Gut Reactions (post-gig memories and other trips): The Bootleg Beatles, Barrowlands, Glasgow. Saturday 12th September, 2026.

Our second consecutive tribute show. I'd been curious to see this band after hearing great things. My wife had also recently returned from Liverpool, so she was eager to see them, too.

We arrived after the doors had opened, so the queue was only as far as the end of the building. Outside, a busker was murdering a Beatles song on his acoustic guitar. He wasn't getting many donations, so he switched it up to include songs by John Lennon and Oasis. His voice was still shite.

Security was cursory tonight, even though the metal detector shrieked as I went through. Emptying my front pockets and a quick wand sweep were enough to pass through. Loads of youngsters were in attendance, unaccompanied by a supervising adult. They were drinking beer (heavens!) and taking selfies with each other against the murals or with the stage as a backdrop. All very exciting for them.

We chose a spot in the middle of the hall and moved closer as needed, such as when a vivacious drunk stood nearby or when tall people blocked our view. We ended up behind three youths and a short chap in a dapper suit. I was alarmed when I witnessed a drunk man manoeuvre himself behind an unknown woman, whose hands were full carrying drinks back to her pals, and place his hands on her hips to push her through the crowd at pace, causing her to spill the drinks she was carrying. He laughed. She was mortified and furious, apologising to the people she'd soaked. He staggered away, bouncing through the crowd, eventually finding support from another couple of drunks near the front. I watched him threaten to topple forward, only for one of them to grip his shoulder and straighten him up again. He got a talking-to from another, followed by a kiss on the forehead. Happy drunks. You don't really expect this behaviour from someone in their late fifties/early sixties, especially not before the gig has even started.

Dan Parks

Support act Dan Parks is a local lad. He ticks the cheeky Scottish singer-songwriter box, mostly playing his own material on acoustic guitar. He hadn't expected to land the gig when he bought tickets to the show a year ago. His mum, dad, and gran were near the front, and he pointed them out and name-checked them, along with a long list of pals who were there too. I enjoyed his two covers: Handle With Care by the Traveling Wilburys and Johnny B. Goode by Chuck Berry. Maybe if I'd been more familiar with his own stuff, I'd have enjoyed it more. He revelled in being on stage at the Barrowland. (At the end of the night, as the crowd shuffled to the exits, I spotted him being carried aloft by his pals, Escape to Victory-style).

There was a bit of a disturbance before the main act as latecomers pushed in. Nothing violent, just words being exchanged. I get it. You're small and female and want to find a spot where you can see the band, but when you're being led by a big chap and have kids in tow, maybe choose somewhere further back or arrive earlier. A courting couple pushed in beside us, under the pretext of looking for their friends. They got dagger looks from the girls whose view they now blocked. The pair brassnecked it and stayed. His singing voice was so bad, people were turning to frown at him, but he only had eyes for his girlfriend. I suspect she didn't have anyone to compare him with.

The band arrived on stage at 9 pm, as Green Onions came to an end, dressed in their mop-top-era wigs and costumes. The crowd went wild. The girl behind me went into full Beatlemania mode, screaming her lungs out. I was glad I had my earplugs.

The band's look, sound, accents, mannerisms and script were all spot on. Even the way they finished each song with a bow made you feel as if you were witnessing the (actual) Beatles. They rattled through hit after hit, with the crowd singing along and grooving to the dancier numbers. It was brilliant.

My only issue was with the youngsters. It was as if they were conditioned to raise their phones to any song they recognised (which, at a Beatles tribute night, is everything). A sea of screens filled the air at the start of (nearly) every song. I recognise my hypocrisy: I too like to shoot a couple of songs for my YouTube channel, but at least I record the whole song from face height and don't give up after the first chorus, dipping my head to check the footage and instantly sharing it with my friends. These youngsters missed half the gig. Actually, it was more than that, as they disappeared before the encore, probably to catch the last train (the band overran the advertised timings, finishing around 10.40 pm).

The band's transformation into the older Beatles was uncanny. I appreciated how they played the songs in the appropriate outfits, the early material in mop-top style and the later stuff in their hippy look. It gave the material a sense of time, playing it in the correct era. The girl who had been screaming so loudly at the start either lost her voice, moved elsewhere, or realised that such behaviour was inappropriate for the band's trippy period.

It was fun to spot a fifth Beatle on stage from time to time, in the shape of their tour manager, who accompanied them on tambourine at the back. In the second set, they introduced him properly, with him mostly on keyboards, having changed out of his black garb into something bright and striped.

The Barrowland was a brilliant venue to see this band. Through clever lighting, it could not only recreate the intimacy of The Cavern but also showcase the band's superstar nature in their later period. This is why the Barrowland has such a revered, legendary status.

This was certainly as close to seeing the real Beatles as you'll ever get without using a TARDIS.