Die Spitz @ King Tut's, Glasgow, 19 Feb

You’re probably familiar with the fanfare surrounding the latest signees to Jack White’s Third Man Records, Die Spitz. Metal Hammer labelled the fast-rising foursome "the best new band in the world", while stadium stalwarts Foo Fighters snatched up the Austin-based band to open for their mammoth 2026 Everything or Nothing At All tour. The group even bagged the cover of NME Magazine, decked out in cowgirl boots and grunge-geared, ripped black tights with guitarists Ava Schrobilgen and Eleanor Livingston perched in a vintage red and white pod chair.

If those accessories sound jarring, then that’s nothing compared to the smorgasbord of sounds Die Spitz wield as an outfit. “Think they forgot our walk-on music,” says Livingston sheepishly as the foursome assemble on stage before they slide into the sludgy Black Sabbath-sounding I hate when GIRLS die. Early effort from EP Teeth, Monkey Song, is a dropped-D frenzy as Livingston conjures up the husky and sinister delivery of Babes in Toyland’s Kat Bjelland before they kick into the stop-start-screams of American Porn with Schrobilgen switching to lead vocal duties.

The tech guy scrambles onto stage to wrangle with mic cables as Livingston is off into the pit, her dark green guitar slung onto her back. A guy in the crowd screams from the back, “I cannae hear ye!” but he has to be joking as we thrash into Down On It, a track Livingston has shared reflects the dichotomy between feeling hopeless and speaking out. Right on cue, she spits “Fuck ICE! We won’t stand for that. That shit is real. Our friends, families, and communities are being taken and it’s fucked up.”

Die Spitz @ King Tut's, Glasgow, 19 Feb by Sturoi Marco

We switch up vocals again as drummer Chloe De St. Aubin steps out from the kit (Schrobilgen picks up percussive duties seamlessly) for a back-to-back of her leading contributions on the record; Groping Dogs Gushing Blood, reminiscent of Bleach-era Nirvana, and Punishers. The constant switch up between band members feels metamorphic, capturing Gen Z restlessness as it mutates from adolescent frustration into something closer to collective fury. Grip, another blast from their earlier EPs, tugs at bassist Kate Halter’s industrial slap-back delay like prog wizards TOOL.

Despite the ferocity, there’s still a lot of cantankerous old men spouting off on either side throughout the gig. “More reverb!” to a song that’s clearly baked in the sound effect. “1, 2, 3, 4” before St. Aubin has a minute to pick up her sticks. Did Tony Iommi have to deal with this level of backchat? The other issue is the levels, not in terms of volume but clarity: cymbals and lead lines dissolve into fuzz. Oblivious to the setbacks, the group rally us into an encore that quickly morphs into the Scots punk petition for “one more choon”. Enter the rip-roaring RIDING WITH MY GIRLS and Mastodon-esque sludge metal ripper Throw Yourself To The Sword, because as Livingston insists it’s possible to fight the unknown – if you’re willing to throw yourself into it. Die Spitz are ready to charge: if only the mix let us hear what's going on beneath the war cry.