The Charlatans - 11th Dec 25

Manchester Academy 1

Story by Slip Digby

17/12/2025

Longevity is easy to claim and harder to justify. At Manchester Academy 1, The Charlatans justified it effortlessly, drawing from decades of material while sounding anything but like a band merely replaying their history.

There’s something quietly confident about a band who dispense with a support act and instead email their audience instructing them to arrive early because they intend to “delve” into their back catalogue. At Manchester Academy 1, The Charlatans weren’t warming anyone up but themselves, unfolding the evening across two generous sets that felt less like nostalgia mining and more like a reminder of just how deep and durable their songbook remains. Taking the stage at 8pm sharp, the band played for an hour, disappearing briefly before returning for a second stretch from 9.30pm until around 10.30. The split-set format gave the night a relaxed, unhurried shape, and from a spot behind the mixing desk - the sweet spot for both sound and sightlines - it was clear this was a room fully in their grip. The Academy looked sold out, or close enough to it, and the crowd reflected the band’s long-standing appeal: overwhelmingly male, largely over 35, dressed in the kind of sharp jackets you only really see at Charlatans gigs. Sonically, they were superb. Loud, yes, but crisp and well-balanced, with a confidence that comes from a band who know exactly who they are. The setlist drew heavily from their imperial phase, but crucially avoided feeling like a museum tour, instead splattering later material from Wonderland onwards with real conviction. Newer tracks such as We Are Love and Deeper and Deeper landed particularly well - a fact underlined when even the most sceptical gig companion, normally allergic to late-period material, conceded that We Are Love was “a good ’un”. If the night had a defining moment, it arrived with Sproston Green. Long a fan favourite, it has often passed me by on record, but live it was a revelation. Whether it was the lighting, the atmosphere, or something ineffable in the air, the song bloomed into something immense - heavy, hypnotic, almost elemental. Nearby, a 6’6” metalhead in a Megadeth T-shirt went feral for it, a perfect illustration of how a great band transcends genre boundaries when the songs are strong enough. Tim Burgess, meanwhile, remains a marvel. Dressed head-to-toe in white, eternally youthful and frustratingly well-preserved, he radiated warmth without overplaying it. There was no excessive banter, just a constant smile and an easy assurance that suggested a man still deeply in love with what he does. Projected images of the band from various points in their career only reinforced how well they’ve aged - full heads of hair, sharp tailoring, no sense of graceful decline here. The only real omission was How High, conspicuous by its absence, though perhaps its ferocity now feels like a young man’s game. Still, with one succinct encore rounding out a night of abundance, it felt churlish to complain. This wasn’t a band trading on past glories; it was a reminder that The Charlatans’ past is vast enough, and their present confident enough, to fill a room like this twice over.