A Play, A Pint & A Pie - "Someone's Knockin' At The Door", Òran Mór, Thursday 26th February, 2026.

My first ever visit to A Play, A Pie & A Pint.

Òran Mór

Electing to use public transport, leaving the car at Johnstone, we caught the train to Central Station, then took the Subway to Hillhead. Arriving early, we browsed in Papyrus to get out of the rain, then made our way to the venue. 

Inside, I wasn't sure where to go, so I asked the girl at the box office and was directed to the bar restaurant. The queue had already formed, so we didn't get much further than the inside door. 

At noon precisely, the staff member started processing the line, which moved swiftly. She scanned our tickets and handed us each a blue and an orange token, one for food, one for drink. Then we made our way downstairs.   

I only saw this notice as we were leaving

Inside the room, an usher advised us to claim our seats first. We found two unclaimed seats in the third row and laid our jackets over them, then headed back to join the drinks queue. The pies and vegan sausage rolls had been laid out in individual cardboard trays at one side under a rack of heater lamps. Having been served, we helped ourselves to napkins and condiments and returned to our seats. 

The spacing at Òran Mór is tight, so the sign warning against leaving any gaps was concerning. Fortunately, the lady on my left was slim, so I had just about enough room if I squeezed against my wife. However, I noticed the three ladies in the front row had spread out across four seats (because they physically had to), while a larger gentleman further along claimed three spaces, his body sagging across the seats on either side. How were the staff going to get around this? It turned out not to be a problem, though. Either some ticket holders failed to show up or chose to sit in the spacious but restricted-view booths instead. We were lucky to have plenty of legroom, which was a nice surprise. I've been to gigs there where my knees were pressed against the seat in front of me.

At 1 pm, Artistic Director Brian Logan introduced the show, first advising us of the fire exit locations, before giving us the sales pitch for merch and season tickets in a most good-humoured fashion. Then the lights dimmed, and the play began.

Both leads were excellent, using their honed comedic skills to wring every funny line from a pitch-perfect script that made the most of the concept of two grandparents being videoed separately, relating their differing memories of a trip to Campbeltown to try to visit Paul McCartney's house, the juxtaposition providing constant laughs. Lighting changes were used to drop us into scenes from 1976, showing the couple bickering as events don't go exactly to plan, revealing the cracks and divisions that had begun to form, with surprises along the way.

The ending was perfect, the postcard providing a metaphorical happy ending for this trip down memory lane.     

From every perspective - the script, the performances, the staging, the lighting and the sound design - the production was excellent. 

The question is: did we luck out, or are they all as good as this?

We'll need to return to find out.

https://www.facebook.com/playpiepint

Blurb:

A nostalgia-filled comedy-drama about a bickering couple on a mission to meet their idol, Paul McCartney.

In 1976, Jack and Kathy set out on a mission to find Paul McCartney’s house on the Mull of Kintyre, where he was living off-grid after The Beatles broke up.

Now, fifty years later, they are telling their granddaughter the full story of what really happened.

Did they ever get to meet their idol? Did their relationship survive? And most importantly, why did the Fab Four break up?

Inspired by a true story, Someone’s Knockin’ at the Door is a witty comedy-drama by Milly Sweeney (Best Writer – The Stage Debut Awards 2025) about family, memory, music, and chancing your luck.

Jonathan Watson

Maureen Carr

Ticket Price: £17.50 x 2 = £35.00

Service Fee £5.88

Delivery Fee - eTickets£0.00

Total £40.88 from TicketWeb

Goodbye Mr Mackenzie, Oran Mor, Glasgow. Friday 11th July, 2025

 

Goodbye Mr Mackenzie, much like GUN (although not to the same extent), have been a fixture in my life since my youth, when everything mattered and passions ran deep. 

Hammer and Tongs cassette insert
(album cost £7.99) 

Tower Records signing, March 10th, 1991.

Back to today. Much like then, I'd been told to tidy my room, only this time by my wife, not my mum. Unlike then, the task turned a lingering pulled back muscle into a spasming nightmare. Not what you want to experience before a standing gig.

I was on my own for tonight. My wife doesn't mind Goodbye Mr Mackenzie, but wasn't bothered about going to this gig. I headed out early to find a space to park on Byres Road to be there for the doors opening (another reason she sometimes declines my gig invitations). I had taken Paracetamol, but it wasn't enough to take the edge off every bump on the road. 

