Rockers Through the Ages Christmas Party: Jayler, Gorilla Riot, Voodoo Sioux. KK's Steel Mill, Wolverhampton. Saturday 20th December, 2025

My final gig of 2025 was a wee trip down to KK's Steel Mill in Wolverhampton, with an overnight booked at the Wolverhampton North Premier Inn. Last time we attempted this journey, my partner in crime (Bob) took ill on the way down, and we had to leave the gig early. This time, we chose our meals wisely. 

(Bad news about Tebay Services: whilst its interior refit looks great, they've decided to reverse their dog policy. Dogs are not allowed beyond the foyer. Shame they can't do the same for the children, given the shrieks emanating from the Kids' play area.)

 

We found the hotel and chose to eat dinner in the Beefeater next door, figuring anywhere decent in town would be heaving with Christmas shoppers. Then we drove in and met up with Bob's festival buddies at Jack's Cafe & Bar, opposite the venue. While at that establishment, we struck up a conversation with other gig attendees, who warned us that the street parallel to the venue was a notorious hotspot for car crime. I didn't attempt to park anywhere else and tried to put it out of my mind (fortunately, nothing bad happened).

There was a fairly long queue to get into the gig, so I missed out on a barrier spot once we got inside. I hung back, then spotted a couple of short ladies near the front in the centre, and stood behind them, ending up about three from the front by the time Voodoo Sioux came on. 

They were a big surprise. Their singer, Professor Balthazar (aka Nick Flaherty), is a curious character. A pensioner punk with a fuzzy mohawk, stage makeup and a smile like a 7-10 tenpin bowling pick up, he struts the stage in between his bouts of singing, sipping water, then spitting it out like a fountain. His voice is rather good, though. Equally odd is their bassist, Mario Ermoyenous, who twangs the strings at weird angles and grins like Dr Teeth from the Muppets. The sensible one, Jon JB Blakey, on guitar and backing vocals, is a revelation, both as an excellent singer and guitarist. He provides a solid foundation to the wackiness, as does the drummer, Nige Halford. I had expected to dislike them, but quickly warmed to their performance. Quirky but fun. 

Thank you to the band for posting this on FB for me,
as setlist.fm hadn't been updated to include any sets from the gig.

Gorilla Riot, I love. This was the prime motivator for making the journey down, even though it was only a support slot. Their gutsy, blues-infused rock is always great. Arjun, on vocals and guitar, is a cool frontman with an acidic wit. They visibly enjoy themselves as they play. They gave a rock-solid performance tonight.   

Setlist:

Wrong Side of Town
Molotov Sister,
Kerosene Clown,
Hungry Like the Wolf,
Last Hymn,
Half Cut,
Bad Son,
Dirty.

(Thank you, GR, for replying to my FB request with this list.)

Jayler are a young band going places. They've not even released their debut album, yet they've sold out a 2,000-capacity venue (also helped by an excellent support lineup). If you've seen the film The Substance, imagine Robert Plant's spine opening up to reveal James Bartholomew, and you wouldn't be far off the mark. He is a supreme talent, vocally, on guitar and harmonica. The other band members play their parts well, but James is the star (and he's not even old enough to drink alcohol in the States yet). 

Early on, I felt Tyler Arrowsmith's guitar sound was being lost in the mix, compared to when James was playing. This may have been intentional, given the musical styling, but it initially put me off. By the end, though, they were rocking the room big time. 

For such young men, they've done so well to build a following. With tours supporting Sammy Hagar and Deep Purple next year, their careers will turn stratospheric. I felt lucky to catch them again on their way to superstardom. 

Thank you, Charlie Power, for posting this on the Jayler page for me.

The next day, a weird thing happened after I posted enquiries on the bands' Facebook feeds about their setlists. Voodoo Sioux posted a picture of the setlist (Bravo!). Gorilla Riot listed the songs they played. James from Jayler replied with a thank you, then commented on a couple of my public Facebook posts, asking me to message him. 

So I did.

What followed was a bizarre conversation, obviously with a bot, making up shit in response to my questions while indicating he was upset. It provided me with an inaccurate setlist, told me someone named John in the front row had received the cake for his 50th birthday, and then told me 'he' was uncomfortable with my questioning. No shit, Sherlbot!  

I don't know if it's a fake account or if their management has outsourced fan enquiries. Either way, I won't engage with that account again.

Addendum: the fake account was deleted the following day.

Ticket Price: 2 x £15 plus £3.76 Service Fee = £33.76 from TicketWeb.

Jayler

Gorilla Riot

Band post-gig photos (from FB).

Voodoo Sioux

Gorilla Riot

Jayler

My photos (mixed quality as the night went on):

The joys of a Christmas Party 

It's snowing? Nah, foam.

Lots of foam

Waldorf and Statler approve.

