Twenty years unconvinced by Biffy Clyro, our reviewer arrives at Ingliston sceptical and leaves utterly won over by a triumphant homecoming show.
Let’s get the elephant in the room out of the way from the start: I’ve never been fully onboard with the ‘Biff’. My first encounter was over two decades ago, a couple of miles up the road, supporting corny Canadian punks Sum 41 at the Corn Exchange, and no matter what, for years after that, their studio output has always left me cold — technically accomplished but hard to emotionally get invested in. So did tonight’s fiery performance thaw this icy heart? (And for the avoidance of doubt, that has nothing to do with the eyebrow-searing pyrotechnics budget). Let’s get into it.
There’s a particular kind of Edinburgh evening that happens in late August: the Fringe is in its dying throes, entrancing tourists and the locals are reaching the end of their tether, but the evening air is carrying that first cold edge that summer’s saying sayonara. It was into that chill that Biffy Clyro strode out to open this year’s Edinburgh Summer Sessions, (nearly) home advantage and the aforementioned pyrotechnic budget to burn through.
The Royal Highland Showgrounds isn’t the most glamourous setting for a homecoming — all corrugated surfaces and cow-shed chic, the place is better known round these parts for pimped-up tractors and prize tups than power chords. Not being a fan of farmyard culture, this reviewer’s only previous visits were for the much-missed Connect Festival reboots, and I thought stepping back onto that same space for a single band rather than a whole weekend’s bill would feel strange, almost too roomy, no other stages competing for attention, just several thousand people and a lot of sky. These fears were soon dispelled — Kilmarnock’s finest have played bigger shows this year, not least their record-breaking Finsbury Park headline slot in July. How silly did I feel: a Scottish band, in Scotland, on the opening night of the Capital city’s biggest outdoor music week? Apologies for the ovine terminology, but it was rammed!
Edinburgh’s Swim School had the unenviable job of easing a still-filling field into gear, and did it with the kind of shimmering, confident indie-shoegaze that has seen them get the recognition they deserve. Nothing But Thieves are no strangers to audiences of this size and followed with a set built for exactly this kind of widescreen open-air arena dynamic, Conor Mason demonstrating his extraordinary vocal range, doing the heavy lifting from falsetto to full scream and by the time they closed out their set, the pit in front of the stage was shoulder to shoulder, breath visible in the floodlights as the temperature properly started to drop.
Finally, it was Biffy’s turn. They are detonated onto the stage, literally, with pyro cracking off the top of the set to send an opening salvo rocketing out over Ingliston and make for a nerve-shredding approach for any pilots landing at Edinburgh Airport. It takes a certain amount of front to wield an actual flamethrower on a field usually reserved for judging prize tups and bulls on the size of their … err… equipment, but if courage is measured in baw size round here, Simon Neil’s are bigger than anything on show at the last Highland Show. Neil, shirtless and kilted up against a night that was rapidly turning goosepimply.
Elsewhere, Ben Johnston was behind the kit and regular touring members Mike Vennart and Richard Ingram completed the lineup, while James Johnston’s bass slot was filled for these shows by Naomi Macleod of Bitch Falcon, no stranger to this group, having also filled in on bass duties for Vennart and Neil’s other band, Empire State Bastard.
With most of the show played out after nightfall, every burst of pyro read like punctuation against the blackened sky, and more than once the trail of a departing flight out of the airport cut straight through the smoke, as if scheduled. ‘A Little Love’ was where the fire hit hardest, timed so tightly to the chorus that the welcoming heat of it reached the front rows. Elsewhere the tone shifted without losing intensity: ‘Black Chandelier’ brought a slower, heavier churn, and ‘Mountains’ turned the whole arena into one enormous, slightly off-key choir, the kind of moment that only really works when a crowd this size all grew with the same song as a backdrop. ‘Living Is a Problem Because Everything Dies’ stood out even in that company: the guitar line stuttering in like it couldn’t quite get going, then locking into a groove that hit harder than anything with actual flames behind it.
It wasn’t all volume and fire, either. The band gathered tight round a single mic, instruments down, for an unaccompanied run through ‘There’s No Such Man as Crasp’, a proper hush falling over the 30,000 people who, twenty minutes earlier, had been screaming their lungs out, and a reminder of how rarely a show this size makes space for something so stripped back. ‘Cop Syrup’ then swung hard the other way into a raw, expletive-laden release, before ‘Goodbye’ and a string-backed pass through ‘Machines’ pulled the mood somewhere gentler ahead of set closer ‘Many of Horror’, finally freed from its X-Factor exile to sound, again, like it belongs to the band that wrote it. Neil was open about missing Johnston on the night, telling the crowd simply that the band feels his absence — a small, human aside in an otherwise huge production.
By the encore, with Ingliston fully dark and the last of the fireworks still smoking off the lighting rig, it was an impressive opening for Edinburgh’s Summer Sessions. With a home team batting first, going loud, and making sure everyone left in no doubt about who set the bar very high for the week of huge names still to come.
Words: Calum Mackintosh @ayecandyphotography
Pictures: Dave Buron @daveburon