Review & Photography by Manny Manson for MPM
It was another one of those Wolverhampton nights where the cold doesn’t just sit in the air, it lays claim to the whole street outside KK’s Steel Mill, turning people into silhouettes hustling in through the doors because they know warmth and noise are waiting on the inside.
Sunday nights usually carry a different energy, the kind where people weigh up whether they’ve got it in them for a gig or whether they’ll stay home and nurse the early-week tiredness, Sunday is bath night after all. But this one had none of that hesitation. You could see it the second you stepped inside. Everyone was already leaning forward into the night before a single backline light had come on, and you could feel that hum of something brewing, something earnest and unpretentious that only happens when both bands on the bill treat the night like it’s sacred. And Soul Revival made that clear the moment their boots hit the stage.
Soul Revival, tonight’s opening band, are still in their infancy having only been formed in 2023. Musically they are old pro’s, their heavy rock infused classic rock style give them a contempory edge which is continuing to make seismic waves on the live scene, having very quickly established a firm fanbase across the West Midlands, it’s easy to see the raw emotion this band are generating.
You could see Steve Nun before you even fully registered; he’s the frontman, adorned in a leather jacket and Guns N’ Roses Christmas jumper bouncing the light back at the crowd, instantly establishing its own personality, as if the garment itself had walked in and demanded commentary. Steve kept referring to it as his undoing, the thing that was going to kill him by the end of the night, and honestly, halfway through the first song you could see why. Sweat poured off him like he was in the middle of a July festival instead of a late-November indoor show. The Jacket didn’t stay on for long! But, the thing about Steve is that he’s one of those vocalists who burns hot from the moment he opens his mouth. His presence isn’t curated or clever, its guttural, it’s physical, it’s honest, and the jumper only made it easier to see just how all-in he was.
Andy Dove stood just to the side of him, guitar strapped low, the kind of player whose physicality says as much as his tone. Andy isn’t a showboat, but he has the moves, he’s not the type to throw his hands up or run laps around the stage, ok maybe a little bit if he has a TV Yellow Les Paul in his hands, but he’s got that look, the expression of someone who knows exactly how much power sits under his fingertips. It’s there in every slide, every pick drag, every moment he leans back and squints before ripping into a hook that forces your chest to shake. Matt “Higgs” Higgins anchored the entire left side of the stage like he’d been welded to the floor, but the man’s bass lines carried half the weight of the room. He plays with that easy confidence and shapes, that comes from someone who knows when to stand still and when to let the instrument coax the song into a higher gear a lot like the great Billy Sheehan (if you saw Higgy’s moves that comment will make sense).
Karl Selickis on drums tied the whole thing together, sharp, tight, slightly behind the beat when he wanted the song to swagger but right on the neck of it when he wanted it to snap. Together they feel like a band that isn’t trying to be anything other than themselves, and that’s what made their set so effective.
They hit into Dark Shadows like they wanted to make sure the whole venue knew exactly who they were, even if half the crowd were seeing them for the first time. There’s something about the way they build a song, it doesn’t rely on theatrics or overselling, but rather on a constant pressure that keeps rising. Steve’s voice cut through the room with that faint rasp you only get when someone’s singing from somewhere lower than the chest, something more emotional and raw. Karl drove them forward with a tight snap in the snare, and Andy’s guitar lines wound around the beat like they were pulling the ceiling closer. By the time they moved into Kick Me to the Dirt, it felt like they had kicked the doors wide open. The song hit with the kind of momentum that makes the floorboards seem thinner, and Higgs’s bass thumped like it was trying to push the stage into a gallop.
Heart came next, and it was in this song that Steve really started to push himself into the kind of sweat-drenched frenzy that made his whole jumper saga even funnier to watch unfold. He stopped between lines to complain, half-laughing, half-dying, like he’d just realised he’d dressed for the wrong continent. But he never lost control of the vocals. Even while dabbing sweat away with whatever fabric wasn’t already soaked, he delivered the lines like they mattered, like the story of the song was more important than his own comfort, and that’s what made the crowd latch onto him.