Live at Christmas: Dylan Moran, Tim Key, Sam Campbell, Christopher Macarthur-Boyd, Amy Gledhill, O2 Academy, Glasgow. Sunday 14th December, 2025

This was a quality comedy line-up. Five acts at the top of their game, according to recent reviews. It was a no-brainer that I would want to be there.

We had seats, so there was no need to be there for the doors opening. I managed to remember the way to Bob's secret parking spot near the Academy (well, nearly, but that's the great thing about a grid-based city - a few extra corners and you get to where you need to be). 

The Academy queue was still long when we arrived. I suspected I'd spotted an old pal walking by, and I confirmed my suspicion when his wife followed. We hadn't seen Quiz and Gail for a couple of decades, but they hadn't changed. Inside the venue, I approached them and asked them to step aside once they'd cleared security. It took them a moment to twig who we were. No one recognises me these days. After a quick catch-up, we parted ways, and we made our way to our seats.

Rather good ones, central and near the front, but not so close as to get picked on. 

Amy Gledhill was our host for the evening. The Hull comic was in the festive spirit, wearing a Santa costume over her voluptuous frame. She was pleasing, warm and affable, mixing crowdwork with her material. She asked the engineer sitting in the front row to start off the applause as we welcomed our first comedian, Sam Campbell.

Wow! Sam was off his rocker, like an effervescent tablet dropped into a can of Red Bull then sprayed at the audience (don't give him ideas). From the moment he arrived on stage, wacky doesn't do justice to how funny he was. The climax involved six members of the audience, whose mobile phone numbers added up to more than sixty-two, joining him on stage to throw latex-glove balloons filled with tap water into the crowd, even bringing out a massive catapult to assist with distance. We got caught in the splash zone.

Luckily, his section was followed by an interval to allow us to dry off and for the staff to mop the stage.

After that, we were treated to Christopher Macathur-Boyd and his comedy stylings, then Tim Key's comedy poetry. Christopher's stand-up was consistently funny with well-crafted material. He's honed some material I'd heard him perform previously, boiling it down to killer line after killer line. He was excellent. Tim Key, dressed in a Christmas jumper, which he had to use to smother a lager geyser from his newly opened can, played up how much he was in control, frequently telling Duncan, the sound engineer, to skip or stop music tracks, then start them again at a whim. He also asked the scientist in the front row to hold his can, toying with him, leaving it out of reach. Then he'd ask for it back so often that the audience member eventually threw it at him. 

The second interval provided another opportunity for the staff to mop the sticky stage. The lady sitting beside me enquired if I knew when the event finished. I told her the official time was eleven. She seemed concerned about this. The backstage crew brought out a keyboard and a mini electric bass guitar for the next act. We knew that David O'Doherty had been replaced by Sam Campbell, so why did the next act need musical instruments? Was David going to be a surprise extra? If that was the case, why didn't Amy build it up?

The answer was No. Dylan Moran, our headliner, has entered the freestyle jazz phase of his career, accompanying himself as he riffs his material. To be fair, his style has always suited this approach. But when I say jazz, I'm stretching the term. It may not meet the qualifying threshold. He was funny, though. He got annoyed at a girl in the third row who kept taking photos, pointing out that he didn't come to her workplace to distract her with a camera. She loved the attention. 

Then it was all over by 10.20 pm. It took so long to shuffle out, I joked to the woman I'd spoken to that the 11 pm finish included the exit time.

At the interval, I'd overheard a conversation between the group in the row behind us where one of them said, "By the way, the answer is XL." But what was the question? I was dying to know. Was it the size of his whatever? Roman numerals for forty? A Microsort program for creating spreadsheets? I never did find out, so now you don't know either. 

Another person directly behind me had a phlegmy cough, the kind you want to slap them on the back to encourage them to bring it up and swallow. Or just strike them for coming to a comedy gig carrying a contagion. They did their best to suppress it, but every time I heard it, I held my breath. Let those around them breathe it in, acting as my personal air filter.

On the way home, as I drove along the roadwork section of the M8 at the requested average speed (40 mph), five police Range Rovers flew past in succession, followed by an ambulance (in case they crashed). No idea why? Maybe they were in a race to reach the chippie before it closed. Perhaps late VAR calls had disqualified St Mirren's three goals, and they were on their way to Paisley to recover the Scottish League Cup. Or maybe Sam Campbell had stolen the front car, and the others were giving chase. We'll never know (unless he's filmed it for his next tour).

Ticket Price: £27.00 x2 + £3.40 Service Charge x2 + £1.75 Facility Charge x2 + Handling Fee £2.85 = £67.15 from Ticketmaster

 

GUN, Barrowland Ballroom, Glasgow. Saturday 13th December, 2025

My annual December pilgrimage to the Barrowland to see GUN. We arrived before the doors were due to open, so we waited in the car rather than getting soaked in the queue. We spent the time listening to the support act's album. The experience didn't bode well. They had the sound aggression of The Virginmarys, not my favourite band.

