The Darkness Gets Serious About Rock and Roll at Saint Andrews Hall in Detroit
Detroit Michigan(September 17.2025)-When the UK rock legends The Darkness stormed Saint Andrew’s Hall on Wednesday night, the Motor City got exactly what it signed up for: a sweaty, unruly, and completely unfiltered rock spectacle. Touring behind Dreams on Toast, their first record in three years, the British quartet proved they are not a nostalgia act clinging to one hit but a living, combustible force that treats every stage like a circus ring—equal parts danger and comedy with a powerful serving of rock and roll leading the way.
The band took the stage after their cheeky intro tape of ABBA’s “Arrival,” a tradition as absurd as it is brilliant, because nothing says “prepare yourselves” like a disco string section before a wall of guitars. Justin Hawkins appeared first, in a black silk shirt and grinning like a cat about to dismantle the room, while his brother Dan strapped in with the opening riff of a new cut “Rock and Roll Party Cowboy.” It was a strange yet perfect curtain-raiser that instantly pulled the packed venue into The Darkness’ unique and unfiltered world of rock and roll.
From there, it was no mercy. “Growing on Me,” arrived early and the entire floor sang so loudly it nearly drowned Justin out. “Get Your Hands Off My Woman,” followed, a glorious mix of comedy and primal scream therapy, with Justin flipping into his trademark headstand on the drum riser while Rufus Tiger Taylor pounded the kit beneath him like it was a blood sport. The song became less performance and more ritual, with hundreds of Detroiters screaming its obscene refrain like a cleansing.
The 20 song set-list hit surprisingly hard and fast. “Mortal Dread,” dragged the room into darker territory, its riffs thundering like some glam-metal requiem, before “Motorheart,” yanked the flow back into high gear. Midway through, Justin teased a few lines of “Crimson and Clover,”—a sly nod to Detroit’s own Tommy James—before detonating the intro of “Walking Through Fire.” That track came with a ridiculous but somehow perfect audience participation routine: Justin marching in place, demanding the crowd do the same. The pit obliged, turning Saint Andrew’s into a synchronized stomp, equal parts chaos and comedy.
“Barbarian,” pushed everything heavier, its scintillating riff shaking deep into the rafters, while “Love Is Only a Feeling,” slowed the madness into something unexpectedly tender. Justin’s falsetto became the highlight and for a moment the sweaty crowd swayed instead of screamed. Of course, sentiment doesn’t last long at a Darkness gig—“Givin’ Up,” ripped it apart, sending beer cups flying across the hall as Frankie Poullain’s bass lead the chaos.
The middle stretch flexed some of the band’s deeper cuts. “Every Inch of You,” came with sharp precision and a mean undercurrent, Dan Hawkins holding the rhythm down with a no-nonsense riffs while Frankie stalked his side of the stage like a silent provoker. “Heart Explodes,” was like a glam-goth confessional, its drama cutting straight through Justin’s showboating. “The Longest Kiss,” was all over, shifting between restraint and power chords, showing that the band can stretch a moment without losing their grip.
“Friday Night,” snapped everyone back into party mode, the crowd clapping along with off-beat abandon, turning the general admission floor into a chorus line of badly timed handclaps and drunken harmonies. Then came “Japanese Prisoner of Love,” which was pure rock and roll bliss. Perfectly layered riffs with pounding bass lines. It’s one of those songs that proves The Darkness aren’t just clown princes of falsetto—they can write bruisers, too.
And then the inevitable: the opening lick of “I Believe in a Thing Called Love.” Phones shot into the air, voices cracked from screaming and Saint Andrew’s turned into a communal choir of Detroiters howling a song that has somehow survived two decades of commercials, karaoke bars and wedding receptions without losing its charge. Live, blasted at obscene volume, it still feels like lightning in a bottle.
The well earned encore only deepened the insanity. The Darkness returned after a well deserved breather with a ripper “Black Shuck,” a Permission to Land relic that roared with demonic energy and had Justin strutting across the stage like a demented exorcist. Then came their show-stealing tribute to Queen with “Fat Bottomed Girls.” With Rufus pounding the drums like his father Roger surely taught him, Frankie laying down the groove, and Justin channeling his best Freddie Mercury strut, it wasn’t just a cover—it was homage delivered with sweat and sincerity. The audience screamed along as if Queen themselves had been resurrected in downtown Detroit.
Finally, the closer: “I Hate Myself.” Raw, messy, unpolished, and exactly what the night demanded. It was a breakdown disguised as a finale, the last exhalation of a band that had left every ounce of energy on the stage. By the end, Justin was shirtless, Rufus was practically standing on his drum stool, Frankie grinned through his mustache like a man who knew they’d conquered the room and Dan remained the band’s quiet assassin—still hammering riffs as if the building wasn’t already demolished.
What separates The Darkness from so many of their peers on nights like tonight is the way they balance parody, sincerity and a serious dose of rock and roll without collapsing into either. They know rock and roll is ridiculous— headstands, guitar faces, falsetto shrieks—and they embrace it without shame. But beneath the absurdity is serious craftsmanship: airtight riffs, unrelenting grooves, and hooks sharp enough to lodge in your skull. They can detour into a Queen classic or tease a Tommy James snippet without losing their identity because their own catalog is strong enough to stand shoulder to shoulder with their heroes. Detroit didn’t just get a concert Wednesday, it got a carnival, a revival and a full-body workout. The Darkness left Saint Andrew’s Hall drenched in sweat and disbelief, proving once again that rock still has its jesters, and sometimes the jesters are the only ones telling the truth.
