Live Review: Mono – Gorilla, Manchester
31st October 2025
Words & Photos: Rich Price
It’s Halloween night in Manchester, and I make my way through the streets already geared up to party with monsters and mayhem galore. I’m heading to the Gorilla venue, which I’ve not visited for quite a number of years. Conscious that it had undergone a makeover since my last visit, I was pleasantly surprised to find it definitely upgraded but having lost none of its charm, except maybe the signature wall of gasometers, which had either been removed or were now obscured by black fabric.
The room filled steadily, comfortably busy but never cramped, every foot of floor space claimed by those in the know. On a night when Manchester had quite a number of gigs on at the same time, this one felt like it was going to be something special.
Opening the evening was Glasgow’s Kevin Daniel Cahill, a solo guitarist who occupied the front of the stage surrounded by looping pedals and a small forest of cables. His sound was tranquil and patient, each phrase unfurling in layers that built to slow, luminous swells. The unrequested ambient hum of the railway line being picked up through the single humbucker seemed eager to join in. Rather than spoiling the set, the hum occasionally merged with his tones to create a sense of oceanic rhythm, a happy accident of venue acoustics that lent the music extra texture.
Cahill’s concentration, despite the railway’s attempt at karaoke, was total, every motion deliberate, his face lit softly by pink light. Between songs, his modest banter drew a few smiles; he’s the kind of performer whose sincerity wins you over long before the final note fades. For a single musician with one guitar, the set felt vast, lush, meditative, and quietly commanding.
After a very brief changeover, the lights dropped and MONO took to the stage, backlit with such intensity as to be physically painful at times, their silhouettes moving against the shifting beams of light. The opening notes of Run On started the long building tension and intensity before swelling into beauty and release.
What followed was a 90-minute masterclass in tension and release. We All Shine On, Innocence, Sorrow and Recoil, Ignite unfolded like movements in a symphony rather than individual songs. The sound was superb, enormous yet intricate, every guitar wash and cymbal shimmer suspended in perfect balance beneath the railway arch.
In the quieter passages, the ever-present hum of passing trains threaded through the silence, a faint industrial drone underlining the fragility of the moment. Nobody spoke. Not once. The entire room stood still, heads bowed, gently swaying as if under hypnosis. MONO aren’t afraid of silence; they let it breathe, turning stillness into part of the composition, moving along in their own space and time.
Throughout Ashes in the Snow the lights flared crimson and the music seemed to stretch time itself. From the mezzanine, where I’d retreated after photographing the opening numbers, I could see the audience as one slow tide, moving in synchronisation with the band. There was a palpable warmth in the room, a kind of collective reverence. For me, this was deeply personal. Hymn to the Immortal Wind remains one of my favourite albums, and hearing those textures live felt like standing inside the music’s source.
As the set reached Time Goes By, red light bathed the room, applause bleeding seamlessly into the encore. Only then did guitarist Takaakira Goto finally speak, his quiet thank you barely audible above the long, satisfied roar. The closing piece, fierce, percussive, almost cosmic, sent a physical tremor through the mezzanine floor, a heartbeat that lingered as the final notes dissolved into silence.
Stepping back outside was a jolt, the calm replaced by Halloween chaos, partygoers spilling onto Whitworth Street in full costume as venue staff began hanging decorations behind me. After the transcendence inside, it felt like crossing from cathedral to carnival. Yet I walked out light, heart open, still riding the echo of that wall of sound.
MONO don’t simply perform; they create moments that suspend time. For ninety minutes in the arches beneath the railway, they made the noise of the world, trains, city, and everything else, part of something serene, majestic, and profoundly human on a night dedicated to monsters.
Photo Credits: Rich Price Photography
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