Tonight’s show was the penultimate stop on Black Foxxes’ 10-date UK tour, which kicked off in Guildford on July 9th and wraps at Sneaky Pete’s in Edinburgh. Fresh from a heat-baked 2000 Trees set, frontman Mark Holley arrived in Plymouth in high spirits, ready for what felt like a homecoming just a short drive away from his Devon roots.
The Underground on Mutley Plain is a proper live-music haunt: low ceilings hung with vintage tees and gig posters, a stage crammed with guitars, keys, drums—and not an inch of wasted space. Even the ‘gents’ channel CBGB’s heyday, with sticky floors and the faint aroma of beer. By 5pm, Black Foxxes were sound-checking; Holley was excitement at the thought of closing this chapter of the tour.
At 5pm sharp I caught up with support band Kanadia in a nearby park—peppered with scents of cheap cider and wafts of weed—to chat festivals, tour highlights, and, of course, cheese. Their enthusiasm was contagious: they’ve stocked two albums already, with a third, The Fire That’s Tearing Through Our Home, landing on September 26.
Kanadia hit the stage at 8pm, stretching their set to fill the late start. Key moments included their gentle, piano-led ballads that showcased James’s dual role as singer and guitarist with grace, bass-driven rockers that lent weight and urgency to the set and subtle nods to Jeff Buckley’s vulnerability and MUSE’s grandeur—without ever feeling derivative. Their sound aligned neatly with Black Foxxes’ atmospheric alt-rock, making them the ideal preamble to the headliners’ deeper journey.
Black Foxxes have transformed since their noisy 2013 beginnings. Their fourth album, The Haar, was crowd-funded to nearly twice its goal, signalling the devotion of a fanbase that’s followed them from angsty grunge to something more textured. Tonight’s set—unanchored by a floor-setlist—flowed organically through over an hour of hypnotic riffs and extended sax/keyboard interludes, grit-laden grunge bursts that shook the venue’s foundations and vocal peaks that pushed Holley to the edge of his range. Every passage felt carved from lived experience, each crescendo deliberately earned.
Black Foxxes aren’t indie-anthem purveyors. Their live shows reward those who lean in, there were no singalongs in sight—just attentive heads nodding along, sonic layers that reveal new details on second, third, even fourth listens and a vibe more suited to a neat whiskey than a pogo pit. This is a band that invites you to pause your day, don headphones, and let their soundscapes unfold.
With festival season winding down and no upcoming dates announced, Black Foxxes might be taking a breather—today saw it filled with Sunday roasts at Holley’s mum’s, otter-spotting, and reflection. Wherever they turn next—be it the Outer Hebrides, Iceland, or a local studio—they’ll carry tonight’s momentum. Plymouth’s crowd witnessed not just a gig, but a milestone in a band’s maturation from raw edge to refined depth. Here’s hoping they keep creating—and playing—for years to come.