I found an excellent place to park, only slightly hampered by the annoying youth who didn't comprehend the rules of reverse parking, specifically not standing beside the car in front of the space. Once he moved on, I slid in. The sun was still hot with lots of young, gorgeous women walking about the cool West End, but in my condition, slightly hunched and sauntering, they paid me little attention. Nothing to see but an old man in pain. Ignore him in case he needs help.

    

There was no queue, just a few single blokes hovering outside the venue, the kind of thing that generates an eye roll and a huff from my wife, so thank goodness she wasn't there. It took a couple standing right beside the doors and one other person to stand behind them to trigger the queue. I was about eighth to get in. I paid close attention to the stone, spiral stairs as I climbed to the auditorium, not wanting to put a foot wrong and trigger another spasm. It's so embarrassing to cry out in pain in front of strangers. 

I didn't stand at the stage barrier, deciding instead that the raised bar area behind the mixing desk was a safer bet. I bought a drink and claimed the spot. Martin Metcalfe wandered up to the merch stand, holding a single maraca. He talked to the guy on the stall, who then disappeared for a while, leaving Martin on his own. The merch hadn't been unpacked yet, still in its boxes. At this point, the venue was still relatively quiet, but one fan went up to chat with Martin. I didn't want to risk losing my spot, so I left them to it. I wouldn't have known what to say anyway. My awkward shyness would have kicked in. One thing I noted is that Martin, in his civvies, doesn't give off star quality. His quiet demeanour doesn't shout extrovert. Those baggy, sunken eyes look like they have a few demons lurking behind them.  

I spotted the Lighting Setlist on the desk, so took a snap of it (see below) before the recently installed air con unit blew it onto the floor. I then waited for the show to begin, reading a book on my Kindle app and flicking through Facebook, the usual. I spotted someone I know passing nearby, but couldn't immediately recall her first name, so I didn't shout out to attract her attention. I messaged her instead, not wanting to leave and lose my perfect viewing position.  

The young lad on the sound desk started tapping a button, generating a drumbeat as the support act wandered on. No fanfare, no introduction, just a bloke with an electric acoustic guitar. I couldn't discern much of what he said between songs, but his music was okay. I'd describe it as dark and ominous, what you might hear on an unsettling folk horror soundtrack, a style that Martin Metcalfe would lap up. After his half hour was done, the drumbeat from the last song persisted until he left the stage, whereupon the sound tech attenuated the signal to zero. (Chris did explain he usually had a drummer on stage with him, but tonight he was solo.)

I don't know if he ever opened his eyes while he played.

The couple in the foreground seem familiar
from my time working in Ralston.

I caught up with Jackie during the break, while she was on her way outside for a fag (We also chatted after the gig, before providing her and her mate, Greg, with a lift home). 

I was so pleased when the tech crew commandeered an electric fan behind the sound desk. Whenever I lowered my arms over the railing, I could feel the cool breeze. Despite six aircon units located around the hall, the heat was only building, sweat coating my skin like I'd been shagging all night (a distant memory, and an image you'll despise me for planting in your head). 

I'm a fan!

The Mackenzies arrived on stage at 9 p.m. It takes Big John a bit longer to get settled into his chair as he's on crutches thanks to his MS (no leaving the stage for the encore). Martin, in his stage costume and sunglasses, is a different beast from the one offstage. He has a commanding presence and has the audience in his thrall. They played several songs from the recently revived album, Five, so the gig had a different feel from the previous ones where they focused on their early, commercial albums. The sound is fierce, more guitar-based, with Tippi Hedron (in the Shirley Manson role) also playing along, making three guitarists on stage, taking the pressure off Big John. 

I love it! I'm back to my younger days. My back isn't sore, the heat in the place acting like a sauna. My view is clear and uninterrupted. I'm not being jostled. I can bop to the music and sing to my heart's content. Wonderful!

Martin's singing was mostly good, though not as strong or as clear as Tippi's. He made vocal choices to protect his voice. That didn't matter because the songs and lyrics are so embedded in my brain, I loved hearing them again. I hadn't listened to Face to Face in years, and its subject matter still packs a punch today. 

If there were any downsides, the sound mix wasn't great where I was standing. It looked weird when Martin and Tippi crouched down to sing on Niagara, leaving no one but the front couple of rows any chance of seeing them. Martin also hid his face behind his hat as he sang the early part of The Rattler. That seemed odd until I heard the lyric, "I don't like people to know my face". I wondered why they didn't add Bam Bam to the set, given the song is short and was one of the singles from the Five album, reaching 65 in the UK charts.

