Rock City doesn’t just host gigs, it turns them into mini festivals, and on 26 October, The Amazons brought the lot. Sweat. Speeches. Shoutouts. And yes, even a crowd-wide chant for a “sexy ginger bastard.”
But first, Overpass, the Birmingham band warming up the room with a short, punchy set that still packed plenty of kick. Their fourth track, Union Station, felt like the tipping point: hard-hitting drums and guitar riffs sent the energy from steady to full-send. Take It or Leave It turned the room golden, literally and emotionally, while the mood flipped purple for 3AM, a more romantic slow burn with streaky white strobes slicing through the haze. The vocalist bounced between both guitarists, sharing the moment like a proper frontman. Nottingham got their shoutout (“thank you for coming out tonight!”), and their closing track Beautiful arrived wrapped in orange light and a slow-build intro that promised something big, and delivered.
Then The Amazons crashed in like a thunderstorm in skinny jeans.
“This one’s for all the young men who think they’re right… but are very fucking wrong,” said frontman Matt Thomson, before dropping 25, a furious, red-lit fireball of guitars, angst, and chest-thumping truths. There was passion, there was political rage, but also, crucially, there was play. Nottingham was game. Shouting back “Hey yooo!” at Matt’s call, screaming “sexy ginger bastard” for reasons known only to the beer-fuelled few, and dancing like the floor might not exist tomorrow.
The lighting matched every mood switch. Blood-red strobes for raw moments. White light bursts for the songs where the crowd clapped overhead with pure joy (Livin’ a Lie was a clear peak, that chorus? That chemistry between Matt and his female backing vocalist? Unmatched). Doubt It turned into a singalong complete with phone torches and “yo-hoooo” call-backs that could rival a sea shanty.
In between songs, there was charm. A bit about forgetting to introduce the band. A nod to Rock City being a romantic origin story for someone’s parents. Cables getting tangled as Matt underestimated how much he’d be moving. The crowd loved every chaotic second.
Then came the shift. Go All The Way brought in a slow piano outro and spotlighted the female vocalist, a rare moment of calm that got a roaring round of applause. But don’t get too comfy, “from existential dread to a fucking country song,” Matt joked, switching to acoustic guitar. The orange glow, the clapping arms, the lyrics already living rent-free in fans’ heads, it all felt like a shared catharsis disguised as a barn dance.
Final stretch included Pitch Black and Mother, both drenched in cinematic drums and heavy red lighting. Mother especially hit hard: a white spotlight isolating the drummer for a mid-song solo that shook the room like thunder on tarmac. The pit? Unified in a wave of raised arms, bobbing heads, and one last massive send-off.
And just like that, it was over. Or at least for us, we had to leg it for the train. But the buzz? Still vibrating through our bones.
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