Bub’s Can’t Even album release show. A glamorous, genre-melting chaos of heart, hilarity and harmony.
Last night at Auckland’s Neck of the Woods, a unicorn showed up, a trumpet exploded in ecstasy, and a crowd collectively lost its mind for Can’t Even — the gloriously unhinged, alt-punch debut from Bub, the musical brainchild of the inimitable Priya Sami.
If you’re wondering how an ethnically ambiguous queen ends up fronting a band with wizard-level musicians and a celebrity choir called The Coven, welcome to the world of Bub. Where raw emotion meets theatrical bravado and sonic craftsmanship in the most unexpected ways.
But before we get to the main attraction, kicking things off tonight is She’s So Rad a four-piece outfit with one foot in a shoegaze dream and the other dangling somewhere near a Roland Juno or in their case an Akai MPK249.
Opening with a hazy, indie-laced alt track that felt like Warpaint slow dancing with New Order, the band immediately had the audience swaying like tall grass under synthetic moonlight.
Anchored by a pulsing 80s-style bassline, the rhythm section promised a tight set. And for a while, it delivered.
But then came Videos. An ambitious second track where layers of reverb swirled into Dream-Pop bliss. It featured a bold choice. Jerry on a 12-string electric guitar. A shimmering sound when in tune, yes—but a dangerous dance on a live stage.
Vocally though, things got murky. The mix was light—too light. Whether it was a sound guy asleep at the desk or simply a case of timid mic technique, the vocals barely registered, which was a shame.
Verdict: She’s So Rad might not have nailed the landing, but they’re flying in the right direction.
Following a quick disassembly of the stage setup, anticipation built for the main attraction.
From the moment Priya Sami and her cohort took the stage — a lineup including bassist Daniel Barrett, drummer David Harris, keyboardist Joe Kaptein, percussionist Ruby Walsh, and sister Anji Sami on backing vocals, it was clear this wasn’t your average album release gig.
Priya’s vocals? Warmed up and weaponised. The harmonies? So tight they could compress coal into diamonds. From song one, the room was electric. By the end of it, erupting in cheers.
Bub held nothing back, transforming the stage into a vivid psychedelic dream—radiant sun, fluffy clouds, technicolour blooms, cartoon apples, and ghostly shapes.
It wasn’t just stage dressing. It was a full-blown acid-trip fantasy set to sound, a whimsical world where every beat bloomed.
This one’s called Girl. Unless you’re one of my friends, you haven’t heard it, Priya announced mid-set, setting the tone for an evening that straddled confessional vulnerability and irreverent charm.
Harmonies between the Sami sisters were sublime. The kind of vocal blend only siblings can achieve, like DNA-based alchemy.
Add to that the raw gospel soul of The Coven — a surprise choir of four powerhouse vocalists who made an appearance — and you’ve got a wall of sound that could rival Phil Spector in his prime.
Somewhere between a cosmic cabaret and a sweaty bedroom gig, Bub managed to make Can’t Even feel both massive and intimate.
Audience members shouted things like Oh my God, you guys are so sexy! This was indeed a safe space for emotional chaos, curated joy, and unfiltered self-expression.
Then came the moment. Enter Edith Thorne, Priya’s ex-teacher and a seasoned trumpeter with hips that don’t lie and a horn that could bring down walls.
In one of the night’s standout tracks, Edith absolutely torched her trumpet solo, hips swaying with age-defying sass, stealing the show and earning a kiss from Priya herself at the song’s end. Legendary.
By the final number, the crowd wasn’t ready to let go. Chants of one more song reverberated through the room until Priya relented. Bringing out yet another friend who transformed into a human cowbell for the encore. Yes, you read that right. A human cowbell. You can’t script this kind of energy.
Can’t Even is available now across all digital platforms — and if the live show was anything to go by, it’s not just an album. It’s a declaration of identity, absurdity, friendship, and fearless artistry.
In a world where polished perfection often outweighs personality, Bub reminds us of what it’s like when music feels like a family reunion on mushrooms. Chaotic, joyful, and unshakeably real.
Paul Marshall