Primal Scream – Bobby Gillespie Returns With Bite And A Smile

★★★★☆ (4/5)

PRIMAL SCREAM PERFORMING AT LEEDS O2 ACADEMY
PHOTOCREDIT: JONN HAYHURST

Some gigs stick with you because they’re loud. Some because they’re legendary. But Primal Scream’s performance at the Leeds O2 Academy on Good Friday night was something deeper—it was a full-bodied, soul-rattling resurrection of rock 'n’ roll as ritual. With a masterclass in musical shapeshifting, the band tore through old hits, breathed new fire into fresh material, and sent a packed house into a communal trance. But the night’s magic started long before the Scream took the stage.

Glaswegian singer-songwriter Dylan John Thomas has been bubbling under the surface for a while now, and Friday night felt like something of a breakthrough. His set wasn’t stripped-back it was full bodied and full-hearted, and with a portfolio of songs that already feel timeless. From the indie bounce of "Fever" to the wistful yearning of "Yesterday Is Gone", Dylan’s lyrics hit with the intimacy of a late-night conversation. The crowd responded in kind— clapping on instinct, and giving him the kind of love usually reserved for home town heroes. "Jenna", left a few misty eyes in the room. He might’ve been the opener, but his impact was anything but small.

Then the lights dropped, and the room pulsed to the opening beats of "Don't Fight It, Feel It". With that ecstatic gospel-soul groove, it was clear: this wasn’t just the beginning of a show—it was a call to arms. Bobby Gillespie, in an all white suit and snakeskin boots, with a sometimes menacing look and preacher charisma, prowled the stage like a man with a message. And the message? Lose yourself. Find yourself. Dance your arse off.

The band’s new material from their latest album “Come Ahead” was front and centre, and it landed like a revelation. Eight tracks from the album made the set list, each one met with the kind of raucous energy usually reserved for the classics. "Deep Dark Waters" and "Innocent Money" exploded with swaggering synths and relentless dance basslines, while "Heal Yourself" slowed things down to a haunting, cinematic crawl.

Still, the loudest cheers came for the Scream standards. When "Jailbird" kicked in (track 2 !!), the crowd hit a new decibel level. That Stonesy swagger, that chorus you can't not yell—pure gold.

About midway through the set, just when the crowd thought they'd caught their breath, the unmistakable opening chords of "Movin’ On Up" rang out—and the place erupted. It was a full-circle moment, a gospel-tinged declaration of freedom and transformation that felt almost spiritual in the sweaty, strobing confines of the Academy. Gillespie, arms stretched wide, delivered the lyrics like a sermon, while the band behind him channelled pure euphoria. The crowd sang every word with the conviction of a hymn, voices rising in unison: “My light shines on” It wasn’t just nostalgia—it was a reaffirmation of everything Primal Scream stands for: liberation, joy, and the unstoppable power of sound.

Closing the set, "Country Girl" ignited another joyful riot. It was rowdy, loose, and glorious, with Gillespie in a moment that felt like past and future colliding in full technicolour.

Then came the encore. Three songs. Three different emotional universes.

"Melancholy Man", one of the most emotionally resonant cuts from Come Ahead, was stripped down and spectral. Gillespie’s voice trembled with fragility, drenched in echo, hovering over shimmering synths, glorious saxophone, gospel backing vocals and piercing guitar. It was a moment of collective pause, a hush falling over the room that made the next track hit even harder.

"Come Together" wasn’t just a song—it was a revival. Extended into a hypnotic, groove-soaked epic, it built and built until the whole venue felt like it might levitate. The crowd sang the refrain like a mantra, arms raised, eyes closed. You didn’t have to be a long-time fan to feel the electricity—it was primal, communal, transcendent.

And then, "Rocks". What else could they end with? That filthy riff. That chant-along chorus. That pure, unleashed energy—it was the exclamation point on a night that already felt mythic.

Primal Scream didn’t just perform in Leeds—they possessed it and Gillespie was smiling like I’ve never seen him before. With new material that proves they’re far from finished and old hits that still hit like a punch to the soul, they showed why they’re one of the few bands who can bridge generations and genres without losing an ounce of authenticity. It was a reminder that great music isn’t just heard. It’s felt. All the way down.