Rockstar had Andy stepping forward into the light, letting his tone expand into the kind of melodic crunch that makes people instinctively lift their heads. The song felt like a slice of the band’s DNA, confident, riff-driven, and built for the stage. Drinking Games followed, a track that felt looser, more playful, almost like they let themselves breathe through it, and the crowd responded in kind. You could feel that gentle shift where a band stops being an opener and starts being a part of the night.
Outlaw took everything darker, heavier, giving Karl the room to strike harder, and the whole band leaned into that grit. Then came I Still Believe, their Christmas track, and suddenly the room erupted into a blur of red and white as Christmas hats were passed through the crowd. There’s something magical about that kind of moment, a Sunday night rock crowd willingly leaning into something daft and cheerful, knowing it was being recorded, knowing it would probably end up on social media, but embracing it anyway. Steve led the charge with that jumper still clinging to his body like a wet towel, and despite all the theatrics and sweat and joking, the song itself held a real warmth. It was genuine, heartfelt, the kind of holiday track that feels born from bar-room camaraderie rather than commercial shine.
They closed with Show Me the Right Way, and that’s when everything felt like it snapped into perfect focus. Andy pushed into the song like he’d been waiting for that moment all night, his guitar lines soaring over the drums, thick with emotion but never bloated. Higgs locked into him with a tightness that made the whole thing throb in the chest, and Steve absolutely tore into the final chorus like he was trying to outrun the jumper’s curse once and for all. When they walked offstage, you could feel the crowd fully acknowledging what they’d just witnessed, a local band not just holding their own but elevating the night before the headliner had even stepped into the wings.
And then came Jared James Nichols, bounding onstage with that kind of energy that instantly resets the room. The man has a presence that doesn’t need introduction, part Tennessee wildfire, part Wisconsin charm, part sheer physical force of a guitarist who plays like the guitar is both weapon and friend.
(In previous reviews I’ve lovingly likened Jared to Ted Nugent and Zakk Wyldes love child!) And the night took on that unmistakable shift as soon as he hit the first opening notes of Easy Come Easy Go, pulled from his self-titled 2023 album, and the room seemed to tighten around him, pulled in by the gravity he naturally radiates. He looked enormous onstage, and yet somehow that new signature Gibson Futura of his looked almost tiny in his hands, like he was playing a travel guitar.
But the sound… the moment he struck those first chords, you could hear the unmistakable clarity of the original PAFs, that warm, mid-rich snarl that only comes from pickups older than the majority of the crowd. He told me afterwards how much he loved the feel of them, how the guitar spoke differently under his touch, and you could hear that truth in every note, that singing sustain, that push-and-pull dynamic where the guitar sounds like it’s trying to leap forward but stays just barely reined in.
Hardwired, from the same 2023 record, landed with that thick groove Jared is known for, the kind that makes you nod before you even realise your head is moving. His right hand is its own show — a blur of pickless attack, digging directly into the strings with fingers that seem shaped by decades of bending steel. He pulls faces that say everything his words don’t, expressions of effort and joy and that electric sting of connection between a player and an audience.
Threw Me to the Wolves, from the 2022 EP, hit next, full of that emotional grit that makes the song feel like a confession shouted through an amp stack. Jared moved across the stage, leaning toward the crowd in a way that makes you feel like he’s playing at you rather than at the room. Way Back, from his 2017 album Black Magic, shifted the tone, letting the bluesier side of his style seep through. You could hear the years in that song, the journey from where he started to where he’s ended up, those thick bends pulling every ounce of tension into the air.
Ghost, is Jared’s latest single (3 released this year, Borderline an Nocturnal Sun being the other two) written with his good friend Tyler Bryant and recorded at Dave Grohl’s 606 Studios in L.A., slowed things down, letting the room hover in that eerie space between reflection and raw emotion. Pretend followed, (another from 2023,) smooth as melted copper, with Jared’s voice landing softer while his hands continued to push the guitar into emotional overdrive. Then came the moment everyone loves, the cover of Mountain’s Mississippi Queen.
The crowd already knew what was coming from the minute he shifted his posture into that cocked-hip, one-foot-forward stance he always takes before a classic riff. But the real spark came when Andy Dove stepped back onto the stage to join him.
There was a joy in that moment, the kind that can’t be faked, two players vibing off each other, pulling smiles out of thin air as they traded riffs like old friends. At one point Jared picks up one of Andy’s discarded guitar pics and carries on the song using it, stating “it’s the first time he’s used a pic, on stage, since he was 15,” he repeatedly looked at the green piece of plastic as he rocked out, before handing it back to Andy as a keep’s sake.
