studio tracks lean into architectural minimalism with bleak elegance. ‘Inside’ opens with brooding intent, Scott Hays’ bassline coiled like a slow fuse as a cracked vocal intones with hypnotic resignation. Josh Cowey unspools panic, chanting: ‘Can’t Think, Can’t See, Can’t Breathe, Can’t Speak, Can’t Run, Can’t Hide, Can’t Feel, Can’t Find,’ before arriving at the resigned epiphany: ‘Can’t Dream of Better Times.’ More propulsive is ‘Save Me,’ the band at their most Stranglers-esque—jittery, paranoid, and threadbare. Mick Christen’s drums drive the song forward beneath a low hum of synths before Josh Cowey’s jagged guitar and droned vocals cut through with snarling desperation, pleading to be saved from himself. The standout, for me, is ‘Satanists,’ a blistering screed of political anger. Cowey reels off a litany of societal ills—homelessness, underpaid nurses, wilful indifference—and the blood-stained hands of governments. His guitar tears through the track while Hays and Christen pound beneath it. It’s short, furious, and desperate for answers. ‘Shotgun’ marks a shift from the political to the personal, arriving on a bouncing bassline and staccato drumming. It’s a love song for a fractured romance, with Cowey repeatedly asking, ‘How did it come to this?’ A shimmer of guitar and Hays’ ominous bass lead us into ‘Fear,’ returning us to political terrain. Cowey voices disbelief at the news cycle and calls for unity—an anxious plea for survival through solidarity. But it’s in the live material—recorded at Sunderland’s The Bunker on 23 March 2025—where the band unbutton their collars and bare their teeth. ‘Shadows Cry’ lurches toward apocalypse, dragging its bass-driven carcass through three-and-a-half minutes of warped paranoia and regret. ‘Broken Words’ haunts with the sound of betrayal and quiet desperation. Who among us wouldn’t still take back the one who lied, if it meant not being alone? It begins slowly, then breaks into a gallop of raw catharsis. ‘I Suffer Alone’ deepens the descent. Cowey’s shimmering guitar leads us in, while Christen’s drums tap a subtle, near-military cadence. The track crescendos in a wall of sound reminiscent of early Siouxsie and the Banshees—particularly ‘Placebo Effect.’ ‘Dust Tubes’ prowls in on cascading guitar notes, haunting the derelict corners of city streets, where ‘hope flickers’ ‘in this forsaken place.’ In the end, it retreats into a longing for a lost time—for somewhere that once felt like home. Make no mistake: this is a dark record. It speaks to the unease of our times, to collective fears and private insecurities. But it’s also powered by muscular musicality and defiant spirit. You can trace the lineage—Joy Division, Gang of Four, The Stranglers—but Black Rain avoid mere imitation. What they offer instead is a kind of elegant possession. They don’t mimic the past. They haunt it. For fans of Joy Division, Gang of Four, The Stranglers, Pere Ubu, Public Image Ltd, Fugazi, Bauhaus, Magazine, and Siouxsie and the Banshees. available from 14th July from: BANDCAMP https://theblackrainband.bandcamp.com INSTAGRAM https://www.instagram.com/the_black_rain_band/ SPOTIFY https://open.spotify.com/artist/0bQG0K40fWr4EaMs0seDxB?si=z7aDs4WDT5OOskeH01ZmNg APPLE MUSIC https://music.apple.com/us/artist/black-rain/1808657118 VINYL PURCHASE https://elasticstage.com/blackrain CASSETTE PURCHASE https://violethourtransmissions.bandcamp.com/ Black Rain play the forthcoming dates: 26/9 - FIRE STATION - SUNDERLAND 4/10 - CARPE NOCTUM - LEEDS 1/11 - SHADOW FACTORY - WHITBY GOTH FESTIVAL

Three years after their debut full length album ‘January Came Close,’ blues-rock trio Cardinal Black are back with their sophomore release ‘Midnight at the Valencia.’ ‘Midnight at The Valencia’ continues the path laid down on ‘January Came Close.’ Cardinal Black fill the album with carefully crafted blues-rockers, perfectly balanced by some slower more languid tracks. What is evident from the very start of ‘Midnight at The Valencia’ is how much Cardinal Black have grown in the last three years. The playing is tighter, and the songs pack a much greater punch, musically and emotionally. The choice of instruments has also widened from the traditional guitar, drums, and bass of their earlier work. There are new tricks on show as well. Album opener ‘Ride Home’ has a pop sensibility about it that makes it an excellent choice to kick proceedings off with. There’s some lovely drum work from Adam Roberts and an atmospheric bagpipe solo from Alastair Campbell, and Finlay MacDonald. The track segues perfectly into the heavier groove of ‘Falling.’ Chris Buck comes to the fore here with some terrific guitar work that manages to deliver the feel of Pink Floyd and the great blues performers of the late sixties and early seventies like Cream, Hendrix, and Peter Green’s Fleetwood Mac. Tom Hollister’s vocals are gritty and punchy, matching the theme of the song as he searches for something that he realises was the person he left behind. The band lean into their more soulful side on the next couple of tracks, ‘Racing Cars’ and ‘Breathe.’ ‘Racing Cars’ opens with a quiet piece on the piano before Tom Hollister’s heartfelt vocals come in. There’s more imaginative guitar work here from Chris Buck but just when you want it to stretch out and play on, it’s over, and ‘Breathe’ has begun, its emotive phrasing burning its way through the grooves. There are some powerful backing vocals laid down here and Chris Buck shines again with another of those blues-drenched guitar solos he’s becoming so good at. That brings us to ‘Keep on Running,’ not the old Spencer Davis Group track but, perhaps, a sly nod to Steve Winwood who gave the band a helping hand in their early days. The track was dropped as the lead single from the album and a fitting choice it is too. It’s a high tempo blues rocker driven by the drum and bass pairing of Adam Roberts and Sam Williams. power their way through the track. He’s well supported by the catchy singalong backing vocals courtesy of Jade MacRae. Chris Buck provides another example of why he’s a great blues-rock guitarist and becoming very highly regarded amongst his peers. This one is going to explode in concert. From the blues-rock of ‘Keep On Running’ we drop, via a short walk and a slammed door into the ‘live in the studio’ rootsy sound of ‘Morning Light.’ It’s a clever change of pace at the midpoint of the album and shows a more vulnerable and tender side of the band. ‘Need More Time,’ takes another turn from the blues-rock that band usually trades in. There’s a distinct whiff of Americana on display here that follows on nicely from the roots rock of ‘Morning Light.’ The band adds some lovely harmonica and organ parts that sends the track into territory you would expect to find the likes of Counting Crows, Jesse Malin, or Willie Nile inhabiting. The band get funky on ‘Holding My Breath.’ The rhythm section of Adam Roberts and Sam Williams are pushed right up in the mix. Once more, Chris Buck proves his guitar prowess with a languid piece of guitar work, which has that Dave Gilmour/Pink Floyd vibe going again. You can almost feel Tom Hollister holding himself back on the vocals. He delivers a restrained performance to allow the backing vocals from Jade MacRae to push through and harmonise with his. On ‘Push/Pull’ it’s not just Tom Hollister who’s holding back. This is the most intimate track on the album. Hollister’s vocals carry the song along with subtle support from the band. Chris Buck’s gently picked guitar showing another side to this talented guitarist. The emotion carries on into ‘Adeline.’ Tom Hollister’s vocals are centre stage again and he gives a wholly mesmerizing performance on this track. He’s ably supported by some melodic guitar playing from Chris Buck. The track builds with simmering intensity before it erupts in the finale. With the end of the album approaching Cardinal Black knock the musical ball into another field. As the music takes shape we have jangly guitars, Hammond organs and more harmonica work. I can only describe this track as Dylanesque with a side order of Tom Petty. It’s a cracking track highlighting that Cardinal Black won’t be tied down or defined by one genre, much like their blues-rock peers Elles Bailey and When Rivers Meet. Ten tracks down, with no drop off in quality amongst them, Cardinal Black, like a good poker player, have saved one final ace to drop right at the death. ‘Your Spark (Blows Me To Pieces)’ is quite simply immense. For every time I’ve played the album, I’ve played this track twice. Even though I’ve praised him throughout this review, Chris Buck still manages to blow me away here. Tom Hollister’s not far behind as he pulls the emotional strings of the song together leaving the listener drained as the track slowly fades into nothing. The sound of the album is full of energy while maintaining a polished studio sheen, courtesy of Cyrill Camenzind who both produced and engineered the album. From the way Tom Hollister’s raw, gritty, yearning vocals hold the songs together and bring the album home in the final flourish that is ‘Your Spark (Blows Me To Pieces),’ to how Chris Buck’s expressive playing feels effortless. He plays with real feeling, each piece weaving its way through the music. The genre-spanning mix is managed skilfully, drawing listeners into each track. It all goes into making ‘Midnight at the Valencia’ a resounding win for Cardinal Black. The lyrical depth and emotional performances and the way the recurring themes of survival, need, and looking into ourselves run through the album all contribute towards making this one of my favourite releases of 2025 so far. On this album Cardinal Black have delivered a diverse, entertaining, and hugely listenable album. Every track takes its own path and delivers something a little bit different to the one before. This is a bold step forward from Cardinal Black and it delivers everything that a listener could want in the space of forty-five minutes. ‘Midnight at the Valencia’ isn’t simply a second album, it’s a glorious success that signposts the many paths Cardinal Black can travel in the future. ‘Midnight at the Valencia’ is available on CD, LP and on Amazon Music, Apple Music, and Spotify. It was released on the 23rd of May through Jump In Records.