Midlands Duo Big Special Exceeds the National Average In Talent- Glasgow SWG3 Gig Review

It is my opinion that a band can be more evocatively described by the attire of their concertgoers than by the music they produce.

Perhaps my findings are just as representative of Glaswegian fashion as of the kind of enthusiasts Big Special draws, but the patterns were relatively coherent at their gig at the SWG3 on February 19th: a tote that asserted ‘My bag is better than your bag,’ a tee championing DFA records and another encouraging you to ‘be radical and soft’; a Primal Scream jacket; a Rick-and-Morty illustration of Pickle Rick projected onto ragged cotton; and markedly few men with short hair or women with long hair.

My solidifying sense of the general audience quota expected for the night was cemented as I walked through the crowd to note a three-strong succession of a word that signaled a clear disinterest in honoring Glasgow’s Catholic roots.

Hailing from the Black Country, post-punk duo Big Special (they don’t want you to get too excited, though – it’s not big, and it’s not special) is known for combining the coolest genre (post-punk) with the riskiest (spoken-word) to land somewhere right down the middle on the coolness scale. This no-mans-land style is not indicative of a weakness on Big Special’s end; from the obligatory pre-show banter through the rest of the gig, the band’s engagement with the crowd and knack for guiding the audience through the experience was met with a warmth and humor uncharacteristic of post-punk collectives.

Opening with ‘BLACK COUNTRY GOTHIC‘ after some well-intentioned crowd play, lead singer Joe Hicklin stood on a platform in front of the microphone to deliver in spoken-word style: chest puffed, vocal style threading in and out of pumping and projected slam poetry, backed by heavy-heeled, metallic drums.

The uncontrived theatrics, coupled with a clear allegiance to lyrical themes emblematic to post-punk, quickly established who Big Special stands for: their music is stylistically minimalist, yet emphatically maximalist enough to clearly empathize with the sort of crowd that clustered around the gloriously anti-intellectual Donk music and thrills of post-punk that dominated in the 80s and 90s.

The introduction of fan-favorite ‘GOD SAVE THE PONY‘ was, as expected, met with unanimous crowd fist-pumping and bro-hugging. Joe Hicklin spits the opening lines with the kind of unhinged clarity that makes you feel personally indicted. His anger is not clean; it’s the ugly, half-slurred, half-prophetic kind, delivered in a very identifiably aggressive Midlands slosh.

The words tumble out in a stream of gallows humor, equally about identifying with and distinguishing themselves from their roots – ricocheting between self-loathing and social commentary (with awareness of their own wit at the core of the messaging and delivery).

Following a stammering introduction and drum performance from Callum Moloney – aka ‘The devil’s alarm clock’ in ‘THIS HERE AIN’T WATER‘, ‘BLACK‘ DOG/WHITE HORSE‘ continued to capture full-bodied audience excitement from the onset, as the track is one of the most revisited by fans and casual listeners alike. The eclipsing lighting and slow-burn entry suggested a change in tone entirely: ‘It comes from a thing I wrote years ago, about a burning snake traveling in the hot sun and a small wren flying high above it to block the heat and give it shade, taking the burden of the sun, because the little bird loves the snake and won’t see it defeated, for whatever reason,’ Joe shared in an interview with Clash Magazine.

While not fudging their tonal edge too much, the more lyrical and poetic track juxtaposed with their sardonic style – which is so intense that you’re almost shocked when they’re not drinking a beer on stage – added dimensionality and emotional stakes to the performance.

By ending the set on ‘SHITHOUSE‘ – a prudent choice, as it is amongst the more drunken and calloused of their tracks – Big Special leaned fully into the energy they had co-constructed with the help of endless pints throughout the sweaty, free-for-all show. Hicklin’s vocals staggered between sneering and half-sung delirium, Moloney’s drums pounding relentlessly, and the crowd, equally unsteady, swayed and shouted along – some knowing the words, others impassioned enough by the performance to try to guess.

‘TREES‘ and ‘DiG!‘ made for an acute yet more subtly enveloping encore – the former rolling in a slow-motion, vocals echoing off the walls; the latter a more emotionally blunt yet cautiously cinematic close to the night.

While Glaswegians are known for championing artists big and small at live gigs, I believe the adoration for Big Special shouldn’t be attributed entirely to Northerners knowing how to put up a fight even during their “relaxation” time. Rather, the absurdism of their music draws from the existentially relatable and dilutes into the even more micro-level relatable: drinking, despair, and low-level aggression at the daily grind in ‘SHITHOUSE’ and the generally repeated malaise of “I’m awake, but only just; I hate my bed but cling to it” thematically connecting their work.

It’s this uncanny ability to capture shared frustration and existential humor that makes their fans nod, laugh, and keep coming back. As Mark Twain notoriously suggested about writing most effectively about tragedy, don’t write about Man – write about A Man.

The duo’s ultimate draw is in inhabiting this exact storytelling philosophy: Big Special contributes sharp criticism of the philosophically bankrupt nature of organized society via venting into the mic about the daily slog of having to wake up for a job while battling a month-long hangover.