Indie veterans The Wombats take on Glasgow’s OVO Hydro with a high-energy, hit-packed set — proving they can scale up without losing their spark.
Once the darlings of student unions, indie discos and anyone who ever made a MySpace mixtape, The Wombats have come a long way from sticky floors and £2 pints. Now, like IDLES with a wardrobe budget or Mogwai with a confetti canon, they’ve taken on the Hydro — a giant leap for indie-kind.
So the question is: Can a band built for chaotic club gigs really thrive in a venue the size of a Scottish village?
From the first notes of “Sorry I’m Late, I Didn’t Want to Come” (relatable), the answer felt like a solid yes. Frontman Matthew Murphy stepped up with that dry charm and unmistakable voice, cutting straight through the cavernous reverb of the Hydro like it was King Tut’s.
“Moving to New York” arrived early — much to the delight of the crowd, who yelled every word like it was 2007 and they were still wearing neon wristbands. Tord Øverland Knudsen, never one to stay still for more than five seconds, bounded across the stage like a man powered entirely by Haribo and sheer joy.
There’s always a risk when bands trade intimacy for scale — what you gain in production, you often lose in atmosphere. But somehow, The Wombats managed to keep things personal. The confetti cannons, strobes, and high-budget visuals were there, sure, but they never overwhelmed the warmth, the wit, or the sense that this band still genuinely loves playing these songs.
The setlist danced between deep cuts and greatest hits, all delivered with slick musicianship and not a hint of self-importance. Then, during the euphoric finale of “Greek Tragedy,” the band dropped balloons and blasted confetti in a move that could’ve been unbearably cheesy — but instead felt like exactly what everyone needed. Joyful, absurd, and totally on brand.
So was the jump from 2 nights at the Barrowlands to Hydro necessary? Probably not. But it was a success. The Wombats proved they can do arena shows without becoming arena rock. Still funny. Still tight. Still dancing like nobody’s watching — even though 13,000 definitely were.
Words & pictures: Rose McEnroe
@rosemcenroephoto