Public Image Ltd live at Kelvingrove Bandstand, Glasgow

★★★★☆ (4/5)

PUBLIC IMAGE LTD PERFORMING AT GLASGOW’S KELIVNGROVE BANDSTAND
PHOTOCREDIT: DUNCAN BRYCELAND

Crisp night, clear skies, and a crowd that knows exactly why they’re here: to watch a band that tore apart the rulebook and never bothered to tape it back together. Public Image Ltd stroll onto the Kelvingrove Bandstand stage without fuss and drop “Home” as the opener — a sly, simmering choice that builds like a warning shot. Within minutes, they’ve hit that elusive PiL rhythm: jagged but hypnotic, threatening yet irresistible.

John Lydon stands front and centre, the ringmaster of this unruly carnival, still spitting venom but with the precision of a man who’s been doing this for decades. The sheer weight of history on stage is staggering — this is more than nostalgia; it’s a living archive of post‑punk invention.

“Know Now” and the Time Zone cover “World Destruction” set the tone early: politically barbed, musically muscular. Then comes “This Is Not a Love Song” — all groove and irony — and “Poptones,” which hangs in the air like a humid dream. “Death Disco” cuts through the night like broken glass, still capable of raising hairs on the back of your neck, while “Flowers of Romance” is skeletal and haunting, a stark reminder that PiL never took the easy route.

Midway through, “The Body” explodes into the set, easily the night’s peak. That bassline — sinuous, relentless — threads through the crowd’s hips and shoulders until everyone’s locked into its dark, dance‑floor hypnosis. Lydon seems to relish it too, half‑smirking as the song winds itself around the bandstand.

From there, it’s a sprint: the martial stomp of “Warrior,” the rave‑punk chaos of “Shoom,” and then the self‑mythologising blast of “Public Image,” which closes the main set with a punch.

The encore is pure theatre. Their snarling take on Leftfield’s “Open Up” feels almost too timely, its “burn Hollywood burn” refrain spat with fresh disgust. “Rise” is the emotional counterweight — Lydon’s voice cracking just enough to make “May the road rise with you” sound like a benediction. Finally, a breathless “Annalisa/Attack/Chant” medley rips through the night air, leaving no doubt that PiL can still end a gig like a riot breaking out.

By the time the crowd drifts back into the West End streets, there’s a lingering sense that what just happened wasn’t a heritage act trading on old glories — it was a band still wired to the live circuit’s electricity, still dangerous, still loud. At Kelvingrove, PiL didn’t just remind Glasgow who they are. They proved they never stopped being it.