London | Wait until next year

July 29, 2026

Joshua Ray Walker at The Lower Third, London

A blurry photo from the back of a gig, there are lots of people in front of the stage, a figure on the stage appears to glow white

Ever since I first heard him I knew that Joshua Ray Walker was one of the best singers and songwriters in the world right now. After seeing him live I am more and more convinced he is right up there with the very best active today.

Walker is a Texan country singer who has been performing for over 20 years and releasing incredible records for nearly a decade. This is country music in the more classic sense rather than the plastic sense – storytelling, heartache, humour and humanity. His records show country can still be as meaningful, immediate and vital as it has ever been, that it doesn’t need to be drenched in irony or faux-retro stylings or slick production.

More recently, Walker has faced a cancer diagnosis and treatment, that then progressed to a diagnosis of terminal cancer, followed by the miracle of that diagnosis being misplaced and him coming out the other side cancer-free. My family has had a similar story to tell in recent years so I feel a particular affinity for his work, especially what was produced around and after that terrible time. Surviving isn’t easy, being a survivor isn’t either, but as Walker’s latest album states, he “Ain’t Dead Yet”.

But before I get to his performance, a note for his support act – Malin Pettersen. She was the perfect opener, absolutely setting the scene and creating the right atmosphere for a very special evening. Her songs were a form of otherworldly americana, imitate yet powerful, and balancing both intensely personal moments and much bigger themes and ideas.

Pettersen has a rare voice, one that is technically flawless yet sounds totally effortless, switching from a tender, quiet head voice that transfixed the audience to the kind of looping jet-propelled melodies that filled the room. A really extraordinary artist, and an inspiring one too, someone not afraid to talk about the value of art and creativity in a harsh and unforgiving world.

She is back in London this October and I would very much recommend you getting tickets if you can.

And so to Joshua Ray Walker. Well. This was a real all-timer gig. One I will always remember. Just one man with a guitar commanding a room in the most human and wonderful way possible. I think “authenticity” gets used too much these days, either as some kind of short-hand for hoary old revivalism or as a simulacrum of real that is actually anything but. Yet, Walker is truly, properly authentic – this was a night of true soul, of someone reaching out and making a genuine connection with a room full of strangers.

We got the mind-blowing guitar playing and rattling rhythms of Bronco Billy, the sweetness of Dumpster Diving, the evocative storytelling of Boat Show Girl and Lot Lizard. There was the the tender ache of True Love and the playful arm around the shoulder of Texas Sober. Ain’t Dead Yet became an anthem, everyone encouraged to sing along. Capital Letters was a highlight, one of his greatest songs, one of a growing list of proper, honest-to-goodness country music standards that Walker is writing, the kind of song that gives you the best kind of shivers. Voices might have the been the standout performance, Walker’s voice and delivery literally stunning the audience into hushed awe. An intense, transcendent moment.

Walker is not just a great singer and songwriter but an amazing performer and engaging raconteur too – really funny, relatable, open, silly, heartfelt. With each introduction he brought us closer to the songs, giving them more context, more meaning – from explaining his medical history before Ain’t Dead Yet to the relationship with his grandfather that inspired Capital Letters. We heard how he has been inspired by truck stops and boat shows and rummaging around dumpsters, how he has been able to mine the specific (an overheard conversation, a difficult post-gig exchange, his grandfather’s handwriting in his toolshed) and create something truly universal. This is the alchemy of a truly special songwriter, to move beyond platitudes, to root songs in the real, but find something we can all relate to, whoever we are and wherever we are.

Steve Earle famously said “Townes Van Zandt’s the best songwriter in the world, and I’ll stand on Bob Dylan’s coffee table in my cowboy boots and say that.” Well, if I had a pair of cowboy boots I would do the same on behalf of Joshua Ray Walker. He just might be the best singer and performer out there too.

It is nights like this that remind me how important art can, and should, be. How important live music is, and especially live music that is accessible and intimate and isn’t just a once-a-year treat at some stadium where you realise you’re mainly watching a screen rather than the stage. We live in truly difficult times, politically and often personally, and great art helps you to realise that you are not alone, that there is something common in the human experience, there is something worth treasuring, something worth fighting for. Both Pettersen and Walker reminded me of all that, gave me a little comfort, a little hope, a little glimpse of how life is and how it could be. I was fortunate to be there. We are fortunate to have artists like this. We ain’t dead yet.

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March 27, 2026

Pub Thoughts #9 (Queen Charlotte, Fitzrovia)

A pint of mild beer in a dimpled jug on a table in a pub. In the distance is the bar, some banquette seating and on the wall a list of available beers.

