RESOUND braves the Glasgow rain for a night of “cheap vodka and optimism,” as Jim Bob blends Carter classics with sharp solo tracks for a rowdy, nostalgic masterclass.
It’s another properly dreich night in Glasgow—the kind where the rain doesn’t fall so much as linger, like it’s waiting on a bus that’s never coming. I’m trudging towards St Luke’s Glasgow for Jim Bob’s Can I Have Your Setlist? tour, wondering how much of tonight will be a nostalgic trip and how much will prove he’s still got new tricks tucked up his sleeve.
A quick, mildly shameful peek at the setlist (yes, upside down, yes, on the stage, I have no regrets) suggests a healthy split: enough Carter classics to keep the faithful grinning, with a solid wedge of solo material for the curious and the committed. Fair enough. Balance is good. Growth is admirable. But let’s be honest—we’re all hoping for at least one moment where we’re 19 again and everything smells faintly of cheap vodka and optimism.
That thought alone catapults me back to my student days at James Watt College in Greenock. Back when Post Historic Monsters had just landed and my bursary was being heroically mismanaged on supermarket vodka, cigarettes, and an industrial supply of AA batteries to keep my Walkman alive. Not just any Walkman, mind—this was a three-band graphic equaliser beast with bass boost. I was basically running Abbey Road in my coat pocket.
And as Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine once put it, “It was like punk never happened.” Well it did and we’re all the better for it. Saying that, it’s like the last ‘30-something’ years have politely stepped out for a pint. Back then, my photography lecturer told me my work was terrible and my prospects worse. Carter’s lyrics filled in the gaps where confidence should’ve been. So yeah, camera in hand tonight—some habits die hard. Here we go! I hope I manage to keep in focus!
First up: Interrobang?! featuring Dunstan Bruce of Chumbawamba fame. If you were expecting a gentle warm-up, think again. This is less “opening act” and more “political wake-up call with a backbeat.” Their set is sharp, urgent, and unapologetically wired into the chaos of modern life.
There’s a lot flying about—sequencers, jagged guitar, spoken word, big ideas—and somehow it all locks together. At one point, themes around toxic masculinity and the so-called “manosphere” cut through the noise with real bite, the kind that makes you shift your weight slightly and think, “Right… fair point.” It’s art with teeth, but it never forgets to be entertaining.
Bruce eventually ditches his jacket to reveal a Celtic top—an inspired move given we’re a short wander from Parkhead. The crowd lap it up. As openers go, this is less scene-setting and more table-flipping—in a good way. Then it’s time.
The Only Living Boy in Glasgow Cross
The band wander onstage one by one, each holding a placard with their name on it—part introduction, part deadpan joke. Finally, Jim Bob appears to a cheer and the inevitable Glasgow heckle: “Who are you?” Timeless. Beautiful. Never not funny.
Guitar on, plectrum located after a brief archaeological dig, and—bang—we’re off.
The connection is immediate. No easing in, no awkward gear change. Just a room that’s fully on board from note one. The venue helps: St Luke’s, with its vaulted ceiling and church-turned-gig-hall grandeur, gives everything a sense of occasion. The sound is spot on too—clear, punchy, and crucially, letting every lyric land. With Jim Bob, that matters. These aren’t just songs—they’re stories, observations, little snapshots of life delivered with a wink and a raised eyebrow.
The set leans confidently into his solo catalogue, and rightly so. It’s different from the Carter days—more measured in places, a bit broader in tone—but still threaded with that same sharpness and self-awareness. Between songs, his dry humour stitches the whole thing together, bridging old and new without ever feeling forced.
That said, when the classics arrive, they arrive.
“Lean On Me I Won’t Fall Over” is one of the night’s big nostalgia detonation. The opening keys hit, and suddenly the room’s not standing anymore—it’s bouncing. Not politely nodding. Proper bouncing. And crucially, it sounds right. No weird reimagining, no acoustic “let’s slow this down and ruin it” moment. Just the song as it should be—loud, direct, and gloriously intact.
It’s a reminder that while artists evolve (and they should), there’s something powerful in honouring what people fell in love with in the first place. The band nail it, giving the songs the muscle they need while leaving plenty of room for Jim Bob’s words to do their thing.
By the end, it’s clear this isn’t just a nostalgia exercise. It’s a proper, living set—one that respects the past without being trapped in it. Old fans get their moments. New material holds its own. And somewhere in the middle, it all clicks.
Thirty years might have passed—but for a couple of hours in a converted church in Glasgow, it honestly doesn’t feel like it.
Words and pictures: Stevie Oi! @gig_photography_glasgow