The night before Halloween, a whip-crack wind stalked the streets of Cowgate. The weather had curdled, and something dark had crept into Sneaky Pete’s – a creature borne on a wave of doom-drenched gothic riffs and monolithic psych-surf. On this unholiest of eves, The Wytches had been summoned to Edinburgh.

Originating from Peterborough by way of Brighton, the band have haunted British rock since 2014, when they released their now cult-classic debut Annabel Dream Reader on Heavenly Recordings. The album drew comparisons to Bleach-era Nirvana and the rawer side of Sonic Youth. All Your Happy Life followed in 2016, and Three Mile Ditch in 2020 (the latter self-released on the band’s own label, Cable Code Records). Alcopop! Records then issued 2023’s Our Guest Cannot Be Named, and finally this year’s Talking Machine, the record The Wytches are currently touring behind.

With each release, the band have evolved subtly, experimenting at times with Morricone-esque tremolo guitars here, or a flash of Beatles jangle there. Yet throughout their discography, one thing remains constant: a fascination with the macabre and horror-infused, lending their music an ever-present gothic edge.

First off though, we had Newcastle’s Melanie Baker supporting. She led an enthusiastic four-piece that delivered a bittersweet set of heartfelt slacker-rock indie. Her songs carried a raw, anxious charm, with lyrics ranging from reflections on quitting her job to chase a music career to the surreal existential comedy brought on by finding an infestation of slugs in your flat. The venue’s lights malfunctioned partway through, leaving portions of the set in near darkness. Somehow though, the half-lit stage and makeshift atmosphere only amplified the intimacy and unpolished sincerity of her performance, exactly the kind of offbeat moment that makes a support slot feel special.

It may have been the weather, or perhaps the fact it was a school night, but as endearing as Melanie Baker’s set was, by the end the audience felt just a little cold. Sneaky’s was only half full, and Melanie herself remarked, “You’re a bit quiet for a rock show, but that’s alright!” However, in the time between the support ending and the headliners taking the stage, the cramped walls of Sneaky Pete’s had filled to bursting.

There was no time for introductory banter. The Wytches launched straight into the title track from Talking Machine — a twelve-string psych boogie, bass-driven and swaying, with a rhythmic swing that built steadily toward a thunderous landslide of a riff. The crowd responded instantly, heads nodding and bodies shifting in time. But it wasn’t until the band followed up with the twisted jangle of debut-era classic ‘Robe for Juda’ that things truly ignited. A wailing, gothic masterpiece of acidic guitar, the song lurched between bleak, grime-caked choruses and a nightmarish breakdown that could have slipped from an early Swans record.

Another new cut followed, ‘Black Ice’ — a track that wears the band’s love of heavier Nirvana on its sleeve, albeit laced with ’60s-style “ooo”s and “aah”s that softened the edges. After a brief pause to catch our breath, and for frontman Kristian Bell to offer a simple hello, the haunting chordal intro of one of their most iconic songs, ‘Wire Frame Mattress’, began to ring out. With its perfect shout-along riff, and a second-half switch that sounded like the theme tune to an alternate version of Hawaii Five-O set in hell, it rounded off a blitzkrieg start to a set that refused to let up.

The one-two punch of old and new songs continued throughout the night. The band seemed determined to give Talking Machine its due while still offering the crowd plenty of beloved classics. A mid-set highlight came in the form of an unholy trinity: ‘C-Side’ from All Your Happy Life, the new-album standout ‘Perform’, and one of the band’s earliest and still most emotionally resonant tracks, ‘Fragile Male for Sale’.

The night built to a tumultuous end with two cuts from 2020’s Three Mile Ditch: ‘Meat Chuck’ and an encore of ‘White Cliffs’. The former found the band at their most feral; a blistering blast of ferocious thrash that seized you by the back of the skull and shook loose any concern for how much damage all that headbanging might do. Pure chaos, designed to turn audiences brains to soup. This contrasted devilishly with ‘White Cliffs’, one of The Wytches’ most melodically layered songs. Evoking shades of Elliott Smith or Bright Eyes in its melancholic songwriting, it built to a surprisingly heartfelt and emotional close to the night.

With Talking Machine, The Wytches have revealed a new depth and maturity in their songwriting. It’s a record that balances their trademark menace with an unexpected tenderness, and a charming garage rock grit. This performance felt like the perfect companion to that evolution.