The Queen Charlotte is a former Brewdog pub, which in some ways is the least interesting thing about it, but also something that probably needs addressing at some point, if only to acknowledge both its recent history and its potential future – that here is an example of how pubs can not just survive but thrive once they have been released from Brewdog’s grip. It is a fine template of what newly independent pubs can do.

It is a one-room, corner boozer in Fitzrovia, a short walk up from Oxford Street but a world away from that particular thoroughfare in thrall to commerce. It’s all a little more refined up here but also a little more normal – fancy restaurants but also proper shops. A place that benefits from real pubs, and has a fair few of them.

The Queen Charlotte has a rather austere interior. It has been stripped back to its original bones – a traditional bar, wood flooring, banquette seating, leather-topped stools that look like massive Toffifee. It is sparse enough that you can project your own idea of a pub upon it – it can look like a trad boozer, a craft pub, a post-office drinking den.

There is the nostalgic smell of Brasso. The outside light hits the room perfectly, as if the place has been professionally illuminated. Bright, but soft somehow.

I’m the first one in for the day, as far as I can tell. I get a lovely welcome from the barman as he asked for my glass preference. I always go for a dimpled jug, even when it probably isn’t appropriate, because I quite like the idea of looking like an extra from an episode of Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads? The barman approves of my decision – I have made the right choice in his book.

There are two cask beers and they are both a fiver a pint. I think more pubs would benefit from offering this kind of cheaper option. Pubs should be accessible rather than a rare treat. Even the craft beer isn’t too expensive, I’ve seen it cost a lot more in far less fashionable parts of London. And the cask is good too, cool, packed full of flavour, the kind of pint that sings. Cheap beer doesn’t have to be bad beer, and if it encourages enough turnover then you can find yourself with beer that is both reasonably priced and outstandingly kept, that simply doesn’t have time to become dull, tired.

This pub does the simple things well – a fine space with a good choice of drinks, friendly service in a place that offers some escape for a while. Sometimes that is all a pub needs. It sets a high benchmark for independent pubs in Central London, and for all pubs really. I liked having it to myself for a while, but I hope it gets more patrons. It deserves them.

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February 20, 2026

Pub Thoughts #5

The ceiling of a pub. There is a huge branch reaching across. Various lanterns and light hang from the ceiling and fall between the branches.

Sunday afternoon in The Old Tiger’s Head, Lee. It’s good to see a pub doing well when it has had its fair share of trials and tribulations – to go from boarded-up to thriving is quite an achievement, I think. It was sad seeing its counterpart across the road, The New Tiger’s Head no longer a pub, but at least the building hasn’t been completely left to rot. As an aside, I think more pubs should have matching names.

The place is very much a Sunday Lunch kind of pub. It seems like every table is having a roast dinner. The decor is modern and a bit trendy, but with an underlying pub-ness. It appears to be catering more for the monied folk up the road in Blackheath than the less well-heeled lot down the road in Lee. Everything is, well, keenly priced. The staff, on occasion, seemed harassed.

I could absolutely see why it is popular, but I also thought it wasn’t really my kind of pub.

A midweek lunch at the White Cross, North Cray. A country pub that one day woke up and found a massive dual carriageway was running past it. And as such, it’s not the easiest pub to get to unless you’re driving there.

Inside was all more modern than I was expecting from the look of the place outside and the age of the pub. At a small bar at the front sat a few drinkers, the locals/regulars by the look of it. As you walk around the bar to the back of the pub there’s two seated sections, one very much looking reserved for those having meals, but really the whole area seemed more for eating than drinking. Drinks were to be ordered from the bar. Food from a separate counter. So, you have patrons dancing between the two, and their table, trying to get through their order.

There were older couples, a few people who looked like they’d popped out from work, at one table a big family birthday party.

Clearly the food is what brings people in, and a busy pub on a weekday afternoon is another achievement in this day and age. The staff seemed a bit harassed too.

Clearly food-led pubs can and do work. But I’m not sure they make for the most relaxing places to go. The staff are having to juggle food and drink orders, along with whatever other demands coming from patrons often with very different needs – it’s hard enough serving drinks quickly let alone fielding questions about the menu, asking about allergies or dealing with special requests to change what will be on someone’s plate.

And there can be a bit of an off-vibe too. People in for a pint create a different atmosphere to a big family having a meal. Either can be annoying, and in the same place that annoyance can multiply – either with each other, or with the staff, or from the staff to the customers. Too many things for too many people makes nobody happy.

However, if food helps keep pubs alive I’m all for it. And there’s certainly times when it’s nice to head out for a meal but you want something less formal than a restaurant but with a little more service than a fast food place. But I don’t think it is easy to find places that get both food and drink right – it takes two quite distinct skillsets to strike the right balance and create the best possible environment for everyone to enjoy. A great pub that does food and drink right, with an atmosphere that appeals to all, feels a bit like a unicorn.