The security official outside the venue was in good spirits, getting us to form two lines, one for each door, warning us not to stand on the road as it was 'live and getting knocked down would spoil our evening'.

Inside, I couldn't believe the idiocy of my frisk. I was asked to empty my pockets before they began, so I pulled out my wallet, house keys, car key fob, earplug case and a couple of tissues. The tissues were confiscated as I may have secreted something within them. "What, like snot?" I reply. He confiscates another from my jacket pocket, then starts rubbing the jacket, thinking there might be something in the lining. There isn't. The pocket there contained an old cinema ticket stub. He opens my earplug case to check the contents, not believing me. I make him screw it closed again, knowing the thread is tricky. He rubs down the rest of me, then waves me on. He doesn't check my right trouser pocket, which has another tissue and a couple of wrapped Werther's Originals; the rear pockets, which hold dog poo bags; under my cap; or inside my shoes. I'm seething by the time my ticket is scanned, and I get to join my pals at the top of the stairs. I understand why they need to do it. I'm just pissed off that it is so slapdash, an exercise in being seen to check, not a proper frisk. Pointless.

There's a warning at the hall door about strobe and haze effects. The crowd is thin, despite the large number who got in before us, many filling the bar areas at the sides. We stand in the centre and chat while we await the first band. 

A family stands close by. The son is tall, heavily built and sways compulsively. The shaved-headed father does too, but his is less pronounced. I hope they don't move in front of us when the crowd fills up.

Tijuana Bibles are from Coatbridge. At the start of their set, they sound less shouty than their album suggested. The lead singer has a James McAvoy vibe about him, if James didn't make anything of his life. Vocally, he sits somewhere between John Lydon and Morrissey. He admits he's had a wee drink before the show, so he remembers to thank GUN early for having them. He wishes they could play for longer, but I'm glad they don't. My interest had flatlined by the end of their set, as they brought out the shouty songs. The band have room for improvement. The drummer on backing vocals added a positive dimension to their sound.

After they were done, the gaps in the crowd began to fill up. A group slipped past us, and I recognised the tall person at the back. Kenny Crawford, a pal from back at Primary School. We exchange small talk, shouting over the PA. He apologises for being 6'2", making the excuse that his wife needs to be closer to the front as she is shorter. To be fair, he ensures his group don't block our view, moving across in front of the family beside us. 

Then more tall people arrive. It's always the same. By the time the PA plays "Delilah," the crowd is singing along loudly, and my wife can't see the stage. A few songs in, she switches to the other side of me, beside the swaying son, unaware of the smell emanating from his clothes. I see her holding a tissue to her nose (tissues which hadn't been confiscated!).

GUN were immense, starting strong with a setlist packed with bangers. The haze effect offers several benefits. The lighting is diffused, the beams not blinding, creating striking effects, such as silhouettes and intense colouration. They have a small screen at the rear with a projector beaming onto it from the ceiling, instead of the wall screen they hired for last year's gig. This reduces the scale, but makes it feel more intimate.

Dante struggles with his earpiece, and Roo is atypically rusty in his solos, but the others gel well. Andy is particularly strong in backing vocals and has a commanding stage presence. Joolz plays well, but isn't the best guitarist in Scotland, as Paul describes him during the band introductions. Dante would agree with me that Joolz isn't even the best guitarist in the band. 

I enjoyed the gig. The room was so hot that even my scalp was sweating. I was too far back to take videos. Plenty in front were doing a fine job of that, anyway. I had to time my photos to avoid the sway of the youth's head. We all reckoned he was autistic. Harmless, but annoying. 

Paul Anthony, DJ at Planet Rock, welcomed GUN back to the stage for the encore. Not sure why he'd travelled north to be here. A favour? A fan? 

Paul Anthony

GUN didn't play "Fight for Your Right," which disappointed Bob. We did get an extra song, The Only One, which they didn't play in Aberdeen. The band photo, taken while the PA played David Lee Roth's "Just Like Paradise," was a mishmash because Paul had already left the stage and needed to be brought back.

Gallus!

Setlist
Money (Everybody Loves Her)
Coming Home
Welcome to the Real World
All Fired Up
Vicious Heart
Lucky Guy
Seems Like I'm Losing You
Word Up! (Cameo cover)
Taking on the World
Falling
Stand in Line
Seraphina
Don't Say It's Over
Take Me Back Home
Inside Out
Steal Your Fire

Encore:
The Only One
Better Days
Shame On You

Ticket Price:£35.75 x 4 +£1 Transaction Fee from Gigantic

 

Tijuana Bibles

 

Shame On You 

Spotted this lamp post sign on the way to the car.
Seemed apt.