Richard Ashcroft’s sold-out Glasgow headline show proved the enduring power of the “big song,” delivering a transcendent, communal experience that merged nostalgic anthems with sincere, modern-day messages of musical elevation.
By his own reckoning, Richard Ashcroft has “written a few big songs”. That’s an irrefutable fact but it’s also a profound understatement. What makes a song “big”? Is it the scale of sound; bombastic guitars, reverberant drums, layers upon layers of piano, bass, strings, vocals? Or is it a hook; a soaring melody or an anthemic chorus? Is it a lyric that transcends its originator, universally received and understood across generations? Or is it something else, something more, that cannot be articulated? Perhaps the measure of a big song comes down to the right sound, at the right time, in the right place, and if that’s the case then Richard Ascroft is the man for the moment.
Following his hugely gratifying stadium support run with Oasis last summer, Ashcroft returned to Scotland for his own massive headline show at Glasgow’s OVO Hydro this week – sold out on a Tuesday night, no less! He brought along Welsh indie rock outfit The Royston Club, who are a comfortable fit to open. In the wake of their own standout set at TRNSMT last summer, 2025 saw the band’s sophomore LP ‘Songs for the Spine’ reach the top of the Scottish charts on its release, followed by a sold out show at the iconic Barrowland Ballroom back in October. Glasgow audiences are clearly smitten with the four-piece and so their appearance at The Hydro was assuredly welcomed. Between the driving guitars of opener ‘Shivers’ and vocalist Tom Faithfull’s forlorn falsetto pitches on ‘Spinning’, the band weave recognisable genre tropes with contemporary and timeless themes, at once nostalgic and refreshing. Their earnest and energetic performance gave way to a genuine sigh of contented elation as they closed out their 30-minute set with the swaggering, acoustic rock ballad ‘Cariad’, replete with singalong chorus. Anticipation then weighs heavily in the atmosphere.
Richard Ashcroft carries himself onto the stage with an already triumphant air that is neither arrogant nor objectionable, but rather offering an invitation towards elevation: Let’s get high on music together! It’s a sentiment that he’s owned for decades now; so simplistic in its messaging, it’s almost become caricature at this point, like Ringo’s “Peace and Love”. Over time, subtleties of tone have been lost to 160-character text thoughts and 90-second video windows, and it can be hard to take such sincerity from a supposed ‘celebrity’ on any given platform. Yet the signal from Ashcroft is still clear, not simply in what he says but how he says it, with his whole self, his performance, his presence.
He speaks before he sings, addressing his audience, showing connection through recognition is a priority. Then he begins conjuring with ‘Weeping Willow’, its lyrics of hopeful salvation and strength in unity that hold power after nearly three decades in the public consciousness. It’s a big song. And big songs follow. Sweeping, soaring guitar solos envelop lyrical refrains in all-encompassing sonic mantras: “We have existence and it’s all we share”; “Music is power”. It’s hypnotic, meditative, swaddling. Tender, too.
When a quagmire of omnipresent media tells us that we’re hurtling with increasing velocity through chaotic and darkening days, the power of Ashcroft’s acoustic guitar grants us the euphoria to endure it, minute by minute. Velvet Morning is a case in point. Drawn out, lilting verses that strum and sway into a straight, rock chorus, pairing its emotional build with gentle piano and guitar through to cascading, crashing drums and escalating strings from the quintet elevated near the back of the stage. Both band and audience ascend with it and Ashcroft praises his new generation of fans for “keeping the spirit alive, keeping the flame alive”. Hold On is dedicated to the audience as Ashcroft emphasises his gratitude again and again throughout the night. After so many years in the spotlight it would be easy to become complacent about attendance but, especially right now, no-one can take their audiences for granted, and when Ashcroft says things like “it means a lot” for fans to have paid their “hard earned cash” for a gig ticket, it sounds heartfelt. It feels heartfelt because it looks, sounds and feels like he’s giving his all from the stage.
Every song radiates a kind of joyful charity and reciprocity of spirit, from the very oldest to the newest. On 2025’s ‘Lover’, Ashcroft doesn’t hold back and there’s something so disarming and incongruously sweet about hearing a straight-talking, middle-aged English man repeating the word “lover” over and over and over again like he’s just discovered a new definition for it.
Standing on stage before an arc of monitors, Ashcroft is physically immersed in his music. It’s impossible for any song not to sound huge from this position and yet, when it is just him and his guitar for the first four minutes of ‘The Drugs Don’t Work’, the vastness of the Hydro could hardly be more emphatic as it is overcome with 15,000 voices. This is more than a big song, or at least, this is more than his big song.
The collective love and ownership of Ashcroft’s catalogue shakes the fabric of the arena from here on out. He leaves the stage after ‘Lucky Man’, before emerging from the archives with ‘History’, humbly admitting “I’m trying my best with this one” as he indicates to the lyric sheet on the floor.
Soon rapture engulfs the room as ‘Sonnet’ casually swells towards ecstasy, towards the biggest of all songs. Ashcroft takes his time once again to express his gratitude for the night, with a final invitation “to make the best of this madness together…let’s fucking have this now!” ‘Bitter Sweet Symphony’ erupts in the way it always has, and in the way it always will, and in the way that no amount of hyperbole can accurately describe the how and why or scale of it. You simply feel it, in the moment, and you feel every past, present and future hearing of this song in the same moment, as if it is always the right sound, in the right place, at the right time. You feel it eternally. That’s a pretty big song.
Words and pictures: Kendall Wilson @softcrowdclassic