My Bloody Valentine // OVO HYDRO, GLASGOW
PHOTOCREDIT: Bryan Bedder/Getty Images
My Bloody Valentine: A bone-rattling sonic hurricane or just the loudest therapy session on Earth
Call me a wimp, but I’ll admit it—I approached my first My Bloody Valentine show with the kind of apprehension usually reserved for dental surgery or assembling flat-pack furniture. I’d heard the legends, after all. The jet-engine levels of noise. The infamous “holocaust section” where the sound doesn’t just hit you—it occupies your body like an invasive species. People say MBV shows aren’t listened to so much as survived, and naturally I wondered: would I leave the venue with tinnitus, enlightenment, or both?
Still, curiosity (and lightly questionable judgment) won out. This was, after all, a band that carved out their own galaxy in the shoegaze universe. When Loveless finally emerged in 1991—after a recording process so chaotic it allegedly almost bankrupted their label—it wasn’t just groundbreaking. It was ground-melting. Kevin Shields’ obsessive, labyrinthine approach to sound sculpting became the stuff of myth, and the resulting album settled permanently into the “music that rewired the genre” category.
But genius often comes with collateral damage. After touring behind Loveless and playing shows at volumes that could probably stun wildlife, the band essentially vaporized from the public eye. The follow-up album took more than two decades to appear. Fans speculated: had they burned too bright? Had they created a sonic monster too big to follow? Or did they all need a very long, very quiet lie-down?
Fast-forward to the present show and, despite everything, they’re still very much capable of making an audience feel like they’re standing inside a speaker cabinet during an earthquake. Was it loud? Yes. Did I look at the decibel meter later and see it peaked around 110 dB? Also yes. Did I begin to understand why long-time fans bring earplugs the way medieval knights carried shields? Absolutely.
But was it worth it? For music diehards, the answer seems to be a resounding—and slightly muffled—yes.
The setlist was a dream (or a fever dream, depending on your volume tolerance). They drifted through shimmering classics, deep cuts, and the sort of fuzzy, swirling noise-miracles that make you question whether your internal organs are vibrating or if that’s just the bassline. Highlights included “Only Shallow,” “Come in Alone,” and the gorgeous “When You Sleep,” but the real moment—the one everyone warns newcomers about—arrived with “You Made Me Realise,” whose extended noise section was less a song and more a small personal crisis.
And yet… I loved it. All of it. The noise, the beauty, the chaos, the moments where it felt like the music had swallowed the room whole. MBV still sound like no one else, a band confidently carving sculptures out of distortion.
So is the show worth the damage? Well, my ears may never fully forgive me—but my heart absolutely will.
REVIEW BY: KATRIN LAMONT