There’s a particular electricity in the air when a band that helped define a generation steps onto a stage still radiating the same cool, cinematic mood that made them icons in the first place. That’s exactly what The Psychedelic Furs brought to the Palace Theatre in Albany in October 2025—a sleek, hypnotic, and emotionally charged performance that proved just how timeless their blend of post-punk romanticism really is.
The Palace, with its gilded art deco architecture and moody lighting, felt tailor-made for the Furs’ shadowy textures and cinematic sweep. You could feel the anticipation from the moment the house lights dimmed—fans young and old leaning forward, ready for that unmistakable rasp of Richard Butler’s voice, that perfect fusion of melancholy and swagger that made them legends in the first place.
They opened with “Heaven”, and it was, appropriately, transcendent. The first shimmering chords floated through the venue, Andy Gray’s keys casting a silvery glow over the room as Butler stepped to the mic. Time seemed to melt away; his voice, still rugged but commanding, cut through the atmosphere like a memory. As the crowd sang the chorus—“Heaven… is the whole of the heart”—you could feel the emotional gravity. This was the perfect way to begin: a lush, atmospheric reintroduction to a band that’s always balanced darkness and beauty.
Without missing a beat, they launched into “President Gas”, one of their sharpest and most politically biting tracks. The energy shot up instantly. Mars Williams’ saxophone tore through the song like a blade, and the band sounded tight, lean, and more dangerous than nostalgic. It was a reminder that The Psychedelic Furs were never just about new wave hooks; they were about tension, edge, and lyrical intelligence.
By the time they hit “Wrong Train”, from their 2020 comeback album Made of Rain, it was clear that this wasn’t just a nostalgia act. The song’s layered, cinematic production translated beautifully live, driven by Paul Garisto’s steady drumming and Amanda Kramer’s swirling keys. The newer material held its own right alongside the classics—moody, reflective, and emotionally rich.
“The Ghost in You” was an early highlight of the night. The moment those first delicate chords rang out, the audience collectively sighed. There’s a haunting tenderness in that song that never fades, and Butler leaned into every line with a mix of wistfulness and warmth. His brother, Tim Butler, stood nearby on bass, providing the kind of rhythmic steadiness that has anchored this band for decades. It’s still one of their most perfectly written songs—simple, dreamlike, and heartbreakingly human.
Then came “The Boy That Invented Rock & Roll”, another standout from Made of Rain. It pulsed with a strange, brooding energy—a meditation on fame, identity, and the fleeting nature of glory. It felt especially poignant coming from a frontman who’s lived through the heights of MTV-era fame and the long afterglow of legacy.
“Mr. Jones” and “My Time” kept the momentum rolling, Butler prowling the stage with that half-smirk, half-snarl that made him such an unforgettable presence in the early ‘80s. His body language was pure confidence—measured, theatrical, and a little dangerous. Between songs, he offered quick, dry remarks to the audience, his British wit still intact.
The midsection of the show showcased some deeper cuts and slower burns. “No-One” shimmered with tension, its lyrics exploring isolation and longing, while “Love My Way” turned the Palace Theatre into a giant singalong. The synth intro alone got a cheer loud enough to drown out the first few notes. The song remains one of the great anthems of self-expression—a perfect encapsulation of the Furs’ ability to sound both romantic and revolutionary.
As “In My Head” and “Run and Run” followed, the band’s chemistry was undeniable. Guitarist Rich Good added texture and grit, alternating between chiming arpeggios and raw, echoing leads. The interplay between him and Kramer’s keyboards created that classic Furs wall of sound—lush but cutting, cold but strangely warm.
When Butler introduced “Until She Comes”, the mood softened. The song’s dreamy melancholy resonated deeply, and the lighting turned a warm, dusky hue. It’s one of those underappreciated gems from their later catalog, and hearing it live reminded everyone that The Psychedelic Furs have always had a poet’s touch even when they weren’t chasing hits.
