The gig was announced with all the stealth of a ninja wearing a glitter suit. One minute you’re scrolling Instagram, the next your feed explodes with the news that the man who literally survived the 90s boyband wars is playing a 300-capacity club. Tickets sold out in the time it takes you to say “Let Me Entertain You” twice. Fans queued from early morning, not for a seat—there were no seats—but for the chance to be elbow-to-armpit with a global icon.
Here’s the surprising fact: Dingwalls is a venue that usually hosts earnest indie bands and the occasional tribute act. The last time I was there, some bloke in a cardigan was playing a mournful song about his cat. But on this night, the air was thick with the perfume of anticipation, stale beer, and the faint, unmistakable whiff of desperate hope that he’d do “Rock DJ”. He did. And it was chaos.
The "Angels" and the Actual Devils
The setlist was a masterclass in ignoring your own ego. Instead of a predictable hits parade, Robbie played deep cuts and B-sides, which is a bold move when your audience is three feet away and could literally poke you in the ribs. He even threw in a cover of a song by The Smiths, which got the Camden locals nodding in approval like hipster pigeons. “Dingwalls is where I used to go to not be famous,” he shouted, grinning like a man who has accidentally discovered a time machine and is loving it.
And then, the horny elephant in the room: the man looked like he was having the time of his life. He wasn’t just performing; he was communing with the crowd. He stole a fan’s phone and took a 30-second video of his own arse, which—let’s be honest—is the most Robbie Williams thing he could have done. The crowd roared, not with anger, but with the pure, unadulterated joy of witnessing a superstar acting like a complete, charming idiot in a space smaller than your living room.
Robbie Williams previews 'BRITPOP' and plays debut album in full at
