Live Review: Biffy Clyro Palais Theatre

As we take our seats, attention is pulled toward an emo painted backdrop featuring some kind of hanging tree. The three OG Biffy Clyro members stroll on, topless already in anticipation of sweating bullets. There’s also two extra touring musicians – guitarist Mike Vennant and Richard Ingram, who spends most of his time on keys – and we immediately experience the band’s intense brutality.

Frontman Simon Neil announces that he wishes there were no seats in the venue, although on the plus side, he says, it means he can see every face. “I don’t mean to be rude...” Neil commences, before calling out a front-row geezer for remaining seated, demanding that he stand up “at least for one song” or alternatively move to the back. The frontman then remembers the next song they’re gonna play is a ballad, tells us so and has a bit of a chuckle. Neil straps his guitar on really high. They’re socks stuffed down his strides, aren’t they?

On stage, there’s lots of hair (except on bald drummer Ben Johnston), bare flesh and tats. Who’s Got A Match? (”I’m a fire and I’ll burn, burn, burn tonight”) ignites (as expected), showcasing the band’s high energy side. Biffy Clyro’s sensitive side – on perfect display later in the set via Many Of Horror (“When you hit me/Hit me hard”) – is equally impressive. They truly are a photographer’s dream – so many rock histrionics to capture! There’s a complete family outing in the row in front: parents plus three primary school-aged kids. Mum yells at the kids to stand up when they sit down and Dad demonstrates embarrassing dancing while resembling Graeme Garden from The Goodies. Some nearby super-fans know every single accent and time signature change, and they clap along to make themselves known. “This song’s called ‘Michael Jackson’s Monkey’,” Neil jests. The lads sweat so much it’s a surprise their tats don’t drip off.

The lads sweat so much it’s a surprise their tats don’t drip off.

Neil performs two solo acoustic tracks to kick off Biffy Clyro’s encore and then the full band joins him on stage for Stingin’ Belle”, complete with screamed out, “MUTHAFUCKERS!” Not only will those kiddies present have ringing ears, they might also share some colourful language in the playground tomorrow. Like true Scotsmen, Biffy Clyro make no apology: “We are BIFFY. FUCKIN’. CLYRO!” (Yep, this slogan is already available emblazoned across a T-shirt.) They close with Mountains. This band leave it all on the stage. Reserve tank? Also empty.