The Old Woollen is a 500-capacity venue in sleepy Farsley, just a few miles from Leeds city centre. It may seem an unusual choice for a Wildhearts show, but this gig turns out to be a one-off in more ways than one. It’s certainly the most intimate setting I have seen Ginger and the boys play since sometime in the mid 90’s. I say ‘Ginger and the boys’, of course the newly revamped line-up features two guys who were mere babes in 1994. But by all accounts, the new blood has reinvigorated a band who seemed like they were ready to finally throw in the towel a couple of years back.

First up tonight though we have something completely different. Lewis Pugh walks on to the stage armed with just an acoustic guitar and a fistful of politically charged songs close to his heart. He proceeds to silence the entire room and get their full attention for the next 30 minutes or so.

While his songs cover serious subject matter, his between song chat is very witty and informative. He asks us to look him up online but be aware he shares his name with a swimmer who’s a cunt!

Drawing on his influences of folk and punk I immediately draw comparisons to the likes of Billy Bragg and Frank Turner. With songs like ‘The Featherstone Massacre’ he brings to life ancient tragedies that befell the coal miners, and anyone that throws in a Lindisfarne cover and a passionate version of Rancid’s ‘Olympia WA’ is alright by me. I’ll definitely be checking out Lewis Pugh (not the swimmer) online.

It all starts really well. The room is packed and the atmosphere electric as the lights dim, The Wildhearts take to the stage and blast into the aural assault that is ‘Suckerpunch’. The band are tight, loud and energetic from the off. Ginger looks fit and healthy, stage right new guitar slinger Ben Marsden grins like the cat that got the cream, stage left Jon Poole is just being Jon Poole and behind the kit is a flailing mass of hair and arms, I still have no idea who he is? The Wildhearts are on fire.

As the dust of the opening song settles it becomes clear that Ginger’s amp has blown and they don’t have a back-up. After a bit of conferring Ben plays the iconic riff to ‘I Wanna Go Where The People Go’ and we are off, Ginger gripping the mic with both tattooed fists, his stricken Hagstrom guitar dangling between his knees as a frantic roadie (Dunc) tries to fix the problem. A smiling Ginger sings this song he has sung a thousand times before with the passion of a band on their first tour, the joy etched on his face as he gestures for his crowd to sing back every word of that chorus. Is there a guitar missing? I never even noticed!

Turns out the problem can’t be fixed, but somehow, Dunc gets Ginger plugged into something. Yet the gremlins continue to dog Ginger for the entire show. Guitars are switched every song; they cut in and out at will. Does it make a difference to us punters? No, if anything it just makes it more exciting. The whole of ‘The Jackson Whites’ is a wall of feedback from Ginger’s guitar, but the man just smiles and battles through. A younger Ginger probably would’ve smashed the guitar to pieces and stormed off by now, but the Ginger of 2025 is older and wiser, he just smiles and says “bring it on!”. I love it when a band has to fight for it on stage, and tonight The Wildhearts, especially their leader, had to fight for every fucking song!

If you were at any of the recent shows, it’s the same set list, but tonight there is an element of danger, a sense of the unknown. What will happen next? Will they even make it to the end?  Highlights are plentiful, newbies ‘Troubadour Moon’ and ‘Eventually’ fit the set well, and ‘Failure Is The Mother Of Success’ is magnificently heavy in all the right places. ‘Diagnosis’ and ‘Mazel Tov Cocktail’ are greeted like old friends and sung with passion and volume by the crowd. Set closer ‘Chutzpah’ is extended and jammed out, giving both guitarists a chance to showcase their talents with ripping solos, and both seem to be in their element.

Due to curfew there is only time for one before the lights go out. ‘My Baby Is A Headfuck’ is as good a place as any for The Wildhearts’ last sweat-drenched hurrah, and the crowd know it.

Broken amps and broken guitars were never going to be enough to derail The Wildhearts tonight, the powers that be will have to do better than that! It’s safe to say in 30 plus year of Wildhearts shows, in different venues across the country, I have never seen one quite like this tonight, and I thoroughly enjoyed every second. Tonight was a definite case of triumph over adversity.

The Wildhearts treat us to another Northern show soon, this time at Holmfirth Picturedome. It would be rude not to, eh?

Author: Ben Hughes