KULA SHAKER // THE PICTUREDROME, HOLMFIRTH
Kula Shaker conjure cosmic fire in Holmfirth’s psychedelic bubble
⭐⭐⭐⭐(4/5)
Kula Shaker @ Holmfirth Picturedrome
Photocredit - John Hayhurst
A kaleidoscopic night in the Yorkshire Moors sees the Britpop survivors reborn with ‘Wormslayer’. New songs stretch wide while old anthems land with ecstatic precision.
Holmfirth Picturedrome feels unusually elastic tonight — a room that bends and breathes as colour spills across its walls. From the minute Liverpool support The Dream Machine hit the stage, all rough-edged psych riffs and wiry ambition, it’s clear this isn’t a polite nostalgia circuit stop. Their set rattles with garage-born confidence, a Coral-style transport cabinet looming behind them like a relic from a different era. Standout track ‘Frankenstein’ lands hard: all fuzz, snarl and youthful hunger. Exactly the kind of support band that primes a crowd ready for the headline act.
By the time Kula Shaker appear, bathed in twisting projections that never stop mutating, the room feels submerged in a liquid lightshow. Crispian Mills surveys the packed Picturedrome and grins: it feels, he says, like they’re “in a psychedelic bubble in the Yorkshire Moors”. He’s not wrong. The air hums with anticipation, but also curiosity — this is a band pushing a new chapter rather than coasting on legacy.
They open boldly with a trio of tracks from new album Wormslayer, immediately reshaping expectations. Instead of easing in with familiar hooks, the band open into new sprawling structures and hypnotic grooves. The decision gives the set a narrative arc: slow ignition rather than instant blast, although opener Lucky Number is one deeply catchy track.
Even when nostalgia does creep in, it arrives sideways. During new cut ‘Good Money’, the band slip into a generous slice of the Stone Roses’ ‘Fools Gold’, its funky groove sliding seamlessly into the song’s backbone. It’s playful rather than reverent — a wink to the lineage that shaped them without letting it dominate the moment.
‘Invocation’ arrives midset, introduced as its first live outing. There’s a flicker of tension — new live songs can expose nerves — but the band carry it with calm assurance. The track blooms gradually, Mills’ vocals hovering over a drone that thickens until the whole room seems to vibrate. It’s the kind of risk that signals confidence: they’re not here to replay 1996.
The centrepiece, though, is the sprawling title track ‘Wormslayer’. Clocking in at around eight minutes, it’s a psychedelic odyssey that builds from meditative shimmer to thunderous crescendo. The expanded lineup — including a backing singer and an additional indian drummer — deepens the sonic palette, lending a rhythmic richness that feels closer to a ritual than a rock show. The added percussion and layered vocals give it an authentic Indian inflection without tipping into pastiche. Lights swirl in molten patterns, colours folding into one another as if the stage itself is breathing. You get the sense the band are enjoying the stretch — solos wander, rhythms pivot, and the crowd settles into the trance rather than chasing a chorus.
New material dominates, giving Wormslayer space to establish its identity. As the night unfolds, older tracks begin to puncture the set with familiar flashes of melody, each one greeted like a flare shot into the sky. The crowd — a mix of longtime devotees and curious local newcomers — reacts with equal fervour to the fresh material, a testament to how naturally the new songs sit alongside the classics.
What keeps everything tethered is the visual spectacle. The psychedelic projections never repeat themselves, constantly warping and bleeding across instruments, faces and the Picturedrome’s historic interior. At times the band look half-swallowed by colour, silhouettes against a living mural. It’s immersive without feeling gimmicky — the lights mirror the music’s shifting moods, intensifying the sense of a shared trip.
Then comes the encore, and with it a pivot into pure celebration. ‘Tattva’ lands first, sharp and radiant, its chorus ricocheting off the crowd like a spark. ‘Hush’ follows, swaggering and loose, the room bouncing as if gravity has briefly loosened its grip. And finally, ‘Govinda’ — the spiritual crescendo that ties the night back to the band’s roots. Voices rise, hands stretch skyward, and for a moment the psychedelic bubble feels sealed tight around everyone inside.
What’s striking is how unforced it all feels. Kula Shaker aren’t chasing relevance; they’re expanding their world. The new songs carry weight and ambition, the classics arrive with renewed purpose, and the band’s chemistry feels sharper than it has in years. Even Mills’ between-song banter carries a lightness — an artist comfortable enough to let the music do the heavy lifting.
As the lights fade and the final echoes dissolve into chatter, the Picturedrome slowly returns to reality. Outside, the Yorkshire night waits — quiet, cool, ordinary. Inside, though, for a couple of hours, the room was transformed into something stranger and brighter: a psychedelic refuge where past and present blurred into a single, vivid swirl.
Words and Photos - John Hayhurst
