Review And Images By Scott Anderson
As the venue slipped into shadow and the final echoes of a playful instrumental drifted away, a crackle of energy swept through the crowd. This was night one of Joe Bonamassa’s newest run across the UK, and it was Glasgow’s turn to kick things off. What unfolded wasn’t merely a performance—it was a fiery celebration of a lifelong devotion to the rich textures of blues, the grit of rock, and the emotive shades that connect them.
As his hand brushed the strings, a hush fell—less an intro, more an invocation. Draped in sleek attire and shadowed lenses, he moved with the ease of a man tethered to rhythm. Surrounded by a constellation of seasoned talents, he opened with “Hope You Realize It (Goodbye Again),” and a slow-burning pulse began to spread—liquid, alive, and utterly magnetic.
The connection among the players was electric, a seamless exchange of energy rather than a one-man show. Bonamassa didn’t stand apart—he moved within the current, locked in with a crew running at full tilt. At the helm of the keys, Reese Wynans sculpted sonic landscapes with a fluid instinct that bordered on supernatural. Josh Smith anchored the flow with a groove both fierce and fluid, while Jade MacRae’s voice cut through with crystal clarity, delivering each note like a heart-punched confession.
What elevates Joe Bonamassa beyond mere technical brilliance is his gift for reimagining the blues without ever losing its essence. Early in the evening, “Dust Bowl” rolled in like a widescreen drama—his vocals rang out, sharp and haunting, carving effortlessly through the venue’s golden acoustics. Though his reputation rests on unmatched skill with six strings, tonight his singing carried equal weight—gritty, impassioned, and arrestingly real.
When “Twenty-Four Hour Blues” arrived, time seemed to dissolve. His hands moved with graceful precision, each note bending and blooming like smoke from a flame—equal parts craftsmanship and conjuring. The audience didn’t just cheer; they leaned in, transfixed, caught in that rare moment where music becomes something bigger than sound—something near-spiritual.
One of the night’s more jubilant moments came during “Done Got Over It,” a buoyant, bluesy romp that allowed every band member to shine. Wynans’ organ swells danced with the rhythm section, while Bonamassa tore into a solo that felt both spontaneous and surgically precise. The joy was contagious—audience members danced in their seats, drawn in by the sheer fun radiating from the stage.
Then came the emotional core of the evening: “Self-Inflicted Wounds.” As the band leaned into this dramatic, slow-burning epic, time seemed to slow. Bonamassa’s guitar wept and screamed, while MacRae’s backing vocal rose like a prayer. It was a moment of transcendence, where technical prowess gave way to emotional catharsis.
The performance flowed effortlessly between smoldering grooves and moments of introspective calm. “Shout About It” burst forth with grit and flair, laced with funk-driven confidence, while “The Last Matador of Bayonne” unfolded like a short film—rich with atmosphere, tension, and narrative weight. It built with quiet intensity, swelling into a dramatic release that left the room in stunned silence before erupting into thunderous applause.
Bonamassa’s connection with the crowd was genuine and disarming. He introduced his fellow musicians not with routine formality, but with easy charm and off-the-cuff wit, tossing in a few playful barbs at his own Scottish pronunciation. Despite the tailored image and razor-sharp execution, there’s an endearing sincerity in the way he holds the spotlight—not as a pedestal, but as a place of gratitude. You sense it in every word, every glance, every note—this is a man who still plays like it’s his first standing ovation.
“The Heart That Never Waits” served as yet another showcase for Bonamassa’s unparalleled control of tone—his playing shimmered with depth, nuance, and pinpoint precision. Each phrase rang with golden resonance, neither overplayed nor undercut, but delivered with masterful intent.
Next came “Hard But It’s Fair,” bursting onto the scene with vintage flair and a strut that felt straight out of a smoky downtown club. The guitars barked with attitude, the keys punched through like horns, and the whole band rode the groove with unfiltered joy—a high-octane celebration wrapped in grit and swing.
The most surprising moment came in the form of a medley that melded Led Zeppelin’s “How Many More Times” with a teasing nod to Kiss’s “Love Gun.” It was a bold move, but one executed with such creativity and confidence that it felt like a natural extension of Bonamassa’s musical lineage. A ripping drum solo in the midst of it all only heightened the drama.
As the last chord of the closing number faded into the ether, the crowd surged to its feet, erupting in a roar that shook the walls. Returning to the stage to a hero’s welcome, Bonamassa launched into “Mountain Time”—a piece that’s grown and shifted with him over the years. In this setting, it unfurled like a final exhale—soaring and soul-deep, its melodies stretching skyward, its emotion raw and unguarded. It wasn’t just a finale; it was a parting gift.
The setting played its part flawlessly. With its curved tiers and enveloping warmth, the SEC Armadillo provided the perfect blend of grandeur and closeness. It amplified not just the sound, but the feeling—every phrase, every bend, every quiet pause was felt as much as heard. For an artist like Bonamassa, who thrives on dynamic control and emotional precision, it was the kind of space where music doesn’t just echo—it breathes.
Throughout the evening, Bonamassa switched guitars nearly every song—Les Pauls, Strats, and rare custom builds all made appearances, each one lending a different colour to the sonic palette. It’s a subtle detail that speaks volumes about his dedication to his craft. Every song was meticulously rendered, yet never at the cost of spontaneity or heart.
If there was any question before the show whether Joe Bonamassa still has that special spark—still has the fire that’s earned him global acclaim—this performance answered it with a resounding yes. Not only is he still at the top of his game, but he’s also evolving, finding new ways to explore and expand the blues.
For die-hard fans and newcomers alike, this wasn’t just a gig—it was a living, breathing experience. A night where stories came alive through strings and soul. For everyone in that room, it was a stark reminder: some artists don’t just perform—they become the music.
As Bonamassa powers through his UK tour, with upcoming shows in Cardiff, Nottingham, and Liverpool, before heading to Cork for his highly anticipated Rory Gallagher tribute performances, one thing is clear: wherever he steps on stage, he leaves a lasting impression. If you have the chance to catch him live—don’t hesitate. You’ll be witnessing a true legend in the prime of his craft, creating an unforgettable experience that’ll resonate long after the final note fades.
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