On the May Day Bank Holiday Sunday of 2026, I was hosting a celebration at mine from 5pm, secure in the knowledge that at 7pm, the host would be leaving to traverse the M62 down to Liverpool.
Psycho Comedy were making their return you see, and nothing would be allowed to get in the way of my being there. So I tossed my house keys to a reveller, jumped in my car and set the controls for the heart of the ‘pool. The last time I had seen Psycho Comedy was at Jimmy’s in Liverpool during 2022’s festive period, but since then there had been pretty much silence on the Psycho Comedy front. That was all about to change as I prepared for their inimitable sonic assault by re-treading one of the great lost debut records of recent history on the journey.
The career curve of the band has been beset by problems. Having launched their brilliant album (the type of record you have to listen from start to finish because it is seamless) at the Jacaranda, an event that suggested Psycho Comedy were about to make the rest of the country surrender to their brilliance, the band looked set for big things… but Wuhan had other ideas. Covid had already spread across continents before consuming the British Isles, just at the point when a full UK tour was being muted by the band. Then, poet Matthew Thomas Smith left the band bringing an end to Psycho Comedy Mk I. It was therefore Psycho Comedy Mk II who had taken to the stage at Jimmy’s with a keyboard player in tow. As I entered a rammed Handyman in Liverpool this wet and windy evening, it was clear that Psycho Comedy Mk III were about to make their debut, now shorn of the aforementioned and short lived keyboard player, but also of guitarist Jack Thompson who had adorned the bands songs with a mysterious other-worldly Eastern tinge. So the current version of Psycho Comedy is a four piece of original members Shaun Powell (vocals and guitar) Lydia McGhee (guitar), Connor Duff (bass) and Jack Williams (drums). Shaun suggested the reason for their return was that he’d run out of packs of Rib n Saucy NikNaks to eat, and the sound remains suitably saucy and beefed out, so any thoughts that the pared down line up would mean a pared down sound were soon put to bed. This was pure garage rock.
My timing was pretty much impeccable because having availed myself of a drink, I slipped down the side of the bar to the venue at the back, and over the familiar backing track of Iggy Pop’s Nightclubbing, I could already hear Powell comically haranguing the lighting man due to some technicality difficulties with the backdrop. A tirade of Scouse psychobabble filled the venue, before Powell hollered a gleeful and decibel shredding “Fucking Psycho Comedy!” which was the cue for the band to launch into a blistering Pick Me Up, which entertainingly illustrated that Psycho Comedy were picking up from exactly where they left off, with no sign of ring rust or fatigue from being away. When most bands come back from a ‘hiatus’, the tempo of the songs are slower, the performance levels are lessened, and the vibe isn’t quite the same as it used to be, however, most bands don’t have a frontman quite as unique and exciting as Shaun Powell, and it is his passion and energy that drives the Psycho Comedy vehicle. The brilliantly titled I’ll Make History on Wednesday is a new song, and along with the following Failing for Fun it suggests the new (and tantalisingly close to being finalised) album is going to at least be on a par with Performance Space Number One, and that was a very high bar indeed. The punky, full on, frontal assault continues unabashed with Make Your Own Decision and the sweltering audience seems completely enraptured by the sound throbbing out of the speakers. Indeed, Psycho Comedy have not lost the sound that makes them unique and it is hard to put my finger on exactly what it is, but when the hefty bass lines punched out by Duff mingle with the Williams battered skins and McGhee and Powell‘s interplay, it makes for a quite holy racket that thunders into your very being, and at times, is quite threatening. For all the chaos, anarchy and pure noise emanating from the stage, there is an off kilter professionalism to the sound that puts other bands to shame. The tempo dips a little for the pulsating, hammer blow majesty of Standin’, with Powell now singing and performing as if his life depended on it. Standin’ was one of the standout (ahem) tracks on Performance Space Number One, but already, it has potential rivals, not least in Gravestones and Insane which were both played with a restrained fury. Gravestones has a dark and contemplative edge to it whilst Insane has tempo shifts and changes that had me wondering if one song had ended and another begun, until the original refrain returned. The break has obviously done them good because the new songs sound like incredibly well crafted and mature compositions which punch the atmosphere in glee at their final release. The band appeared to be enjoying themselves, Lydia frequently smirking at Shaun‘s between song comments, and despite immaculately suited Connor‘s regulation poker face, he occasionally proffered a half smile. Meanwhile Jack, who has grown his hair to the point that, for a song or two, I wasn’t entirely sure if it was him, is totally locked in. There was a pause whilst Jack requested for some sound changes to the drums. “Don’t fucking listen to him, more vocals!” retorted Shaun, who is most certainly the best frontmen currently plying his trade in the city; mixing 25% of McCulloch bravado, 25% of the androgyny of Pete Burns, the caustic wit of both, with another 50% being pure Shaun Powell. As if to to accentuate this point, Powell began a comedy mini rant about people at this free Smithdown Festival being mingebags for not wanting to pay into Sound City which was running on the same weekend. He then described the male audience as being jeans and brown shoe types before adding that he bets they all still fancy him. On that note, Shaun was wearing a wonderful demob suit with a shirt emblazoned with the legend Protect Scouse Dolls, which is a is a community-led fund and service network, rooted in Liverpool, dedicated to the wellbeing and collective freedom of the Trans+ community. Good on him.
A return to familiarity came by way of The Hangman which tonight positively sizzled in it’s stabbing, stuttering, staccato glory. Once more, the spirit of a furious Larry Grayson was embodied with yelps of “Shut that door” as Shaun jumped, wriggled and writhed to the glorious emissions from the hands of him and his bandmates. Surprise of the night came in It’s Raining Now which by Psycho Comedy standards could be referred to as a ‘slowie’, their first to my knowledge, and it is quite lovely. Normal service was soon restored with another adrenaline fuelled new song, All I Do Is Nothing. Again, the sound is full and rounded with the low end notes battering ears and bludgeoning internal organs. Closing numb(er), I’m Numb contains all the splenetic glory of the album version with guitars discovering new avenues to explore and destroy, and it is a triumphant end to a quite spectacular return.
After the gig, on the rainy streets outside, Shaun and Connor emerged and there was much back slapping and celebration. Psycho Comedy were back, and sounding as brilliant as ever. An Irish lady passed on her congratulations to Shaun with the rejoinder that she hadn’t much understood what he was saying such is the soupy-ness of his accent. “Part Scouse, part prick” came the self depreciating reply, but there should be nothing self depreciating about the performance this evening.
What Psycho Comedy need now is to feed on the momentum of tonight. They are Liverpool‘s best kept secret, mainly as a result of the aforementioned obstacles that prevented them becoming massive first time around. They have the songs, they have the cool and they have the attitude that should see them universally lauded.
Psycho Comedy in your back yard.
Is right.
Prince Far Out
