Heralds of ‘Madchester’, the Happy Mondays, though nearing fifty years since they formed, haven’t been long gone from the stage. Finding themselves bathed in the blue light of Cambridge’s Corn Exchange on the 26th of March, their fourth modern incarnation marks another era in their history pockmarked with breakups, side-projects and reunions.

The tour marks the 35th anniversary of their album Pills ‘n’ Thrills and Bellyaches (1990): an album you could happily label their creative zenith, far from their grungier debut Squirrel and G-Man Twenty Four Hour Party People Plastic Face Carnt Smile (White Out) (1985) and just shy of Yes Please! (1992), an album backdropped by an apocryphal recording process, plagued with arm-breaking and whip-cheap crack that saw the derailment of the band and bankruptcy of Factory Records.

“It’s not just all old heads cashing in on an imagined revival. There’s some young in there too”

The numerous bumps along the Happy Mondays’ journey across the 80s and onward only sweetens the Madchester goldilocks zone of Pills ‘n’ Thrills: an album full of acid-house neo-psychedelia perfectly married with the original shoulder-bobbing funkiness that makes the Mondays, the Mondays. After openers The Farm show their soul with crowd-pleasers like ‘Groovy Train’ and ‘All Together Now’, the lights come up and the Mondays launch straight in with ‘Kinky Afro’ – drums crisp, bass and guitar as funkily radiant as ever, refusing to be drowned out by the riotous frenzy of the crowd. Energy is high, and from my seat in the balcony, it’s not just all old heads cashing in on an imagined revival. There’s some young in there too: sat behind me is a young lad no older than fourteen, evidently being given his indoctrination.

Initially however, something does feel slightly strange: while the twangy guitar of ‘God’s Cop’ and ease of ‘Loose Fit’ have preserved their coolness, some of the sound exposes in flickers the truth that it’s not as easy as it used to be. Shaun often has to try and keep up rather breathlessly with the swagger of his younger self: it takes a while to realise that his exasperation – “Oh, what? Step On?” – reading the setlist at his feet aloud, isn’t a bit. The cult-classic outrageousness of lyrics like “You’re twistin’ my melon, man” and “I had to crucify somebody today” can only carry you so far.

“Halfway through the set, Bez has a bucket hat pinged at his head”

But just as I begin to truly question whether the Mondays retain their charm in 2026, Bez begins to loop the stage end-to-end, wielding his maracas like a conductor, crouching low, pointing out people in the crowd, occasionally levering the mic out of Shaun’s grip for the odd one-liner. Halfway through the set, Bez has a bucket hat pinged at his head: scooping it up off the ground, he wears it and stands atop an amp, arms-wide and Christ-like. For the rest of the gig, he’s taking hats left, right and centre, anointing and returning bucket hats which will later become pieces of mantlepiece memorabilia, surrounded by whispers of Bez actually wore this!

Nostalgia’s not doing all the heavy lifting, but it sweetens the experience, quickly ironing out any twenty-first century edges. Instrumentally, the band’s sound remains inescapably and enjoyably baggy, and Shaun’s older vocals seem only to accentuate the ragged danceability of the tracks. The chaotic energies of the set are mainly held together by Firouzeh Berry’s vocals that plunge the band’s sound back unquestioningly into that quintessential soul feeling. Supported by occasional adlibs from Shaun, Firouzeh’s vocals soar and threaten to take the roof off the Corn Exchange: her animation is refreshing, striding across the stage, her vocals giving some of the tracks that have begun to show their age an energetic revival.

It’s not the same chaotic, partying virulence frozen-in-time on the band’s early records, and that’s OK – but the bits of banter and near forty-year-old tracks remain living, breathing, inspirational testament to the survival of the music and the fans. The Mondays formed an interdisciplinary sound in harmonising rave and rap, nestling powerful lyrics within party anthems, and continue to brandish a well-preserved cult allure that makes for energetic and undeniably fun gigs in the twenty-first century.