There comes a particular hush that falls over a crowd when a support act truly has it. Not a polite, quiet indifference, but an attentive stillness of a room slowly realising that they should be listening. Opening for Royel Otis at Glasgow’s O2 Academy, Still Blank step into that space with remarkable ease, their sound unfurling gently but deliberately, asking for patience and rewarding it tenfold.
The duo, comprised of Jordy and Ben, don’t announce themselves with bombast. Instead, they let the tension do the talking. Guitars hum, vocals hover and suddenly the vast room feels smaller, more intimate, as if the Academy has been quietly folded in on itself. It’s a striking thing to witness in a venue built for scale: a band capable of making the masses feel connected like individuals.
Still Blank exist in a space between worlds. Their music carries the hazy weight of folk and grunge, yielding an intentional roughness that feels preserved rather than polished away. Songs such as ‘Ain’t Quite Right’ and ‘What About Jane’ land with a slow-burn intensity, shaped as much by what’s left unsaid as by what’s sung aloud. Imperfections remain intact with warped tunings, room noise and the faint sense of something being held together by feeling, not force. It’s precisely this looseness that gives the set its emotional gravity.
Live on stage, you get the sense that Still Blank wish to share the room, not command it. Jordy’s vocals drift with an unguarded vulnerability, while Ben’s guitar lines feel conversational, adding a layer of tenderness. The duo convey music that breathes, allowing intentional, raw silences and negative space to linger just long enough to matter. In a time where listeners feel the need to be rewarded by immediacy and spectacle, Still Blank manage to tap into that same dopamine response by quietly doing the opposite.
The contrast feels especially poignant on a night like this. Supporting a band as buoyant and sunlit as Royel Otis, Still Blank bring something more inward-looking, not as opposition, but in complement. They remind the room that indie music still has space for ambiguity and for moments that don’t resolve neatly. It isn’t showy, yet it remains compelling, and the crowd seems to recognise that instinctively.
Offstage, that same grounded atmosphere remains. Speaking with them shortly after their set, there’s no sense of detachment or performative mystique, just two musicians processing the strange, fast moving reality they find themselves in. In fact, the interview itself unfolded in an oddly fitting manner. Barred from jumping round the back of the venue and re-entering by a door manager enforcing the Academy’s internal geography with unshakeable conviction, Microphone Tax ended up chatting with the duo in the narrow stairwell between the venue entrance and upstairs seating. It’s a liminal space – half public, half hidden – where passersby drift past as the conversation unfolds. From chance beginnings in a Liverpool basement to navigating continents, distance, and the disruptions that have shaped their debut, Still Blank feel like a band still in motion, still becoming. That openness feeds directly into the music: songs that feel lived-in, carried across places rather than pinned to them. Fitting, perhaps, for a band interviewed somewhere between floors, between cities, and between moments.
By the time they leave the stage, Still Blank haven’t tried to steal the night, yet they’ve certainly altered its texture. The crowd is warm, more attentive – the kind of support slot that doesn’t fade immediately after the headliner enters, instead lingering as a feeling that keeps returning between songs. In a venue built for volume, Still Blank prove that sometimes the most powerful thing that you can offer is restraint. And, judging by the way Glasgow listened, it’s a language people are more than ready to hear.
With a self-titled debut album under their belts, the sky is the limit for a band that manages to keep themselves so grounded. Still becoming, still between moments, Still Blank.
Click the link to listen to Ben’s interview with Still Blank:
Ben Mailer (he/him) is a writer for the Strathclyde Telegraph, co-host of the Microphone Tax radio show, and 4th year International Business and Finance Student. He mainly writes about music, culture, and interviews, with a particular interest in indie scenes and experimental art.
Outside of writing, he’s usually at gigs, digging through record shops, or working on radio projects.
You can find him on Instagram at @ben.mailer_.
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