There are certain things in life that simply refuse to disappear.
Keith Richards, potholes on Scottish roads, and that one bloke at every gig who decides the best place to stand is directly in front of you despite being approximately seven foot four.
And then, there’s Magnum.
Nearly five decades after they first appeared, and following the devastating loss of guitarist, songwriter and musical mastermind Tony Clarkin in 2024, you could have forgiven everyone involved for deciding that enough was enough.
But nope. Bob Catley apparently hasn’t received the memo about retirement.
So here we are at The Garage in Glasgow on a Friday night, packed into a room with several hundred other people who also appear to have decided that growing old gracefully sounds absolutely bloody awful.
First up are Grand Slam.
Now, if the name immediately makes you think of Phil Lynott, congratulations – you know your rock history and can award yourself a biscuit.
Grand Slam were originally formed by Lynott following the breakup of Thin Lizzy, and guitarist Laurence Archer remains the link between that original band and the one standing in front of us tonight.
The problem with having Phil Lynott anywhere in your history is fairly obvious.
He’s Phil bloody Lynott. You don’t replace him. You don’t imitate him. And you definitely don’t wander onstage wearing leather trousers, grow some enormous sideburns and an afro.
Thankfully, vocalist Mike Dyer does none of those things.
Instead, Grand Slam sound like a proper, functioning rock band rather than five blokes performing an elaborate séance.
Nineteen gets things underway, and immediately Laurence Archer reminds everyone what a ridiculously good guitarist he is.
The Thin Lizzy DNA is obviously there – big melodies and choruses designed specifically for people holding plastic pint glasses above their heads – but Grand Slam have enough of their own personality to avoid becoming a nostalgia act.
Songs such as Spitfire, Crazy and Sisters of Mercy all hit the spot, while Dyer quickly wins over a crowd that, let’s face it, is predominantly here waiting for Bob Catley to start waving his arms around.
And there will be arm waving… Oh yes, there will be plenty of arm waving.
Before that, though, Grand Slam pull out Dedication, and then there’s Whiskey in the Jar.
At this point, every Glaswegian within approximately three postcodes suddenly believes they’re an auxiliary member of Thin Lizzy. Glasgow loves Thin Lizzy. Glasgow loves Whiskey in the Jar.
Glasgow also loves drinking whiskey from jars, bottles, glasses and presumably buckets if circumstances dictate. It goes down rather well!
Grand Slam leave having done considerably more than the traditional support-band job of entertaining everyone while they drink £7 pints and complain about how much £7 pints cost.
They were very good indeed.
Right then. Time for Magnum.
The lights go down, and the familiar keyboard intro to Days of No Trust begins, and what an absolutely magnificent song to open with.
Within approximately thirty seconds, Bob Catley is grinning, pointing, conducting the audience and performing enough hand gestures to successfully land a Boeing 747 at Glasgow Airport.
Bob is 79 years old.
Seventy. Nine.
I’m 23 years younger than Bob and occasionally make involuntary noises when getting off the sofa, yet here he is bounding around The Garage like someone’s told him there’s a free bar backstage but it closes in 90 minutes.
And his voice? Still unmistakably Bob Catley.
That warm, theatrical voice has always been such a massive part of Magnum’s sound, and while understandably it’s changed over the decades, he knows exactly how to use it.
Lost on the Road to Eternity follows before Wild Swan reminds you just how ridiculously many great songs Magnum have accumulated over the years.
That’s the problem when you’ve released albums since dinosaurs wandered around Birmingham. What the hell do you leave out?
When We Were Younger feels particularly appropriate these days.
Looking around the audience, “younger” appears to be doing quite a lot of heavy lifting.
There’s plenty of grey hair. There’s considerably less hair. But that’s the wonderful thing about bands like Magnum.
These songs have travelled through people’s lives with them.
You first heard them on vinyl. Then bought them again on CD. Then downloaded them. Then streamed them.
Basically, Magnum have successfully sold some of us the same songs four times, and fair play to them.
Of course, there’s an enormous elephant in the room.
Tony Clarkin.
Clarkin wasn’t simply Magnum’s guitarist. He wrote the songs. He created that unmistakable Magnum sound. He was essentially the architectural department behind the whole bloody thing.
His death in 2024 could easily have been the end, and to be fair, nobody would have complained.
So stepping into that position is probably somewhere between “difficult” and “I’d rather wrestle a crocodile wearing oven gloves.”
Enter Brendon Riley.
Importantly, Riley isn’t trying to be Tony Clarkin. That would never work.
Instead, as Clarkin’s former guitar technician, he understands these songs probably better than almost anyone outside the band, and he plays them with enormous respect while still bringing something of himself.
And that’s exactly how it should be.
Dennis Ward provides the bottom end, Rick Benton handles those enormous Magnum keyboard landscapes, while Thunder’s Harry James sits behind the kit hitting things very hard indeed.
It’s a bloody good band.
Run Into the Shadows represents Magnum’s more recent material before those unmistakable opening moments of How Far Jerusalem arrive.
Now we’re talking.
There are Magnum songs, and there are great Magnum songs.
And then there are songs like How Far Jerusalem.
This is where Bob goes into full theatrical mode – arms out, finger pointing, eyes wide, invisible objects being grasped from the air.
Nobody knows exactly what Bob is doing with his hands, possibly not even Bob.
But we bloody love him for it.
Then comes Soldier of the Line, another monster.
Magnum have always occupied a strange place in British rock. They’re hard rock, progressive rock, melodic rock and occasionally something resembling musical theatre performed by people who own Marshall amplifiers.
And somehow it works.
The Tall Ships provides another atmospheric moment before we reach the big one.
On a Storyteller’s Night.
Absolute perfection.
Released in 1985, it remains one of those songs where the first few notes are enough to transport an audience backwards through several decades.
Suddenly, people aren’t standing inside The Garage in 2026. They’re seventeen again, their hair has returned, their knees work properly, and a pint doesn’t require a small bank loan.
For six glorious minutes, everything is right with the world.
Midnight (You Won’t Be Sleeping) keeps things moving before All England’s Eyes and Vigilante continue what is becoming an increasingly ridiculous collection of songs.
Then comes Kingdom of Madness.
This dates back to 1978.
Nineteen seventy fucking eight!
For context, Star Wars had only just arrived, mobile phones were basically bricks used by millionaires, and Bob Catley presumably already owned the same waistcoat he’s wearing tonight.
Okay, perhaps not, but you wouldn’t bet against it.
Kingdom of Madness still sounds fantastic, and the crowd belts the chorus back at the stage with the enthusiasm of people who have absolutely no intention of having functioning vocal cords tomorrow morning.
Off they go, but obviously they’re coming back.
Nobody believes otherwise, and a couple of minutes later, they’re back.
Sacred Hour, another enormous Magnum chorus, fills The Garage before When the World Comes Down finally brings things to an emotional close.
Bob Catley and his bandmates are keeping Tony Clarkin’s songs alive because they still want to play them and, judging by the reaction inside The Garage tonight, people very definitely still want to hear them.
Eventually, there will come a night when Bob Catley waves those arms for the final time.
But thankfully, it wasn’t tonight.
So keep singing.
Keep pointing.
Keep conducting imaginary orchestras.
And keep that night light burning.
Because Glasgow certainly isn’t ready to turn it off yet.
Magnum: official | facebook | twitter/X | instagram
Grand Slam: official | facebook | instagram
