by Conrad Duncan
“It’s not very rock and roll is it? All this going out gracefully…” remarked the man in line behind me. He had a point; rock musicians are supposed to exit in a blaze of glory—through tragic death or explosive fallout—or embarrassingly, like aging dad-rockers U2. But then the woman beside him interjected: “Oh but they were never very rock and roll, were they?”
Wild Beasts were never a conventional rock band, even for the 2000s. Their rebellion, like any noteworthy band's, targeted the laddish indie rock tradition stretching from Oasis and The Libertines to the peak of Arctic Monkeys. Their lyrics explored sex and power, discovering elegance in crudeness and blending lush, fragile instrumentals with soaring melodies. Themes in Wild Beasts' music were similar to other rock acts—often about chasing romance or nursing heartache. Yet they infused these moments with a playful majesty, transforming frequently ribald narratives into poetic art.
Upon announcing their breakup in September of the previous year, many fans objected, while others felt a sense of relief. Their final record, Boy King, marked a radical shift toward aggressive, swaggering riffs, addressing masculinity through the lexicon of alphas, big cats, and tough guys. This direction troubled a portion of their audience.
The last time I caught them live, at a heavily criticized Green Man performance, they appeared to be a band nearing its end. The sly, parodic humor essential to Boy King failed to resonate with most attendees, who expressed disappointment that the band had turned into the very thing they once opposed. Only their earlier singles garnered enthusiastic responses. However, witnessing Wild Beasts perform at Hammersmith Apollo for almost two and a half hours, drawing from all five albums, felt entirely different. Indeed, if this weren't their final concert, one might believe they could continue for another ten years.
The setlist opener signaled a greatest-hits approach, beginning with a powerful trio: 'The Fun Powder Plot', 'The Devil’s Crayon', and 'Reach a Bit Further', highlighting the band's agile rhythms and refined guitar playing. Yet the 24-song set included surprises: 'His Grinning Skull' and 'Brave Bulging Buoyant Clairvoyants' were played for the first time since the Smother tour, earning thunderous applause. Other crowd-pleasers such as 'Deeper' and a stunning rendition of 'This is Our Lot' were warmly received.
Still, the evening's highlights were the major hits. Though Wild Beasts never achieved the commercial success of their peers, in that packed, electric venue, they conjured an alternate reality where they seemed like one of Britain's top acts. The tracks themselves hinted at that potential. 'Hooting And Howling' and 'Wanderlust', two of their finest compositions, were performed mid-set and greeted as if they were chart-topping singles. Even 'Get My Bang', their most polarizing single, received the elaborate stage production it always deserved, featuring confetti cannons and a bold light display.
Adding to the magic, Wild Beasts performed better than ever before. During songs from Two Dancers, drummer Chris Talbot—consistently the linchpin of their live performances—maintained those graceful, galloping rhythms with remarkable flair and power. Hayden Thorpe and Tom Fleming were in top form, having perfected their dual persona of delicate flirtation and raw desire, while Ben Little, the band's unsung hero, had quietly evolved into one of Britain's most creative and reliably outstanding guitarists over the group's lifespan.
Ultimately, amid a wealth of standout moments, three in particular left a lasting impression. The first was a breathtaking rendition of 'Lion’s Share' that concluded the initial set, with the audience roaring the final refrain as if it were 'Three Lions'. Thorpe seemed genuinely surprised by the overwhelming affection for such an odd, elegantly seductive track.
The other two occurred near the concert's conclusion. Following an exhilarating 'All the King’s Men', the band readied their farewell, which was simply: “Thank you and goodnight.” Then came the evening's most predictable yet deeply gratifying moment: the opening chords of 'End Come Too Soon'. It sounded magnificent, as it always does, but one image will endure: during the ambient pause before the song's euphoric peak, the band set down their instruments, embraced, and took their bows. After a concert that had delicately danced around the theme of endings, this was a cathartic release of emotion from four men who had grown into brothers over the past decade.
That would have been a perfect finale, but it wasn't the actual end. Instead, the last song featured a choir that accompanied them during the glorious final minutes of 'End Come Too Soon'. After the band exited, the choir launched into a lovely version of 'Cheerio Chaps, Cheerio Goodbye' from their debut album Limbo Panto. Admittedly, it wasn't a very rock-and-roll conclusion, yet it's hard to envision it unfolding differently.
Few bands manage to bow out at precisely the right moment, but Wild Beasts may have achieved that. As attendees streamed onto the streets, the atmosphere was bittersweet—everyone realized they had seen a brilliant band for the final time, yet what a way to say goodbye. It was so moving, so expertly executed, and so perfectly calibrated that a better ending was unimaginable. Oddly, I felt almost grateful that this would be the permanent conclusion.
Wild Beasts demonstrated to their fans exactly how they wished to be remembered, and the message was unmistakable. They were among the finest acts of their era—a group unlike any predecessor and one that will never be equaled. Did the end arrive too soon? Perhaps, but it couldn't have been more beautifully executed.
All photos by: Aino Väänänen.
