LIVE REVIEW + PHOTOS: The Last Dinner Party – Grand Central Hall, Liverpool – 23/10/2025

Let’s set the scene to start off. Originally, there was only due to be one Liverpool show on The Last Dinner Party’s album release tour for From The Pyre. That sold out fairly quickly, so a matinee show was added on the same day, which also did well. We’re here for that one; doors are at 6pm, and for the later show, 8:30pm. When you get to Grand Central Hall, you notice two queues down different sides of the building, one for each different show. Apparently, the queue for the later show started forming at 8:30 this morning.

If there were any worries of stagnation from two albums in as many years, The Last Dinner Party’s fans clearly aren’t aware of them. It’s much more than just osmosis from early super-hype, now deep into genuine fandom to the tune of being willing to stand in an alleyway for 12 hours. And to be fair, it is understandable, in a way. The Last Dinner Party are one of the more unique acts in indie-rock currently, and becoming enamoured by their poised, baroque sound and style isn’t hard, especially when they’re now two for two on strong albums. That’s the other thing—From The Pyre hasn’t even been out a week, but the thought of seeing everything from it get a live airing this soon into its life cycle is a tempting one.

As a venue, Grand Central Hall has an appropriate amount of lavishness for this band in particular. The more grandiose architecture of its dome can have a regality in the right context, which is likely why harmonised chants are piped through upon entry in favour of a pre-show playlist. It’s indicative of the mood of From The Pyre, too—as elegant as ever, but more haunted and hallowed in how that’s presented. What’s pleasant to see is how that’s not neglected by the band at all. The wonderful, resonant guitar tone of Agnus Dei is the introduction to this new era of The Last Dinner Party, and crystallises in Emily Roberts’ stalking, Zeppelin-esque riff on Count The Ways. The band may look glamourous, but there’s a subversive, reflexive feel that they wear amazingly well. Nowhere is that more present than on Woman Is A Tree, with its pseudo-gothic fantasy veneer from its gouged acoustic guitar, mallet-struck drums and slightly eerie, off-kilter vocal harmonies.

By now, there are no doubts that The Last Dinner Party are perfectly capable of translating their artful, period-piece form of rock music from wax to the stage. Here, though, in a space where the persistent echo can make it a headache and a half to parse out anything even approaching a nuance, it’s actually miraculous that they sound this good. In the clarion harmonies of Second Best and the spotlit poise of just keys and vocals on Sail Away, there’s something so attractive about a rock band embracing delicacy in this wholly and nailing it from every angle. The richness is the calling card of The Last Dinner Party, always hitting the appropriate sonic contrasts but never crumpling from the impact. It’s crafted flawlessly and executed just as well, down to even the smallest hints of affluence. The French interlude on Rifle and Roberts’ opening flute on The Scythe are played off and integrated like the most natural components imaginable.

Furthermore, there’s still a rock energy beneath the pageantry, albeit deeper than many such acts will bury it. It’s reshaped to fit The Last Dinner Party’s own sensibilities rather than the other way around; when it is reversed, you’ll get a moment like Roberts’ and Lizzie Mayland’s small, noncommittal guitar duel on I Hold Your Anger that’s a little forced in its inclusion. Rather, the best illustration of it is Abigail Morris up front, fey in voice and appearance but a wonderfully energised presence. As flouncy and flamboyant as it can present, it doesn’t lack for vigour. Morris clearly is a natural performer, accentuated by a beaming smile and punch in her delivery, and the audible laugh she lets out near the top of Inferno.

Moreover, it’s nice to see that feed into a human component to this band, blindsiding the (already unfounded) criticism of them as toffee-nosed plants who bought their way into the industry. At no point has that ever felt like a tangible outcome that The Last Dinner Party have embodied live, at least unironically. Tonight is perhaps the most down-to-earth they’ve ever come across as, which is nice juxtaposition to have against what can sometimes appear as this ethereal untouchability. As they gather centre-stage for the opening vocal swell of Woman Is A Tree, bassist Georgia Davies’ mic gets caught on its stand, and the laugh shared is a genuinely nice, genuinely human moment. Later on, Morris shows tangible excitement at leaving the stage to pluck out the gifts made by audience members, a painting of the band (which is excellently done, at that) and a crocheted sheep. There’s none of the snobbish self-importance that The Last Dinner Party are often tarred with; if there were, it’d be noticeable, and would make likely make this a whole lot worse.

So, are we truly without complaints, then? Well, not necessarily. On The Scythe, for all of its synthpop immaculacy and perfectly-timed light flashes to match the drum strikes in its final build, the chorus is leaps into could hit with a bit more satisfactory size. And that’s pretty much it, as far as gripes go. Seriously. Even in an environment as primed for a pared-back effort as an album release show—an acoustic set here; a tiny taster of new stuff there—The Last Dinner Party cut no such corners. It’s a full set for the best part of an hour, one where some of this material might end up as a rare inclusion in future performances, but remains perfectly executed nonetheless. And while there’s not a great deal of singing along (for recognition of how it’s better for these songs to simmer and metastasise, presumably), shunting This Is The Killer Speaking to the back as a closing barn-burner makes all the sense in the world. Such is the greatness of The Last Dinner Party and the new strengths bestowed upon them in any and every possible context.

That just leaves one more thing to address—is it worth a 12-hour to catch? …well, it’s not not worth it, let’s just say that.

Words by Luke Nuttall

Photos by Maryleen Guevara (Instagram / Website)