Good Time Girl from the 2023 album came in like a party anthem, and for most of the song it felt like the night’s high point, until partway through, Ryan Rice stood up from behind the kit and left the stage abruptly. You could see the confusion ripple across Jared’s face even while he kept playing, finishing the song because he’s a consummate professional but clearly not settled. As the last note rang out, he turned, looked at the empty drum riser, then at the crowd, clearly trying to work out what had happened. He noodled for a bit of Hendrix, drifting into little fragments of riffs, teasing Folly, playing a few throwaway licks, talking to the audience, asking if anyone knew what was going on backstage. It was the human side of him that came through strongest in these moments. He wasn’t putting on a show, he wasn’t pretending. He was worried. And that vulnerability made the room go quiet in a way no dramatic pause could ever achieve.
At one point he actually left the stage, guitar still around his neck, cables trailing behind him, just to check on Ryan personally. When he came back, the concern was painted all over him. The crowd was divided, some shouting for him to keep playing, others telling him to go back and check on his friend. The whole atmosphere shifted from the usual electric live-show chaos to something far more fragile, like everyone in the room had suddenly remembered that musicians aren’t just performers, they’re people with lives and friendships and worries.
He picked up again with Voodoo Child, the Hendrix cover he wears like a second skin, and Karl Selickis from Soul Revival stepped up behind the kit, that alone deserves its own ovation. And Karl did it justice, tight, steady, respectful to the groove while still adding that slight swagger that Soul Revival carry in their DNA. Jared tore into that song with a mix of passion and unease, pushing those bends into wilder shapes than usual, like he was channelling the worry straight into the strings.
After that he stripped everything back for Now or Never, (Old Glory & The Wild Revival, 2015), played completely solo, no rhythm section, no safety net. The vulnerability was there in every line, every look he cast toward the side of the stage. Nails in the Coffin, (the single from 2019)followed, again with just him alone, sounding even heavier without the band behind him, because the emotional weight filled the gaps where the drums and bass would usually sit. And after each song he checked in with the crowd, Are you all right? Is everyone okay? but the subtext was obvious: he wasn’t asking about the crowd. He was asking about Ryan.
Some crowd members shouted for him to keep playing, others to go and check on his mate. The tension in the room stretched thin, and you could feel the humanity of the moment outweighing the usual rules of live performance. Eventually the decision was made to cut the night short, and it was absolutely the right call. But before closing it, Jared pulled one last moment of fire out of the night, the Alice in Chains classic Man in the Box, (a 2023 cover) again with Karl stepping up on drums with barely any preparation. And credit where it’s due: the man smashed it. Two listens and he climbed behind the kit and delivered the kind of performance that bands spend days rehearsing for. The room shook with the weight of that song, and Jared dug deep into those riffs like he was trying to pour every emotion he felt into them.
When he finally left the stage and went to check on Ryan again, the crowd felt it, that heaviness, that concern. But then, in classic Jared James Nichols fashion, once he’d made sure things were being handled backstage, he came back out to the merch area. No grand entrance, no spotlight, just him standing there greeting every single person who wanted a photo, a handshake, a moment. It never feels like an obligation with him. There’s a sincerity in the way he interacts with people, a humility that makes you realise why he has the fanbase he does. Even after a night full of uncertainty, full of emotion, full of worry for his friend, he stood there like a man who truly values the connection he has with the people who come out to see him.
And now, with Glasgow postponed, the news of illness in the band only confirms that what we all saw wasn’t theatrics or exaggeration, it was real concern, real friendship, real humanity unfolding on a stage better known for decibels than vulnerability. But that’s the thing about nights like this. They remind you that the best live music isn’t just the polished moments. It’s the raw ones. The honest ones. The ones where sweat-drenched vocalists in Christmas jumpers nearly melt under stage lights, where guitarists trade joy in a Mountain cover, where a drummer hears a song twice then steps up and nails an Alice in Chains track, where a headliner stops everything because he loves his friend more than he loves applause.
It’s nights like this that stay with you. Nights where the music was only half the story. The rest was pure lionheart.