But then came the big moment—the unmistakable opening riff of “Pretty in Pink.” The crowd erupted, phones in the air, voices rising to meet Butler’s. The song that defined their relationship with pop culture still hits hard, but live it carries more grit, more irony. It’s still romantic, yes, but there’s an ache behind it now, an understanding that youthful love and longing are fleeting things. Butler smirked through it, perhaps aware that the song—forever tied to the John Hughes film—had both elevated and haunted them for decades.
“Heartbreak Beat” closed the main set with pure anthemic energy. That song, from their 1987 album Midnight to Midnight, may have leaned into a more polished, radio-friendly sound back then, but live in 2025 it sounded revitalized. The horns, the pulse, and Butler’s phrasing—“A heartbreak beat, yeah, yeah, yeah”—still make it one of the most euphoric songs in their catalog. The band left the stage to roaring applause and a standing ovation that lasted several minutes.
When they returned for the encore, they went deep. “It Goes On” was the first encore track, and it felt like a statement—resilient, hypnotic, and meditative. The song built slowly, Butler’s voice growing in power as the band layered the sound around him, until it swelled into something transcendent.
Finally, they ended with “India,” the song that opened their very first album back in 1980. It was a perfect full-circle moment. That hypnotic bassline, that eerie, sprawling rhythm—this was the song that started it all. Live, it was primal and hypnotic, stretching into an extended jam that let every member of the band shine. Mars Williams’ saxophone became almost otherworldly, weaving through the dense soundscape like smoke. As the final notes faded and Butler gave a simple “thank you” to the crowd, it was clear that everyone in that theater had just witnessed something that transcended eras.
Setlist:
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Heaven
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President Gas
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Wrong Train
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The Ghost in You
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The Boy That Invented Rock & Roll
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Mr. Jones
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My Time
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No-One
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Love My Way
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In My Head
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Run and Run
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Until She Comes
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Pretty in Pink
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Heartbreak Beat
Encore: -
It Goes On
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India
What made this show special wasn’t just nostalgia. It was how alive everything still felt. The Psychedelic Furs could easily coast on the strength of their classic songs, but they don’t. They continue to evolve within their own sound—honoring their past while still pushing the emotional edges of their music. Their newer material sits comfortably alongside the hits, not as filler but as natural extensions of their creative journey.
The production was spot-on, too. The lighting was subtle but cinematic, bathing the band in washes of violet, crimson, and deep blue. It matched the emotional palette of the songs—romantic, moody, and cinematic without ever being overdone. And the sound mix was crisp, giving Butler’s vocals the grit they deserve without drowning out the lushness of the arrangements.
The audience was a fascinating cross-section—some fans who had been there since Talk Talk Talk and Forever Now, and others who discovered the band through film soundtracks or playlists decades later. Everyone seemed united in appreciation, though, moving and swaying as the music filled the space. During “Love My Way,” couples embraced; during “Pretty in Pink,” everyone sang at the top of their lungs.
Richard Butler remains one of rock’s most distinctive frontmen. He doesn’t dance or posture much—he doesn’t need to. His presence alone commands the stage. Every gesture feels deliberate, every lyric delivered with precision and emotional weight. There’s something magnetic about the way he connects with a crowd—not as a pop star, but as a storyteller.
By the end of the night, it was impossible not to feel moved. The Psychedelic Furs reminded everyone that they weren’t just part of the soundtrack of the 1980s—they helped define what alternative rock would become. Their songs still feel relevant because they’re built on real emotion, poetic language, and soundscapes that manage to feel both nostalgic and eternal.
As fans spilled out onto Albany’s fall streets afterward, the air buzzing with conversation and warmth, one thing was clear: The Psychedelic Furs aren’t just surviving the decades—they’re thriving in them. Their music has aged gracefully, carrying that same cinematic allure, that same bittersweet pull, that made us fall in love with them in the first place.
Grade: A-