Jehnny Beth @ BOOM, Leeds, 21/03/26

A Leeds show unravels through carelessness and conflict — but Jehnny Beth still delivers

something fierce and unfiltered.

Finding BOOM isn’t straightforward. Set on an industrial estate on the outskirts of Leeds, it’s the kind of venue you question whether you’re heading the right way until you hear sound bleeding into the night. Small, cramped and unforgiving, it puts everyone, band, crowd and photographers, into the same tight space. There’s no distance, and no margin for error.

Support came from North East outfit Benefits, whose set was built on confrontation. Spoken-word pieces barked out over distorted beats and sheets of noise, cutting through the room with sharp intent. The themes were blunt: frustration with the state of the country, anger at empty gestures and performative patriotism, repeated digs at people “putting flags up.” It wasn’t subtle, and it didn’t need to be. The delivery was physical, loud and relentless, with the crowd already beginning to surge in the tight space.

That movement led directly to the night’s turning point. An older man next to me, visibly drunk, placed his pint on the low stage, right beside a pedalboard set up for Jehnny Beth’s band. Someone nearby warned him it would get knocked. He ignored it. Within minutes, as he moved around during Benefits’ set, the beer spilled all over the equipment. He left for the toilet soon after and didn’t come back.

When Beth’s guitarist arrived to set up, the reaction was immediate. The pedalboard had taken a direct hit. Frustration turned into anger quickly, and he left the stage to speak to the rest of the band. What had been background noise suddenly became the main issue.

At 8:30pm, Jehnny Beth came out looking more fierce than normal and went straight into Broken Rib, one of several tracks scheduled from the You Heartbreaker, You album. The mood was clear from the start. She was not in a forgiving frame of mind. Her focus quickly shifted to the front row. Too many older men, too many cameras. The three photographers, myself included, were waved off or physically moved aside. Then she called for women to come forward. Not as a gesture, but as a correction. She stepped into the audience herself, pulling people into position, resetting the space on her own terms. The performance that followed felt sharper, more direct. Every movement had intent, every line delivered with force. In a room with barely any lighting, it added to the sense of intensity, harsh, immediate and difficult to capture. Then after around five songs, she stopped.

The band’s gear had been damaged. They couldn’t play everything the way it was meant to sound. She put it to the crowd plainly: “Do we walk off, or will you show us some love and we will continue”. The response was immediate: STAY.

They carried on, but the setlist didn’t survive intact. Songs were dropped, the structure altered, and the night never quite recovered its intended shape. Still, what they played came through with weight. Stripped of some of its technical precision, the set felt rougher, more exposed, but no less committed. It pushed the atmosphere from frustration into something heavier. What had already been a disrupted show ended on a sour note, with the sense that the night had taken more from the band than it gave back.

Then, later, another issue surfaced: merchandise had been stolen too.

Jehnny Beth didn’t hold anything back on stage. Even with setbacks, the performance stayed focused and forceful. But the combination of damaged equipment, a shortened set and theft leaves a lasting impression for all the wrong reasons. It’s hard to imagine this Leeds show sitting well in the memory.