Author: George Marsden

Did you spend £200 on an Oasis ticket? You stupid prick! For £11 I not only saw a far better band but was also spared the horror of being in a stadium. Sister Madds’s headline set at Glasgow University’s Queen Margaret Union’s ‘One Night Stand’ presumably didn’t make as much money as the Gallagher brothers expect to reap from their renewal of the fraternal spirit, but I’m confident the band have, nonetheless, put their money to nobles uses; namely, that of keeping Glaswegian bar tenders in stable employment.

Inevitably given the time of year (it was February 15^th), the gig was Valentine’s Day-themed. This sort of thing is usually just a bit of harmless marketing to get the punters in, but for once the branding actually had some relevance; a glance at Sister Madd’s back catalogue suggests inspiration begins with some sort of romantic (mis)adventure. Opening with ‘Can’t Read Your Lips’, a rant on perennial romantic frustrations set over virtuosic guitar playing, passing through ‘Purgatory’ (a spray of Gen-Z social angst to a pop-punk riff offset by some dreamy, spoken word idealism from guitarist Fraser MacCallum), and ending on ‘Hot and Bothered’, the band did well to run the whole gamut of love and loathing that constitutes the erotic life. With that last song, the band ended things by leaving their audience to dwell on the ecstatic, bacchanalian side of things. A comment on the true nature of romantic love? Perhaps, but also a well-modulated track with which to amp up the mosh-pit. An ideal finisher, then. Not only that, but a good way to show off what Fraser and Mackenzie Burns can achieve on the guitar, Adam Clark on the bass, and Ciaran Whyte on the drums.

Being the first time, I saw them live, I couldn’t help observing that they’re a mite better on stage than they are on their current recordings. ‘601’, for example, feels a lot more put together on the stage than it does on Spotify. But this is quibbling; you expect this to be the case with a relatively new band. And, of course, they’re much better placed than if they had the opposite problem. ‘Split Ends’ and ‘Summer Blues’ were wonderful showcases of Maddie Cassidy’s vocals; she manages to lilt against the heavy guitar in the latter and narrate (in a way suggestive of a Northern Lily Allen) a dalliance with a loser boyfriend in the former. As for their stage presence, I’d describe it as festive. Some bands go in for aloofness, others are straight-laced, but Sister Madds like to act as the maestros of one big party. They entered the stage twirling to ‘Take My Breath Away’ and segued into their last song through a cover of Chapel Roan’s ‘Hot to Go’; by the end, we had a topless drummer and Mackenzie Burns was playing his guitar behind his head. The message was clear: enjoy yourselves, for fuck’s sake.

And it was while I was enjoying all of this, and thinking about the £189 I saved from the Brothers Gallaghers, that a strange thought came to me. I wondered: if Sister Madds had played these same songs in 1991 (when Oasis were starting out), would they have seemed at all strange? I really don’t think so. Indeed, had they played this set on any given day from 1979 to the present, at no point would they have seemed out of place. Then I was struck by the clothes most of my fellow gig-goers: goth and goth-lite everywhere, a baggy suit or two, berets, flared jeans. Not only did this scene look like a photograph from one of my mother’s albums, but it sounded how I imagined it did, too. I confess that my growing uncertainty over what year I was in prompted me to refresh my pint.

The root of this feeling is the strange situation of rock music in 2025. What began as a genre defined by youthful anti-traditionalism is now a living tradition in itself; although rock (and punk in particular) was largely about musical non-conformity, it now has an established pattern so entrenched that, in many ways, this is what “music” is to most people. And not only is the music itself a part of that pattern; but the performative aspects, like semi-nude percussionists and mosh pits, also play their part. The revolution brought about by the electric guitar was the ruination of Western music as it had been until that point; it made liking classical music eccentric and a fondness for folk into an antiquarian hobby. Now, the grandchildren of those revolutionaries exert their creativity within, rather than against, settled aesthetic norms.

Which isn’t to accuse Sister Madds of lacking originality. It’s just to say that originality for them needn’t mean inventing a new genre, as it did for bands sixty years ago. Guitar groups are not only not on their way out, Mr Epstein; rather, they’re the only aspect of the modern music scene that can claim to belong to a healthy, living tradition.  Moreover, it’s a multi-generational affair: you like it, your mum likes it, and people are saying your gran really likes it. So when a good guitar group starts making themselves known, seek them out. You should start with Sister Madds. You can listen to Sister Madds on Spotify.

George Marsden is a graduate of Glasgow University, where he read English and Classics. His writing has appeared in IM-1776, The Mallard, and Sublation Magazine, among other outlets. As song writing is the only form of modern poetic expression with a mass audience, George thinks it merits special critical attention. He also aims to counter the nefarious influence that Oasis have had on British culture. Read his work here.

Featured photo credit: Nicole MacAulay