Review and photos by Ali Burman
The legendary guitarist brings five decades of tone, feel and psychedelic soul to Shepherd’s Bush — and proves that the fire still burns brightly.
There are guitar heroes, and then there are guitarists who have created a sound so distinctive that you know who is playing within a handful of notes. Robin Trower is very much in the latter camp. On 5 September, the legendary guitarist brought his unmistakable blend of blues, psychedelic rock and soul to London’s O2 Shepherd’s Bush Empire, delivering a set that demonstrated just why, more than five decades into his career, his playing remains so revered.
The Shepherd’s Bush Empire is an ideal setting for Trower. Its ornate surroundings and intimate atmosphere seem worlds away from the arenas occupied by many of rock’s biggest names, but that intimacy allows the music to do the talking. And when Trower plugged in, there was little doubt about who was in charge.
Opening with “Too Rolling Stoned,” Trower immediately settled into that unmistakable territory: huge sustain, thick vibrato and a tone that seems to exist somewhere between a bluesman’s cry and a psychedelic roar. There is no frantic shredding here and no desperate attempt to prove anything. Trower has nothing left to prove. Instead, he understands the power of letting a note hang in the air until it almost becomes a physical presence.
“Live Your Time” and “Distant Places of the Heart” followed, the latter carrying the added significance of being associated with the late Jack Bruce. These songs showed the more reflective side of the set, with Trower allowing melody and atmosphere to take centre stage.
The performance gathered momentum through “It’s Not Time,” “Somebody Calling” and “One Go Round,” before the first major landmark arrived in the shape of “Day of the Eagle.” It was a powerful reminder of Trower’s ability to combine raw blues-rock muscle with an almost hypnotic sense of groove. The guitar didn’t simply sit on top of the rhythm section; it seemed to push and pull against it, creating a tension that has been central to Trower’s music since the 1970s.
Then came “Bridge of Sighs,” inevitably one of the evening’s highlights. Few songs better encapsulate Trower’s gift for making the electric guitar sound genuinely emotional. The opening phrases immediately drew the audience in, before the performance expanded into something heavier and more atmospheric. Trower’s playing remains remarkably expressive, his vibrato doing as much emotional work as a singer’s voice.
Importantly, the set wasn’t simply a trip through the past. “No More Worlds to Conquer” sat comfortably alongside the classics, proving that Trower’s later material possesses the same DNA as the songs that established his reputation. “Daydream” continued the atmospheric mood, although the show was briefly halted afterwards by technical problems, causing a four-minute delay.
It was a minor interruption rather than a distraction. The audience waited patiently, and once the issues were resolved, the band returned to deliver “Little Bit of Sympathy,” bringing the main set to a suitably rousing conclusion.
The encore began with “The Razor’s Edge,” before “Birdsong” brought proceedings to a more reflective close. It was an understated ending to a concert that had never needed theatrics. The spectacle was in the sound.
And what a sound it was.
Trower’s greatest strength remains his ability to make the guitar sing. His playing is spacious, instinctive and deeply rooted in feel. Every bend seems deliberate; every sustained note has purpose. In an age when technical proficiency can sometimes overshadow musicality, Trower is a useful reminder that virtuosity isn’t necessarily about playing faster — it is about making people feel something.
There was, inevitably, an element of nostalgia in the room. Many of those watching have probably been listening to Trower for decades. But this wasn’t simply a veteran act going through the motions. There was genuine fire in the performance, and the connection between guitarist and audience remained strong throughout.
The four-minute technical hiccup was soon forgotten. What lingered was the memory of that guitar tone echoing around Shepherd’s Bush Empire: huge, mournful, soulful and unmistakably Robin Trower.
At 81, Trower doesn’t need to chase the past. He simply needs to pick up his guitar and remind us why the past was so damn good in the first place.
VERDICT
A masterclass in tone, restraint and emotional guitar playing. Trower proves that true blues-rock power isn’t measured in decibels or speed — it’s measured in the feeling left behind when the final note fades.
9.5/10
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