The Coral A Psychedelic Love-In of Scouse Proportions at Manchester's Albert Hall
Albert Hall, Manchester – 23rd October 2026
WORDS HARRY K / IMAGES JESSICA DEFFERD
Manchester was getting a proper battering from Storm Austen on Friday night, but inside the Albert Hall, The Coral were creating a storm of their own. Crisp, fuzzy guitars, melodies that seemed to tumble over one another and a crowd so appreciative you'd think the band had personally soundtracked every significant moment of their lives.
This was a psychedelic love-in of Scouse proportions.
From the opening notes, the thing that struck you was the sound. The guitars were gloriously crisp and fuzzy in equal measure, cutting through the Albert Hall with that unmistakable Coral mixture of garage-rock grit and psychedelic sweetness. Riffs chimed, buzzed and twisted around the melodies, never settling for the obvious when there was another musical rabbit hole to disappear down. It was beautifully messy stuff, with enough precision to keep everything on track and enough fuzz to stop it becoming too bloody respectable.
And the melodies! The Coral have always understood that psychedelia works best when there's a proper tune lurking beneath the swirling guitars. For all the musical oddities and sonic detours, there's a pop instinct at the heart of this band that many of their contemporaries would kill for.
James Skelly and the lads weren't simply playing songs to a Manchester audience; they were conducting a communal singalong that occasionally threatened to drown the band out. The crowd lapped it up, singing along to the big hitters with the sort of enthusiasm usually reserved for old friends reunited over several pints. These weren't people politely applauding from the sidelines. They were fully invested, every chorus seemingly another excuse to throw themselves headlong into the music.
What was particularly striking was the response to the newer material. You might expect the familiar favourites to bring the house down, but the audience appeared just as ready for the more recent songs, singing along as though they'd been part of the band's repertoire for years. There's something rather wonderful about that. It suggests a following that hasn't simply turned up to relive the early 2000s, but has continued listening, buying the records and travelling alongside the band as they've wandered further into their own peculiar musical universe.
And what a universe it is. The Coral have always sounded like they've been rifling through a record collection belonging to somebody who disappeared in 1968, taking in psychedelic pop, garage rock, soul and rhythm and blues before emerging with something distinctly their own. Those influences were all there in the guitars: sharp-edged when they needed to be, gloriously fuzzy when the moment demanded it, and always serving the melody rather than disappearing up their own psychedelic backside.
There's a looseness to their music that makes it feel alive. The instruments breathe, the rhythms roll and the arrangements have room for those little flourishes that separate a Coral song from the mass-produced indie racket. This is music made by people who understand that a great tune doesn't need to be polished until every last trace of character has been scrubbed away.
The Albert Hall was a fitting setting, too. Its towering architecture gave the whole affair a suitably grand atmosphere, while the noise coming back from the audience made the place feel less like a concert venue and more like one enormous gathering of the converted. There was warmth in the room, a genuine affection between band and audience that no lighting rig or expensive stage production could manufacture.
The Coral have been around long enough to become a nostalgia act if they'd wanted to. They could wheel out the old favourites, collect their applause and head home. Instead, they continue to make new music and take it to audiences who seem more than happy to follow them. That willingness to embrace the present, rather than live permanently in the past, is what gives Friday night's singalongs their real significance.
Because beneath all the fuzz and psychedelic colour, The Coral remain a brilliant pop band. They know how to construct a melody, how to make guitars sparkle and snarl in the same breath, and how to turn a room full of strangers into a choir of people who suddenly seem to know one another.
Outside, Storm Austen was doing its best to blow Manchester into the next county. Inside, The Coral had created their own little weather system: warm, noisy, slightly hallucinogenic and full of people singing their bloody hearts out.
Crisp guitars, fuzzy edges, great tunes and a crowd that clearly wasn't ready to leave the party.
A psychedelic love-in of Scouse proportions? Absolutely. And long may the madness continue.
SET LIST (BASED ON PREVIOUS SHOWS ON THE TOUR)
Bill McCai
Pass It On
Simon Diamond
Faceless Angel
Lover Undiscovered
Watch You Disappear
People Are Strange
(The Doors cover)
That’s Where She Belongs
Faraway Worlds
Leave It in the Past
Crossing the Sands
Ride That Train
In the Rain
Jacqueline
In the Morning
Holy Revelation
ENCORE
Goodbye
(with extended jam)
Dreaming of You
CONNECT WITH THE CORAL
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