Gary Numan Turns Telekon Into a Battle Cry at an Emotion-Charged Bristol Beacon

Sam Holt
Nov 18, 2025
3 min read

Bristol Beacon, Sunday 16th November

WORDS & IMAGES SAM HOLT

Gary Numan Turns Telekon Into a Battle Cry at an Emotion-Charged Bristol Beacon — PHOTO CREDIT SAM HOLT

Gary Numan – Telekon 45th Anniversary Tour

Gary Numan hits Bristol mid-way through a sold-out UK run that follows a victorious sweep across the US. The irony is delicious: a man famously uninterested in nostalgia is now touring an album from 1980. But the Numanoids want what they want, and they’ve turned out in force to fill the freshly polished Victorian grandeur of The Beacon.

First up is Raven Numan, who arrives looking every inch the heir to the synth-goth throne. Backed by Ade Fenton on keys, she tears through 40 minutes that feel like a sleeker, smoother take on the family formula. Opening with Children of the Bad Revolution, she’s confident, commanding, and clearly winning over the Bristol faithful. Her voice is fantastic; her set lands hard.

At 9 p.m. sharp the room goes blood-red and the bass drops like a warning. Numan stalks out, and This Wreckage detonates. At 67, he moves with more energy and intent than most artists half his age—headbanging, prowling, bending himself into the music. The 2025 versions hit heavier, darker, more industrial, and the crowd is glued to every beat. He rips through Telekon in a reshuffled order, but nobody cares; the room is locked in.

The gorgeous Photograph gives bassist Tim a turn on extra synths, and then comes Please Push No More, the night’s emotional fault line. On Saturday, Numan broke down mid-song and had to be held by his wife, Gemma, after receiving devastating news. Tonight, it’s still raw. He slips to the back of the stage during the song, re-emerging to talk briefly. The crowd senses everything and responds with a roar of support.

The next day, Numan revealed what happened: after Friday’s show, he’d said goodbye to his brother John, only for John to suffer a suspected heart attack before reaching his car. The news hit Gary the following morning. “This tour is no longer a celebration of an album,” he posted. “It’s a tribute to John, my brother, the best brother a man could have.”

With that weight in the air, the show takes on a new shape. Numan even dusts off Like a B-Film, shrugging, “I don’t remember writing it, it’s sh*t, but let’s play it.” The crowd loves it anyway.

The main set roars through The Joy Circuit, I Die: You Die and We Are Glass—two cassette-only bonuses delivered here like they were always meant for the stage.

The encore punches straight back to Numan’s punk-synth beginnings. Three cuts from Tubeway Army’s debut, then a killer Down in the Park—still one of the finest dystopian anthems ever written and delivered tonight with icy precision.

Numan has spent decades evolving, refusing to be trapped by his past. But tonight he reclaims Telekon with muscle, mood, and a sense of purpose no anniversary tour usually carries. The lighting design is pure theatre—criss-cross beams, sweeping shadows, that classic Numan silhouette. Nostalgia? Maybe. But it’s nostalgia weaponised, sharpened, and re-engineered. A classic album, rebuilt for a darker world.

SET LIST