A GUIDE FOR SACRIFICING YOUR BROTHER TO JAZZ PUNK VAMPIRES: OPUS KINK LIVE IN HULL

LIVE REVIEW | OPUS KINK | NEW ADELPHI CLUB, HULL | 4th October 2025

There’s a queue forming outside the New Adelphi Club in Hull as the remnants of Storm Amy batter the city with rain, wind and a fitting October chill for the start of the hallowed month. We were gathered for a feast of musical madness provided by one of the most exciting bands I have seen in years.

Brighton’s jazz punk descends on the Humber in the form of Opus Kink, who have spent the previous eight years building a cult following bordering on that of the Manson family. A reputation for unhinged live shows, part post punk exorcism, part acid trip, gone horribly wrong in a New Orleans jazz club.

Safe to say they are right up my street, in fact, they’ve moved in next door and are keeping the neighbours up. So much so, I brought my younger brother for his first ever gig, and he would soon become a sacrifice in the mosh pits to come.

WENCH!

Support came from the superbly aggressive riot grrl fuzz of WENCH! who are quickly becoming local legends with a string of electric live shows and support slots. Not a mere buzz band, WENCH! are young, confident, and afflicted with that same maladjusted attitude problem all great punk bands should have. Playing a short but tight set with tracks from their first EP, Relaxing Rain Sounds For Baby Sleep, which I previously gave 4/5. Kitt is even more impressive than on the recording, knowing that they sing whilst playing the drums in a frenzied growl of pure rage and love for playing live. A virtuoso bass performance from Hebe left what’s left of my eardrums fizzing.

It’s rare to have mosh pits for every band on a lineup, but after the first act, the walls were damp Doc Martens stuck to the floor, and a sell-out crowd packed in together shoulder to shoulder. It was about to turn into chaos. Probably a good time to hide my glasses and valuables.

Magnolia

Magnolia was next up. Having zero clue about what I was about to witness was both exciting and a testament to my lack of research skills. Pleasantly surprised doesn’t feel like an accurate description, perfectly blown away might be the banker. From the first note played, a rush of free jazz exploded through the Adelphis hallowed ground. Norwich, it was not somewhere I expected to hear an experimental masterclass in musical expression originate from, especially not in Hull on a Saturday night.

The majority of their set remained instrumental with short bursts of guttural vocals contrasting with gorgeous melody. The crowd became a mosh drunk sea of human joy, air bongo, and saxophones being played by an all-ages audience of believers. The percussionist flew into the pit, being carried up and away by post-punks and jazz freaks alike. Magnolia are an experience band that leaves you scratching your head in that pure “what have I just watched?” pleasure. For fans of Black Country New Road, but not many influences stick.

The now drenched audience retreated into the beer garden, where I managed to recover my brother, whose dyed hair was plastered to his forehead. Enjoying himself and beaming with the boyish charm of a changed man. A hand was placed on my shoulder, expecting it to be one of my friends, I turned to meet the singer of Opus Kink, Angus Rogers, tall and effortlessly stylish in a wicker cowboy hat.

He asked me for a cigarette, having recently quit, I apologised for not having one and introduced him to the young punk. Declaring it was his first gig, Angus stepped forward, congratulating him on this monumental moment. With one request from him. The demand for a blood sacrifice…

Like a scene from The Lost Boys, the singer disappeared, leaving me in stitches and a sheet white sibling nervously asking. “What blood sacrifice?”.

Opus Kink

The stage was set, worshippers crammed in so tightly you couldn’t help but brush shoulders with the bloke next to you. A palpable energy was in the coastal air that night, maybe it was the coming of the pagan holidays or the leyline that runs through the city.

Opus kink emerged to a rapturous applause. Angus, in dark shades, grabs the mic, “Drag me to Hull for Hull is of the people!” he howls before a ripping intro riff kicks all the night’s energy into overdrive ‘I Love You, Baby’ is a swaggering, sleazy ode to dark passions, the perfect opening track for the set. Horns fire off in unison like a demented end-of-the-world jazz band. Jed and Jack are the brass backbone of Opus Kink, elevating the sound to an indescribable blend of Latin jazz and birthday party era Nick Cave.

Crowd surfers begin to fly as the chiming of ‘Dust’ is next, a rip-roaring wall of horns as Angus lurches forward with an Iggy Pop grin, a man unchained. The band begin chanting “the dust, the dust” in unison with sharp keyboard stabs as faithful members of the audience join in on the madness. Adelphi glows red, the hellish mass of human bodies drenched in sweat, holding onto each other in a bohemian wave of bizarre pagan ritual. Basking in the crimson light, Opus Kink reach for the borders between performance art and dirty rock and roll.

‘Saint Paul of Tarantulas’ is one of the highlights of the whole set for me. The song has become a calling card for fans and the band alike to go absolutely mental. After a piano intro lulls you into a false sense of security, a dog barked howl from Opus Kink builds through a breakdown where all the combined forces of a sextet band blow through the sound system. As expected, the venue erupts into a wall-to-wall mosh/line dancing pit. There is a fan crawling on the ceiling, held up by his mates, and I’ve lost my brother somewhere in the haze.

The lights go dark, leaving Angus illuminated by a single bulb.

“Where is the blood boy? Bring him here !” as the opening Gregorian chant of ‘1:18’ begins. At this point, my sibling is kneeling before the singer as Angus gnaws at his outstretched finger. Parting the crowd, my now baptised brother sits on the floor as the audience surrounds him, continuing the chanting conducted by the band. The song creeps and grows before the ritual reaches its peak. Bloodletting complete, the swaying becomes jumping, the jumping becomes flight as I lose my blood relative for a second time as he is crowd surfed skywards.

The house lights flicker on; it’s time to leave. But not if Opus Kink have anything to say about it “Turn those fucking lights off”, shouts Angus as they begin the next song, equipment being silenced and PA system turned off, they decide to perform semi-acoustic with a wail of noise using the drums, horns and amplifiers. They exit the stage to “one more song chants” waltzing away and into the night, presumably to turn into bats and fly off to their next gig.

Opus Kink are the most exciting live band in the country today. I mean that. Go see them live (Just don’t bring your brother, he might become a vampire).