But these niggles are minor. I had a good night. The back pain returned when I left the venue, the cool night air doing its work to tighten the muscles. I managed to get everyone home, though, without yelping. 

Another joyous trip down memory lane.  

Setlist

Lighting suggestions, inked with a marker pen.
Difficult to achieve, though, given the venue's limited resources. 
(Plus daylight was still visible through the roof's windows for most of the gig).

Ticket Price: £27.50 & £3.44 Service Fee = £30.94 from TicketWeb.

About Event

 As part of Oran Mor’s 21 years of live music celebrations, we have a very special performance from celebrated Scottish band Goodbye Mr MacKenzie, who have been touring to mark the 30th anniversary re-release of their album “Five” via the Last Night From Glasgow label.

“Five” was the first release on the MacKenzie’s own label, Blokshok Records, which they set up after splitting with major labels back in 1994. It marked a turning point in the band’s musical path, following on from the more polished, radio-friendly first two albums. “Five” has a much harder, rougher edge – no real surprise, perhaps, considering the importance of Punk to the Mackenzies generally. The influence of Grunge, Nick Cave and The Pixies is also clearly evident.

As the List said in their 50 Greatest Scottish Bands review: “The Mackenzies left behind the most complex and fascinating footprint of any Scottish band. Live, they were stunning. Lead singer Martin Metcalfe looked like the MC of a particularly debauched cabaret troupe. While their Scottish counterparts were looking at soul and Steeleye Dan for inspiration, the Mackenzies were taking theirs from The Pixies and The Birthday Party.”

Which album are you celebrating, Martin?

Show's over.

Chris Turner "Spontaneous", Oran Mor, Glasgow. Tuesday 17th June, 2025

If you've never heard of Chris (and why would you, with all your busy lives), here is his performance on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, where he was so good he received a standing ovation from the audience. He told the story behind that response in his last show.  

This time, he's freestyling, being Spontaneous, performing the whole show without a script. He introduces himself as his support act, reminding us that the funnier comedian will be on afterwards, then performs crowdwork, establishing that a woman at the front is pregnant and is accompanied by her partner. The attractive man is not overly excited about becoming a dad, though his response is probably muted due to nerves. Chris's attention is then drawn to the bloke on the other side of the aisle who is wearing a Jim'll Paint It Mr Blobby T-shirt. 

T-shirt

This chap has just resigned from his job at B&M to work on his Horror art, crafting skulls and foetuses out of clay. His partner is one-eighth Russian and also works in Horror Art, though more specifically in folk horror illustrations.

Why do we need such details? 

Because Chris, when he returns as the headliner, opens the main show with a freestyle rap incorporating all this information, pretending he's been listening backstage, writing his rap. A clever conceit that reminds us of his talent. 

Throughout the evening, he creates various raps, varying the stimuli to keep it interesting. So, one minute, he's rapping about the items we've pulled from our pockets; the next, he's serenading the couple who met twenty-five years ago while working together at a bar. 

One rap requires someone from the audience to provide the beat at a constant 4/4. When Chris asked for a volunteer, I was dying to suggest my wife, who ticked all the boxes (does anyone play an instrument, does anyone sing, is anyone in a choir?). The person he ultimately selected had previously sung professionally in pubs. She did a fantastic job singing an ethereal backing track in the style of Frozen by Madonna. The tune wasn't looped, so she had to keep going throughout, winning praise from Chris for being the best singer of the tour so far. Other nights, he said, sounded more like improvised jazz than rap.

As he went along, Chris noted down on a long sheet of paper the interesting topics and phrases that came up during the show, such as Crying Managers, Blobby Dissected, Living in a Cosmopolitan City, Low Ceilings and Light Keepers. He needed sixteen subjects, so he requested a few more at the end, receiving Necrophilia, Govan, and Dreich to complete his Glasgow list. To keep things precarious for him, rather than simply creating a complicated rap, he indicated that he would increase the beat by five every eight bars, starting at 75 bpm and reaching 150 bpm, which necessitated that he think and rap faster as he went along. 

It was a rousing way to end the show, and he totally smashed it.

Afterwards, we didn't wait to meet him or buy his merch (a rhyming card game), but it was nice to know we could have. It was a fantastic night. 

Ticket Price: £16 x 2 plus £4.00 fees = £36.00 from TicketWeb.

