There are artists who perform, and there are artists who summon. Last night at New Century Hall, Ash did the latter.

From the moment Ash walked onstage, the room shifted. New Century Hall, with its industrial bones and neon afterglow, became a home for pulse and reverb.

Calling forth a world where shadows breathe, synths glimmer like distant satellites, and every lyric feels like it’s been etched into glass just to watch the light refract.

The opener “Zarathustra”—a slow bloom of ambient pads—felt less like a song and more like the ignition. And then Tim Wheelers voice cut through: soft, serrated at the edges, carrying the kind of worn-in honesty.

Where most artists lean into volume, Ash leans into gravity. Even their some of their bigger hits like “Shining light” and “Goldfinger” didn’t explode; they radiated, each chorus unfolding like a quiet confession whispered across an empty rooftop at 3 AM.

Production was a masterclass in restraint. Beats throbbed like distant machinery, guitars ghosted around the mix, and the lighting – pathetic fallacy – the emotional weather of the set itself.

The encore felt less like a pre-planned exit and more like a cathartic release — the audience’s voices rising in unison, the band feeding off their energy, and New Century Hall resonating with it.

However for the final hit of the evening they threw restraint aside, kicking into life, to second, third, forth and when fifth gear for lively hit “Burn Baby Burn‘. A thrilling, heavy hitting way to end proceedings.

Ash didn’t give a performance. Ash gave a map—to every place we go when we’re lost, longing, or looking for something luminous in the dark.