By Sally Churchward.

It was a special evening. 

The last night of a three-date mini tour, that took Charlie Barnes to Bristol and Leeds before this triumphant sold out gig at London’s Aces & Eights (13/8/25).

But it was more than that. Half the tickets for the evening had sold out quickly to Charlie’s Patreon supporters – music fans who subscribe to follow his updates, livestreams, behind the scenes and more. The rest sold out quickly, so quickly, in fact, that Charlie joked, or maybe just informed, the audience that it was going to be a lengthy set of long slow songs. It was what everyone had – eagerly – signed up to.

There was a friendliness, a sense of being in this together. This wasn’t going to be a slick affair – not that that’s what anyone would have wanted, anyway.

Charlie had shared pre-gig warm ups online, narrating, self-critiquing and in many ways this was a continuation of that, with asides to the audience even during the songs, pointing out that he was feeling a bit stressed, highlighting perceived errors or fumbles that no one would have noticed. The evening also carried Charlie’s DIY vibe. Previously signed to a label, Charlie’s albums, such as the latest, The Heart of the Home, are now self-published, and self-promoted. He booked the tour himself, selling the tickets through his own website. 

Gig goers were greeted with smiles, hugs and chats from the man himself as he stood behind the merch stand, with the air of a groom pressing hands on his big day.

For anyone not familiar with Charlie’s music (and go check it out after you finish reading this), it’s beautifully crafted and executed, moving, soaring, and often very, very sad. Music to weep to, perhaps. 

So the warm up for the evening – a man dressed as a colourful snail, playing a ukulele (mostly) – came as something of a surprise. But a very welcome one. 

Charlie introduced him as an old friend – the pair were in a band together as teenagers, but clearly their music has taken very different directions.

Ashley Foster, AKA Ukesnaile, was the kind of instantly likeable, engaging act that you stumble on performing on a small stage at a festival and winds up being the best thing you saw all weekend. 

His set included a song all about snails (as you would hope) – proper, biological facts, stuff you could learn from, were you so inclined – entitled When I’m Smearing Windows. There was also Where is the Nipple on the Humble Oat, and a song expressing his eternal hatred for Bicester Shopping Village. He had the audience engaging heartily in call and response, singing along and even taking part in a mid song quiz, in a number about evolutionary biology. It was simultaneously very clever, very silly, and lots and lots of fun.

Photo by Rita Jokiaho.

Then, it was time for Charlie. He stepped onto the stage with the words “This is us, man,” and it was. Not just him, but a collective experience.

The set started with Kitchen, an ode to domesticity, before I am a Blackboard, both from the latest album, with Charlie showcasing his Mariah Carey-esque vocal range from the get go.

Family, mental health and grief – quite a lot of grief – were themes of the evening.

Your Last Christmas was a particularly poignant song, as was Good Morning America.

Charlie lost his mother as a teenager and as he sings about the loss, there’s a raw edge to the pain. Having recently lost my own mother, the reflected grief and my own aching missing were made sharp in those songs and I know I wasn’t the only person to shed tears during the set. It was sad, but perhaps cathartic, a form of group therapy, because who is totally untouched by grief?

Perhaps it is this sense of fragility of life which makes Charlie turn harder towards those things that bring him joy – predominantly his wife and child. Home. He plays another song from The Heart of the Home, commenting somewhat self-deprecatingly, ‘wow, this guy sure loves his wife’.

Experiencing the songs live added so many layers that can’t be captured on a recording, even with the warmth of vinyl. My highlight was the beautiful The Weather, which took on new meaning for me, being sung a metre or so away from where I was listening. And, of course, all the chat added hugely to the experience, whether it was Charlie offering commentary on or mild criticism of his performance – “f**king guitar solo… pathetic”, or explaining the background to a song, such as the heart breaking story behind Good Morning America, which Charlie had only played twice before.

The evening ended with a heart wrenching cover of Joni Mitchell’s tragically beautiful Both Sides now, with Charlie somehow managing to take a sad song and make it sadder. 

It was a joyful, emotional, moving and ultimately life affirming evening, an intense experience, like power reading a page turner, that leaves you blinking, processing and perhaps even a little changed.

For more information, visit: charliebarnesmusic.co.uk

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