Manchester, UK
August 2025
Welcome to one of a few grunge music palace on the second floor, hidden behind a confusing metal door plastered with stickers, posters, graffiti and paint, deep in the narrowest part of coolest underground alley in the heart of Manchester. Unrecognizable to the masses, but essential for the lovers of the city’s new music scene.
Aatma was the chosen spot for the band, who after five years without releasing a song, have finished baking a ten-piece album. Ten marvellous-sounding tracks that resurrected the souls and feet of the audience, preceded by three special supporters. The space was decorated with care: giant tie-dye and mandala sheets hanging, ivy crawling over the stage, and a non-stop stop-motion projection on one of the walls.
Opening the night was Gavin the Goliath, an eccentric and sympathetic one-man show playing the guitar with an animal balaclava and electronic self-made base. Funny, rebellious and enigmatic, he greeted me afterwards, sweaty and pleased.
The mood then shifted with Comb, who had drawn quite a crowd and were well received. They began with a slow beat and psychedelic-entwined guitars. Their dirty, indie sound reminded me of a summer storm. They weren’t really innovative in their style, but it was a well done shoegaze. Their vibe was making my pulse very relax, I yawned and left the room.
I found Peace Pipers’ Alex and Martyn wandering for a second in the rehearsal corridors, meditating on the night. Excitement and nervousness were in the air — they hadn’t expected so many faces watching them. Comb’s music rumbled through the walls, and back in the room people were enjoying the gig calmly, many seated on chairs or lounging on sofas. Their set slowly gained energy, until the final track — probably their catchiest and liveliest song. “They need a longer highway to move the engines of the hearts of this growing empire,” I thought. Honestly craved for a couple of more songs like the last.
Band changes came right on time. At 9 sharp, the Dead Medicine Band started with no hesitation, their experimental guitars flowing wild. The renewed four-piece looked aesthetically playful: a beautiful flautist and a curly-haired, bare-chested frontman/guitarist, both in cowboy/Indian vests, producing evocative and sensual riffs. Heads nodded, hips slithered. The singer’s deep voice settled midway through the first track; slow drums sometimes steady, sometimes unruly, with strong guitars carrying me out to the outskirts of a psychedelic desert landscape. By the third song, the sand and the suede had invaded our leather hearts. The singer lifted his guitar in the air several times, shook himself, imposed sculpturally at the center of the stage, and closed a performance that felt like a trip through the 60s, wandering with snakes under the sun with a pipe in hand.
At 9:58, the Peace Pipers rose. The room glowed red in half-darkness. Leader Alex, in top hat and raccoon-painted face, crouched in front, tweaking his pedals. Background music is spilled from the speakers; the room was hot, and very busy. They didn’t make us wait. In a masterful move, they blended their chords with the radio sound — and suddenly, without warning, the show had begun. It was just the four of them, jamming the first song of the album “pipe down”.
I had first met the Peace Pipers only a few months earlier, in December ’24, and instantly became a fan. I felt lucky: I had held a copy in my hands just a day before and listened in the quiet of my studio. Their delivery and staging impressed me. The delicacy with which they had decorated the venue and chosen their war outfits was just the prelude to a carefully planned ritual, keeping us mesmerized for more than an hour. Detail-freaks till the end, they didn’t just reproduce their ten album tracks (plus one excluded gem destined for the next release) — they delivered with precision, with feeling, and with contagious energy dripping from their pores.
From the first moment to the last, the audience’s feet never stopped moving, hands shook in the air, hips danced even in the two slower numbers, “Flowers” and “Twisted Love.” Though the face paint hid expressions, the singer’s deep voice and the beauty of his sentiment were mature and haunting. Voice effects trapped us in a glass jar; I felt like Alice, lost in Wonderland, but happy and high. Beer spilled from my nose from dancing too hard.
Martyn was a machine of gorgeous chords and cheeky gestures, elegantly dressed in full 60s monochrome purple with hat and flared trousers, a perfect contrast to bassist Dan’s dark and hard look. Both followed the lead of Alex Hislop, our captain, who never stopped moving, dancing, jumping, playing his bouzouki like he had walked out of an Irish movie. The black of his eyes melted in sweat; he took off his hat, and though not a man of big speeches, used a few seconds to thank the crowd again and again. He looked surprised and moved by the massive turnout. The music never stopped: evocative riffs carried us wildly from song to song, powerful, sharp, rhythmic, psychedelic — echoes of Sabbath, Zeppelin and Alice Cooper. A black tear rolled down Alex’s face. His voice was deeper than on record, his pain more palpable — as if in the performance he managed to collapse and purge an ancient wound.
At each side: Martyn, playful, making tricks with his guitar, even above his head; Dan, steady like a flag, smiling and vibrating with every note; Dave, the drummer, hidden in the shadows, yet his beats precise and sure, making the psychedelic hard rock storm pulse with melancholy.
Alex announced the final track: an 11-minute melodic journey in honor of Pink Floyd, titled “Interstellar” — a highway of the unspeakable, making us long for the agony of our captain’s voice. The drummer had already disappeared into the darkness the moment he laid down his sticks. After long minutes of shouting for another song the three remaining members gave thanks and slipped into the night leaving the crowd desperate for an encore.
Peace Pipers proved themselves more than a rising act: they turned a hidden alley avenue into a psychedelic sanctuary leaving Manchester fans high sweaty and hungry for more. I definitely cannot wait to see them in bigger stages.
Music Chronicles 