Kiri Pritchard-McLean "Peacock", Oran Mor, Glasgow. Sunday 8th September, 2024.

I do not like Oran Mor. As a venue, it's seating sucks. They are too small, too close together and are very uncomfortable. Fidgeting is compulsory unless you don't mind getting bed sores on your bum. Tonight was no different, even though this was my first time in the upstairs venue.

I arrived early, not knowing how early. There was an ambiguity. The ticket stated 7.30pm, and the website said 6.30pm, neither making it clear if the indicated time was for doors opening or showtime. I arrived at 6.15pm to be safe. This is what I saw.

No queue

It turns out, though, that I was at the wrong door. I should have been standing here.

Still no queue

By 6.30pm, a few people had gathered, and we all traipsed up the winding stone stairs. The venue was beautifully laid out, with rows of the aforementioned torture devices. I selected a seat in the third row, fourth from the middle aisle. I wanted to sit at an angle in case the person in front had a tall upper body, a massive perm, or had come in a full Marge Simpson costume. This was a Kiri Pritchard-Mclean gig. Anything was possible. 

The front row filled up, as did many others further back, but there were empty seats to my left and right. An overweight woman forthrightly asked me if the seats were taken. I said no, and she plopped herself down right beside me despite there being a more appropriate choice one further over. She had a drink in one hand and a coat over her other arm, a heavy bag slung over her shoulder. She couldn't get comfortable. I got the impression that she thought this was my fault as I did not budge over to allow her the space she required. 

She got up and moved to the row in front. Shifting the seat back four inches to give herself more legroom (eating into my row), she placed her bag and coat on the seat in front of me. She reclined, crossing her leg over her knee, her white flat-soled trainers revealing a partial tattoo on her inner left foot. She finished her drink and then took out a hardback book, "The Best Way to Bury Your Husband" by Alexia Casale, which she read for a time.  

I detect that the music playing is all by female-fronted Welsh artists, such as Duffy, Catatonia, Marina and the Diamonds, and The Joy Formidable. Then, I hear Propellerheads. Are they Welsh, I wonder? I look it up. They are from Bath. Then Shirley Bassey appeared on vocals, and I realised no mistake had occurred. 

We're nearly at showtime, and the woman in front decides to get up. She places the open book face down on her seat and covers it with her jacket. She tells the people beside her not to let anyone take her seat. It's a bold move this close to the start. Is it deliberate, I ask myself, but she returns with another drink before Kiri begins. Settling in again, she pulls forward the chair again so it is in line with the one beside. 

Kiri performs her own warmup for about ten minutes to ease her nerves, she says, because she really wants to nail her show right from the off. She's very proud of it. Then she introduces her support act, Ruth Hunter, a bisexual Dubliner living in Glasgow, who also happens to be six months pregnant. I'm not her demographic, but she did have some lines I found funny.

Then, after an interval, Kiri returns to the stage, now attired in her Peacock jumpsuit, like a Welsh Elvis but with more sequins. As she starts her show—about fostering—I find the man behind me has a laugh so strong I can feel it on the back of my neck. And I don't just mean from the spray coming from his wet mouth. His guffaws are like a cold, repetitive draught. I lean forward, wishing I'd worn a scarf. Don't get me started on the volume of his clapping.   

The show itself is funny, heartfelt, and wicked. Kiri's journey to become a foster parent deserves to be a sitcom, one that could break your heart as much as split your sides. It opened my eyes to the possibility of becoming a non-biological parent.  An idea I quickly shut down and thought, Don't be a silly fecker. You're about to retire. You don't need the stress, regardless of how rewarding fostering might be emotionally and financially. The show itself would have benefitted from being held in a more intimate venue, like The Stand. The high ceiling did somewhat suck away the sound.  

At the end of the show, Kiri indicated she would wait behind to meet anyone who wanted a photo or a chat. I decided against it. I'd been picking up Baby Reindeer vibes from the girl in front after her empty cup fell onto the floor, and she turned around and smiled at me. I did not want to engage with her in any shape or form. You can see how far back her seating position was by the end of the show. 

The space between our rows at the end

Instead, I headed for the car and made my getaway. If she turns up at my place of business and requests a 'private consultation', I'll demand a witness chaperone. Fortunately, I don't have a bus stop within viewing distance of my home. Such is the power of television on my imagination.  

On the way back, I listened to Scarlet Rebels' new album, 'Where the Colours Meet'. It seemed appropriate, given their country of origin.

