The Psychedelic Furs | Anja Huwe
London Palladium
31st October 2025

Almost half a century since their bold emergence from the post-punk landscape, The Psychedelic Furs remain a potent and powerful live proposition. Steve Morgan and Naomi Dryden-Smith wolfed down the Butler brothers’ silver service 

Surely the keenest mapper of the musical constellations in March 1980 – when the Psychedelic Furs’ eponymous debut album was released – would not have foreseen frontman Richard Butler’s arresting trademark rasping delivery lasting the pace for 45 years. Even then he sounded like a man who must smoke in his sleep. Yet, as a sell-out Palladium crowd shuffles out to collide with the Halloween set teeming around Soho’s streets, the talk is of just how well-preserved the Furs’ frontman both looks and sounds. How his voice, in keeping with fellow veteran Robert Smith, sounds better than ever as he approaches 70.

Bounding onstage to Heaven, a fine offering among a radio-friendly string of ’80s hits dripping with singalong choruses, Butler departs just shy of an hour and twenty minutes later, still moving like a man half his age. Not one for shooting the breeze, instead he lets his body language do the talking. Whether prancing and pirouetting (moves reminiscent of his heroes Bowie and Lydon), hanging an arm over the shoulders of brother Tim on bass, or guitarists Rich Good and Peter Di Stefano, or crouching down to engage with the front row, he’s all about the theatrics, the performance: that punk DNA still persists.

And what a performance it is. Heritage rock is a lazy, sneering tag that does nobody any favours. Here it’s a positive insult. The fact that three numbers from the 18-song set come from 2020’s Made of Rain – the band’s first studio album since 1991 – shows the Furs’ enthusiasm to keep exploring, keep moving forward. No-One, with its twin guitar lines and sinister lyrics – Halloween, fittingly, is mentioned – the mournful widescreen ballad Wrong Train, and, particularly, The Boy That Invented Rock And Roll, sound as potent as anything else on offer. That’s no mean feat given a stirring version of President Gas – surely one of the great unheralded protest songs, its lyrics arguably never more relevant – “Open up your eyes just to check that you’re asleep again” bites to the bone in 2025.

Always capable of mixing the muscular with the melodic, the rippling menace that originally marked the Furs out from the pack is brilliantly propelled by Bowie alumnus Zack Alford on drums, his inventive crashing beats providing the perfect punctuation for Butler’s staccato delivery.

A special word for long-time live Fur Amanda Kramer on keyboards, who adds excellent backing vocals, not least on a haunting version of My Time. Though the crowd – noticeably varied in age – are here for a good time, the band are here to ensure it. Pretty In Pink, almost by contractual obligation, is played, as well as a gorgeous rendition of The Ghost In You. A minor hit that should have been massive, it’s a textbook example of the Furs’ command of light and shade, where Butler’s training in fine art makes perfect sense.
Old favourites Mr Jones – lyrics as fascinatingly impenetrable as ever – It Goes On, the pounding, brutal rhythm backed by the fabulous squeal of duelling guitars and Run And Run also appear.

Warmed up by spirited support from Anja Huwe – the veteran singer of ’80s Peel faves X-Mal Deutschland appearing no less mobile or well-preserved than Butler – the mood shifts noticeably halfway through the set. During a brilliant version of Love My Way, almost as if by collective decision, the audience rise. They don’t sit down again.

Clearly hardened by constant gigging, the band is as tight as the imaginary leash on which Butler yanks guitarist Peter DiStefano to the front of the stage during a rousing, sprawling encore of the timeless India. “Please me, please me, please me, please me,” he intones, before releasing him to whirl around, essaying some hugely impressive guitar pyrotechnics. On a night traditionally known for the return of lost souls, the Furs’ beautiful chaos, once brilliantly described by Butler as “glam-punk rock with good lyrics”, really does feel forever now.

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You can find The Psychedelic Furs online here

All words by Steve Morgan. Steve can be found on BlueSkysocial here 

All photos by Naomi Dryden-Smith:  Louder Than War  | Facebook  |Twitter  | Instagram  | portfolio