PSYCHEDELIC PORN CRUMPETS // ALBERT HALL, MANCHESTER

Perth’s Psych Firestarters Set Manchester Ablaze

⭐⭐⭐⭐(4/5)

Psychedelic Porn Crumpets @ Albert Hall, Manchester

Photocredit: John Hayhurst

A relentless, riff-stacked assault from Perth’s psych firestarters. Almost two hours of whiplash twists, transcendence and total mayhem and on the night before the Brit Awards in Manchester. Across the road at The Ritz, Dave Grohl & his Foo Fighters are preparing for a gig of their own, and further out at Aviva Studios Robbie Williams is doing a secret set.

It’s all happening in Manchester tonight, but there’s something deliciously perverse about watching Psychedelic Porn Crumpets tear through a former chapel. Manchester Albert Hall, all stained glass and vaulted ceilings, doesn’t so much host the band as brace for impact. The house lights drop, Puccini’s ‘Nessun Dorma’ swells dramatically over the PA – a tongue-in-cheek prelude – and then they’re on. No messing about. There’s even a small turtle on a stool all mic’d up ready to add more surrealist vocals if necessary.

‘Bill’s Mandolin’ is the first punch thrown. It’s wirier and more frantic than its recorded counterpart, guitars snapping at each other while Jack McEwan steers the chaos with a grin that suggests he knows exactly how this ends. The pit opens within seconds. By the time ‘Salsa Verde’ and ‘Manny’s Ready to Roll’ crash in, the floor is a blur of limbs and the photographers (including me) have all been kicked out of the pit early for safety reasons.

They understand pacing. Early on, it’s all velocity: ‘Surf’s Up’ barrels forward on pure momentum, riffs tumbling over each other, while ‘Nootmare (K-I-L-L-I-N-G) Meow!’ lands like a warning shot, jagged and tightly coiled. The Albert Hall’s natural reverb gives everything a halo of distortion, turning sharp psych-rock into something widescreen and slightly unhinged.

Mid-set, the Crumpets stretch out. ‘Lava Lamp Pisco’ oozes and then explodes, its greasy bassline snapping into a neon chorus that ricochets around the balcony. ‘The Real Contra Band’ locks into a hypnotic churn, heads nodding in unison as if caught in some communal trance.

Then comes lift-off. ‘Found God in a Tomato’ is the night’s gravitational centre. The slow-burn intro shimmers under deep blue lights before detonating into that colossal riff. Live, it feels architectural – huge, layered, immersive. The instrumental passage spirals skyward, guitars howling and bending as the crowd sway rather than slam, caught in the undertow.

They don’t linger in introspection for long. ‘(I’m a Kadaver) Alakazam’ snaps everyone back to attention with its manic shifts and stop-start jolts, and the pogo-inducing ‘Hot! Heat! Wow! Hot!’ turns the pit feral again. Every chorus lands harder than the last, every breakdown greeted like a starter’s gun.

The final stretch refuses to coast. ‘March On for Pax Ramona’ and ‘Another Reincarnation’ showcase the band’s telepathic interplay – guitars weaving, drums punching through with machine-like precision. They look locked in, sweat-soaked and delighted by the beautiful mess below them.

For the encore, ‘Terminus, the Creator’ stomps in with brute force, all muscular riffing and grit. ‘Cubensis Lenses’ that sends the night out in a blaze of feedback and shimmering delay, the band wringing every last ounce of noise from their amps.

No grand speeches. No drawn-out theatrics. Just a band operating at full throttle, bending a historic Manchester venue to their will. Psychedelic Porn Crumpets don’t dabble in half measures. At Albert Hall, they go for the jugular – and the crowd happily offers it up. Follow that Foo Fighters, if you can.

Words and Photos - John Hayhurst