Virgin Prunes were the gold standard, no matter how incredible the Dublin gig. I recall Jockey Slut sailed a ferry across the Irish Sea and threw a rave on the River Liffey with Doc Scott, James Lavelle and Fat Boy Slim for Chrissakes – “Ah, you should have seen Virgin Prunes in their prime,” they dismissed.

Gavin Friday at Vicar St., Dublin 10.4.2025 Copyright Colm Kelly

Tonight, Gavin Friday is still the gold standard. We are gifted a glimpse into his Prunes’ prime over the crazy course of just two of their tracks, as he and his rather wonderful band pulverise ‘Sandpaper Lullaby’ and ‘Caucasian Walk’ into a divinely inspired glossolalic spectacular of nightmarish, cacophony causing veteran Prune-gazers to bawl from the balconies. Friday, like a man trying on and discarding characters, at song’s end, deadpans, “Well, I’m glad I got that off my chest.” The mob roars in relief.

Damn, that wasn’t even the peak of the gig. I don’t know what was to be honest, but ‘Lamento’ is a serious dog in that fight, with Friday’s shadow glowing against a blood red backdrop, masterly delivering its deadly fusion of disco, gospel, kosmische Musik and Alessandroni-fused choral arrangements. Or so the album review goes, but record and live monster are two distinct beasts here, the inner and outer self; there is no comparison, do go buy the record, its boss, but really, Friday must be witnessed in the flesh.

Gavin Friday at Vicar St., Dublin 10.4.2025 Copyright Colm Kelly

It’s been over a decade since Gavin Friday graced a Dublin stage as Gavin Friday, but he strolls out and plunges into ‘Lovesubzero’ like he was just out getting the paper, vocalist and multi-instrumentalist Carly Carlsbad preceding him donned in fine costume and capped with marvellous cornette, adding to the proto-religious ambience of proem track ‘Miserere’ that Friday soon blows away.

Every track from new album Ecce Homo, with I believe one exception, is more than aired tonight and the sound quality matches Dave Ball’s exquisite record production, the beats perfectly replicating their diamond cut brutishness. That’s one thing. Quite another, is the space that Friday’s band create for their woodwind and string instruments: one second, we’re in Larry Levane’s loft, the next in Mahler’s chambers, the brilliant juxtaposition of orchestra and pulsing beats on ‘Stations of the Cross’ being exhibit A.

Gavin Friday at Vicar St., Dublin 10.4.2025 Copyright Colm Kelly

A small table and chair with bottle of wine and glass which Friday sups from on occasion, becomes a fourth wall smasher, as he lounges back and regales, jests and informs us about the influence of Brel, Bolan, Bowie and Weill. The latter’s fingerprints are all over ‘Apologia’, Friday wonderfully transforming the stage into The Eldorado on Motzstrasse during the Weimar era, his form backlit, his face shadowy, Carlsbad veiled now, clashing finger cymbals adding to the quasi-religious frenzy.

‘Lady Esquire’ is dedicated to old friend and mentor Hal Willner and sparks a jovial conversation between Friday and the Vicar St. audience about the geographical demarcation of Dublin City, Gavin having the final say, faux-serious jesting – “I don’t give a fuck if you think we don’t come from Ballymun, we do!” And into Ballymun we trek, a Ziggy-inflected trudge into the seven towers: the metamorphic tune – “Make me a Virgin Prune” – has the building dancing. Pilgrimaging even further back, Gavin introduces ‘Amaranthus (Loves Lies Bleeding)’, calling out to Aunties Kay, Carmel and Enda who are in attendance, and speaks beautifully about their sister, his dear mother, who recently passed.

Gavin Friday at Vicar St., Dublin 10.4.2025 Copyright Colm Kelly

The Lypton Village origin story is fully developed on ‘When the World Was Young’, with Friday shouting out to the “Boy from number 140, the boy from number 5, the boy from number 10” – the massively influential artists of Cedarwood Road. ‘Cabarotica’ describes the same boys’ flight to London’s early-1980s Soho. The spirit of Lydon, Levene & Wobble’s PIL bubbling under the surface throughout, is wildly unleashed on ‘Daze’ – leading to the sublime ‘Angel’, which is glorious under the swirling lights of the giant disco ball. And in a puff, he’s gone, a magic trick, before returning to gambol with his imaginary dogs on ‘The Best Boys in Dublin’. Ecce Homo!