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February 13, 2026

Pub Thoughts #4

Pub carpet, red in colour with an illustration of two horses within a circle, along with text saying THE RUNNING HORSES

A very swift half in the Running Horses, Erith. If you were to flick through local history books you would see that Erith once had many pubs in its town centre. Now it only has one. The Running Horses is a rather large and rather handsome 1930s building, overlooking the Thames. The Saloon bar is lovely, with what looks to be the original features, but is generally closed. The public bar is a fair bit more lived in, a reflection perhaps of it taking all the passing pub traffic alone.

I like a pub with a bit of history and a bit of a mythology. Places with a tale to tell, and a tale you can tell yourself when they are mentioned. There’s apparently been a pub on this spot for over 200 years. After its rebuild in the 1930s it was bombed in 1940 – killing the licensee Zachariah William Coles, an ancestor of comedian and Celebrity Traitors winner Alan Carr. There are tales of many years ago the upstairs holding a party and the floor collapsing onto the drinkers below. If you were to mention the pub to anyone local of a certain age they will more than likely tell you all about how popular the pub’s carvery was in the 70s and 80s, how it was the place everyone went on a Sunday afternoon.

The carvery appears to be back, although it doesn’t seem to be as popular as it once was. There are a few people having a drink waiting for it to open. A few others are playing pool. The Winter Olympics is on the telly. We don’t stay long, but there’s a lot to be said for pubs in town centres, where you not only grab a drink but rest your legs, use the loo, escape the shops for a bit. Pubs can, and perhaps should, be a refuge. And when they are they weave themselves into the fabric of the community. They don’t have to be a destination, just a stopping point on the way.

All of this made me think that sometimes we underappreciate pubs as pitstops. They don’t always have to be destinations in and of themselves. We don’t always need to settle in for a session. Sometimes pubs work best as somewhere for a brief reprieve from the outside world before you pop on your coat and brave the big bad world again.

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January 31, 2026

Pub Thoughts #2

A framed beermat advertising Shepherd Neame Blacksmith, a strong stout, in black and red lettering. There is a picture of a blacksmith working in the centre of the beermat.

Back with more thoughts!

We were in the William the Conqueror at Rye Harbour last weekend. We went in at teatime Saturday after a stroll around the nearby nature reserve and it was a reminder that a long walk is improved immeasurably by a good destination. The place was cosy, calmly lit and while not too busy it wasn’t too empty either. The kind of place to rest weary bones and enjoy the post-windchill glow of cheeks.

It’s a funny old place in the sense that a lot of its business happens during the day, and so by teatime things are winding down, whereas in most pubs this would be around the time things start picking up for the evening. But it made for a nice refuge – the daytrippers and dog walkers had gone and there were just a few of us hardy souls still out here at the last pub before the sea. I like a pub that feels like an outpost. The last call of civilisation before the wilds of nature take over.

I had one of their last bottles of Shepherd Neame’s Christmas Ale. I can take or leave SN’s beer but their bottled ales are almost always worth a go. It was pretty strong but packed full of malty and spicy flavour. Best to only have the one, I think.

The other night back home and another trip to the Local Unfashionable Pub we went to last week where we got a warm welcome despite being far from regulars. It’s those little things that make a difference and help you to overlook any pub’s shortcomings. Give me a friendly pub over a quote-unquote “good” pub any day. The 6X was a nice surprise too, the kind of boring brown bitter that is still worth championing.

The place soon filled up with the Tuesday cribbage club. It seems to be the case that Tuesday night is cribbage night in this neck of the woods, or at least that’s how it appears from seeing it in one or two other places too. This lot looked more like the pros though, displaying a trophy and everything. The place would have been practically empty without them, and it was good to see some frankly pretty elderly people out down the pub of an evening. While I’m not a big fan of pub games, if it brings more people in I’m all for it, and if it brings in different kinds of people then all the better.

Friday afternoon, and the local town centre Spoons was rammed. In some ways it benefits from being the only pub next to the shopping mall. But I think it also benefits from not only being the cheapest place for a pint, but also the cheapest place for a coffee, or a meal. All things to all men and women. The real ale is generally disappointing, despite the local CAMRA regularly voting it in the Guide – I suspect a case of never mind the quality, feel the width. There’s lots of choice, it’s just not that well kept. I went for one of the keg craft offerings, Mad Squirrel Sumo and it was incredibly murky. I feel like we’ve gone past the craft murk craze now and this felt almost…old-fashioned?

Photo from William the Conqueror, Rye Harbour

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