Ticket Price: £16 plus £2 service fee = £18 from Ticketweb.

Glasgow Blues, Rhythm and Rock Festival, Oran Mor, Glasgow. Sunday 28th April, 2024

 

We didn't quite make it before the doors opened but still managed to find a seat in one of the booths. Unfortunately, not one with a view of the stage. So, for the first act, we left our jackets on the seats and watched from the sides. Two big units then breezed in, pushed my jacket aside and sat in my space. As soon as they moved, I reclaimed my seat which meant missing the end of the first set. 

The Greig Taylor Band are Scottish and make a great sound, with heartfelt lyrics and a bit of fun along the way. A great start to the day.

The bald chap in this picture
is not the giant I mention later

Connor Selby didn't do much for me. As bland and soporific as Chris Rea. We didn't even get up to watch them and, like the people around us, spent our time scrolling through our phones. Some did enjoy them, though, and they've won an award, you know. 

We skipped Beaux Gris Gris and the Apocalypse to get dinner: a curry at the Ashoka in Ashton Lane. We only saw the end of their set, but they were okay, if a little bizarre. They do have some amazing album covers.

The main draw of the event for me was to see Elles Bailey. Her music gets regular play on Planet Rock, where she has a weekly show, and I loved her last album and her recent single, Enjoy The Ride. We plonked ourselves close to the front leaving only a small gap in front of us. No one tall could slip in there, we thought. WRONG! This massive bald giant of a man confidently pushed in and stood right in front of Bob. He then invited his, granted, smaller pals to join him, squeezing them into the remaining space. Fortunately, I hadn't set down my roots and managed to shift over. He was a longtime Elles fan, cheering whenever she mentioned previous or upcoming gigs. He also had an annoying wish to film the songs, keeping his tree trunk-like arm raised in the air. He was already a head above everyone in front of him, so why did he need the higher view? Probably so he didn't block his own view of the show. Obviously, it goes without saying he had a pint in his other hand, holding the cup in his mouth to applaud at the end of each song. 

I did manage to ignore his presence eventually. Elles hadn't toured for a while, so this came across like a warm-up gig for her, with everything a little bit rusty, relying on her skill and experience to carry the show. Her regular guitarist wasn't available, so she'd drafted in the guy with whom she writes some of her songs and the band was sharing Cardinal Black's equipment so that they could fly up from Bristol rather than van it. Well, except for the keyboard player who'd brought his own organ for the show. 

The performance was good, her banter charismatic, and everyone loved her. She has a great stage presence, enthusiasm, and a wicked sense of humour. It was funny when she announced the band were due to start tour rehearsals soon because the German gigs were off, and then had to apologise to the bassist because she remembered she hadn't told him this info earlier. Embarrassing! He took in good spirits.

Video link: Enjoy The Ride

We witnessed a moment prior to the show where some friends in the crowd joined to take a group selfie. Elles was passing, heading backstage, and stopped to loom over them in the background, pulling a face. Only I don't think the guy with the camera took the snap because his flash didn't go off as it did with subsequent takes. What a moment to miss! Photobombed by Elles at her own gig.

The final act of the night was Cardinal Black, a six-piece from Wales. While I can't say I loved them, you've got to admire their talent, especially Chris Buck, the guitarist. His work distilled the spirit of The Edge and Dave Gilmour through an emotional blues filter. The band's repertoire has a soulful feel, but I prefer my music a bit rockier. Listening to the singer chat in his lovely Welsh accent made me miss Welsh rockers Those Damn Crows. It wasn't an unpleasant experience, though. It was weird when some fans started waving a huge Welsh flag in such a tiny space. 

I still haven't warmed to Oran Mor as a venue. With the many support pillars obscuring the view of the stage from the sides, the horrendous lighting blinding the audience, and the awful sound in certain parts of the room, I can't see what's good about it, except for the artists that wish to play there. 

Afterwards, I was shattered. Seven bands in three days was a lot. I wonder how I'm going to cope with my first three-day festival later this year. 

Cardinal Black setlist:

Rise Up

Where Do You Go?

Tell Me How It Feels

Terra Firma

Half Way

On My Way

Ain't My Time

Jump In

Warm Love

I'm Ready

Tied Up In Blue

Ticket Price: £28 plus £3.50 Service Fee from Ticketweb.

Note the giant's arm on the left

Chris Buck joined her on stage for the final song