I’ve long believed that the news doesn’t really reflect the world as it is. If you judged life purely by headlines, you’d think everything was cruel, broken and beyond repair. But most people, I reckon, are decent and kind, and gigs like this remind you why that matters. Beans On Toast at the Hare And Hounds had plenty to say about the state of things, of course, but more than that it felt like an argument for humanity itself. Jay McAllister has long had the gift of making huge ideas sound like they belong in ordinary conversations, and ordinary lives sound like they might just mean everything. Here, with the Beans On Toast Band around him, those songs felt fuller, warmer and, in places, even more pointed than before.
Before the main event, Bassie Gracie proved a compelling presence in her own right. All passion and skill, her words felt perfect for this crowd. Left wing, yes, but more than that they were about finding the humanity in things. Clever, funny, and delivered with the sort of ease that makes something difficult seem natural, it was exactly the right start.
Ruth Lyon was just as affecting. With piano and a haunting voice, “Going Down Easy” set the tone. “Paper Aeroplane” was emotional, written for her great aunt’s funeral, and “Seasons” drew on a dark period in her life. “Hill,” set on Lindisfarne, was about how far you follow a friend down a bad path, while “Covered” offered a happier moment, written about her favourite tree. “Wicker Man” had that rich folk voice at its heart, and “Clown” was about talking to your inner clown, a lovely phrase in itself. Then there was “Seeds,” for anyone who’s been fucked over by someone they love, before Lyon laughed that you probably shouldn’t do it to anyone who writes songs.
We also learned from Lyon that McAllister is, apparently, exactly the sort of bloke you want at your side when things need doing. He gets shit done. That sense of warmth and solidarity carried straight into the headline set, because this was never merely a solo artist backed by a few players. This felt like a bunch of mates.
“The Great North Road” opened things with its familiar call to “make art,” and with Gracie’s contribution fitting in beautifully, it immediately made clear that the songs had gained a new breadth. “Pelican Crossing” followed, wrestling with overengineering and division in the AI age, before “Gods, Children and Robots” and “The War on War” underlined just how sharp McAllister can be. The latter felt especially poignant with the world apparently lurching towards catastrophe, but his answer remains gloriously Beans On Toast: get all the world leaders high. The joke lands, of course, but the song hits harder than that, and the band gave it a fresh edge.
“M.D.M.Amazing” had a new sheen, too. As I’ve written before, I don’t even like taking Rennies, but the song is cool as hell. “The Glastonbury Oak” was one of the night’s real joys, all about finding beauty in the small things, which is one of McAllister’s greatest strengths as a writer. It was catchy in exactly the way the new album often is, and a solo from guitarist Memphis Gerald only added to the sense of lift. “I’m Home When You Hold Me” was a love song, he said, and given the warmth with which McAllister talks about his family, it felt like the emotional centre of everything he does. Ruth Lyon’s fiddle gave it a lovely folk character. “That’s Why I Don’t Drink Tequila Anymore” was huge fun too, albeit with a dark streak running through it, and naturally it turned into a singalong.
Newer material kept its footing easily. “A Real Rock N Roller,” about the woman McAllister bought his house from, someone who had clearly lived a life, had one of those hook lines that tells you more than it first seems to. “Still in love with the music” may well be about her, but you suspect it’s about him too. Then there was a genuine moment of occasion as he played “Ballad Of The Devil’s Backbone Tavern” by his hero Todd Snider for the first time ever, before stripping things back for “Myths and Legends,” just him and a piano.
“A Beautiful Place” was dedicated to Zach Polanski, described from the stage as “the only person offering hope in the whole world,” which tells you plenty about McAllister’s worldview. “Send Me a Bird” was poignant, dealing with the ones we’ve lost, “Big Night Out in Shrewsbury” came with the charm of a true story well told, and “Watching the World Go By” sounded like contentment itself. “World Gone Crazy,” meanwhile, turned the collapse of civilisation into something close to rock ’n’ roll celebration, because if you’re going to document the mess, you may as well make it memorable.
And that, really, is the point. Beans On Toast remains a protest singer, but never in a way that forgets people are people first. He is furious, funny, affectionate, romantic, and always looking for the little things that stop life collapsing entirely. When he sings “don’t forget the little things,” it isn’t some throwaway line. It is the whole philosophy. By the time “Life” and “State of the Union” wrapped things up, the latter making far more sense in far less time than the orange-faced prick managed the other week, the room felt united by something bigger than a setlist.
This was a show about friendship, family, protest, humour and humanity. The Beans On Toast Band gave the songs a richer, more textured setting, but the message stayed the same. “Our pride is our protest,” came the line, and it felt like the perfect summary of a set that managed to be warm, funny, defiant and deeply human all at once. On this showing, McAllister remains one of the very best at sending the good news out.
