The Leadmill is dead, long live The Leadmill: Miles Kane live review

Posted On June 30, 2025June 30, 2025

“Don’t forget who you are!” These are some of the final words screamed by the sold-out Leadmill crowd and the man who wrote them. They create an atmosphere so thick I can climb to the top of it, pick up segments and tie them in knots. While Miles Kane might have sung these words countless times before, tonight they resonate differently, taking on new meaning as that big burly door is slammed shut and the red neon sign outside is switched off forever.

Sweat would drip into my eyes if I didn’t wipe it; the humidity outside feels like a cold chill in comparison to the heat that settles here. But we still cram ourselves into that small room as many an audience has done before, like how fans of Pulp, Arctic Monkeys and Milburn have done in the past, dirty dancefloors and dreams of naughtiness alike, boots sticking to the ground and polos to the backs that wear them. An outsider looking in would see tonight and be forgiven for thinking it’s just another gig, but it’s so much more.

“What an honour as well, you know, I wanna give Sheffield a good send off, give The Leadmill a good send off. I can’t wait, mate,” Kane’s words were a mix of emotions when he spoke previously about being Leadmill’s final performer. Sad that the door on the venue was closing, happy that he was the one with the privilege of closing it. “It’s served me well. In 20 years, that venue is a place I’ve always gone to, you know, I feel honoured and grateful […] Yeah, let’s have a good night.”

Leadmill officially lost its three-year appeal in May 2025. It was ruled that the owners of the building had the right to take it over and begin running the space themselves. It will continue to host gigs and club nights, just not under the name Leadmill. Realistically, not a lot will change, but it’s still sad to see a building with such heritage and meaning fall victim to a rebrand.

In a bid to give the venue a good send-off, the managers at Leadmill decided to start putting some shows on, and therein lies the problem. While this might be a space coated in history, it was also a venue failing its city, with the majority of bands booked in the past few years being tribute acts and comedians. It had lost its tenacity, and the fact that it took getting evicted for them to finally put some decent gigs on is telling. Maybe the rebrand will be a good thing, but I’m not here to speculate; I’m here to write about the final night, about Miles Kane and about the people who make venues like this special.

Growing up as a music lover in Hull, it didn’t take long for the word “Leadmill” to pass somebody’s lips. Despite only being an hour’s drive away, it felt as though it was on the other side of the world, a magical place where your favourite indie bands found their voice, where they perfected their craft, and where lucky people racked up “I was there” bragging rights for those who now sell out stadiums. I’d be lying if I said Leadmill didn’t play a part in my decision to move to Sheffield. For the years I’ve been here, my memories, the people I’ve met, those whom I’ve loved, hated, and all things in between, have orbited this building like it’s the centre of the universe. Fuck, it might just be the centre of the universe.

The first gig I saw here was Palma Violets; it was 2015, and the band had just released Danger in the Club. Though time tells us the band was going through some difficulties, it didn’t come across that night. I was with my friend Seb, both of us spilling drinks and losing sight of one another as we jumped in and out of mosh pits. The walls shook with a vigour so unrelenting I could have sworn the building would have fallen down had it not been standing for so long. The heat was uncomfortable, and the room was chaotic, as a pretentious mosaic of denim and leather constantly collided (it was a tricky time for fashion in the indie scene). 

The best gig I saw here was Everything Everything. I went with my friend Sam, whom I met my first week in Sheffield, and whom I’ll be the best man for next October. That night was a lot calmer; there were no mosh pits, just the room, the people, and that voice. Jonathan Higgs has a vocal range with corners, ones in which you can truly get lost in and swept up in the magnitude of. It was on full display that night, as the sold-out room fell silent, happy to stand in dumbfounded stillness as the band rattled through the hits. 

It’s easy for us to become obsessed with a moment, and that feeling seems to resonate across Leadmill on this closing night. People want the 90 minutes that Kane plays to be something more than they are. It’s an indie rock gig, but it’s the last indie rock gig in a string of classics that have filled this room, and something needs to be done to commemorate that. But what can you do other than enjoy yourself? 

The power in the cheers that lit up the room as Kane took to the stage, Oasis’s ‘Rock N’ Roll Star’ playing in the background, before jumping into the classic ‘Rearrange’ starts to feel anxiety-laden as the one-man band makes his way down the setlist. We’re aware the end is nigh, and we feel a pressure to elevate this moment to more than it is, but that’s missing the point. This is one stage of many, and for the final show, Kane gets the memo. It’s not about the point in history that the set represents—it’s about getting in that spotlight and giving the people the thing they’ve been seeking from this venue for the past 40 years: a good time.

The night isn’t about Miles Kane. The night isn’t even about The Leadmill. The night is about people like Seb and Sam, their doubles scattered across the room, stumbling round the streets of Sheffield. The night is about Palma Violets and Everything Everything and everybody else’s versions of them, punters firsts and favourites, different answers in the hearts of everyone who has walked through that door, who has taken a photo of that neon sign, who has bought a drink from the bar and who has subsequently spilled it on the dancefloor. The night is about what spaces like this represent. It’s not one moment, it’s thousands, hundreds of thousands, bottled up and shaken, released into the atmosphere of the room, the city, and creating something that can never be surmised in a 90-minute set or 1500-word write-up.

“Your city’s had my back since day one,” Kane told me, “So I’m at your mercy, mate”. He did an excellent job with this show. He gave the people of Sheffield a gig they can be proud to say they attended, a release from everyday life and another example of the good times that is so often sought after in these special places. His screams, his guitar solos, his infectious energy, there really was no one better who could have played this final night. Songs new and old rattle off the walls, one more dance just for the hell of it, one more pissed up singalong for old times sake.

“Don’t forget who you are!” Words that resonate with the moment, those that listeners can take home with them and that the new owners should keep close to their hearts when they take over the venue. Remember the people that make these places special, the fact that the artist onstage is no more important than those watching them, and the fact that one can’t exist without the other, that a venue is defined by those who make it. “Don’t forget who you are!”

And just like that, the show was over, ‘From The Ritz to the Rubble’ played the people out, and the door was closed. The Leadmill is dead, long live The Leadmill.

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