REVIEW: Luke The Hater - Ventnor 26.7.25

SATURDAY night in Ventnor. Party night. Everybody dressed to the nines.

In this town that means crushed hats - one per head - smashed obligatorially out of shape via dozens of late summer nights failing to crash out on dozens of friends floors. Let's see... three full-on tri-corns, a sunk-looking boater, a baseball cap with ironic MAGA undertones? Check.

Enter the fella from the tourism office. "YOU'RE NOT FROM VENTNOR" yells his t-shirt. "I CNT SPELL" screams another. 

Luke The Hater's personal sartorial statement is stripped off and used to sponge up a spilt can of cheap lager before the first song gets under way. Before becoming soaked and grimed it showed an image of Wet Leg with Luke's beardy face neatly photoshopped over Rhian's (if you're interested).

The set progresses with a sweaty, topless Luke grooving to his sixteen or eighteen legged monster band, all Velvets riffs with Georgie Fame keys and James Brown horns. It's a ridiculously great concept - the unhinged, unpredictable pub singer who just happens to have wandered into this demure art gallery with a full-on revue band behind him.

Cute songs from recent history like "Coming Down" and the Fat White Family-ish "Dark Hair" are great but rather eclipsed by a sprinkling of encouraging new masterpieces about solo life and animals - both of which rate higher than having to deal with humans, of course.

An utter, utter winner is the paeon to motorcycle ownership which appears to contain verses ripped verbatim from Luke's most recent MOT failure document (including advisories) and a sensationally selfish chorus about the vehicle being "MINE" and most definitely "NOT YOURS".

The night ends with a raucous wriggle on the sweaty, beery floor and a surf over delighted heads. It's what you would expect from this ex Fat Earther, really. Crowd goes wild, and pours out of the Peer Gallery loudly, ready for the next nocturnal adventures.

Lot of love for this hater...

Andy Biotic