From Portsmouth to the Stars: HENGE’s Cosmic Gospel Takes Flight

Gig review: HENGE at The Wedgewood Rooms - May 3rd 2025

HENGE at The Wedgewood Rooms. Photograph: Ye Swan Yi

On Saturday night, a sleepy corner of Southsea folded in on itself and re-emerged as a

glowing star port. HENGE — those intergalactic emissaries of Cosmic Dross — landed at

The Wedgewood Rooms and promptly launched a full-scale audio-visual abduction.

The venue, small and drenched in stage light, pulsed like the interior of a low-budget spacecraft.

Nobody present seemed concerned. They were begging to be taken.

Before the band even touched the stage, a robotic attendant piped up with a pre-recorded spaceflight announcement—a cross between Virgin Galactic and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. This wasn’t a gig; this was boarding protocol for a space journey.

The crowd, a constellation of humans across generations, with a few tiny astronauts in tow, buzzed with pre-launch glee. Then the countdown hit zero.

HENGE take to the stage. Photograph: Ye Swan Yi

Clad in absurdist alien garb, HENGE emerged to a roar, kicking off with Ascending — part rave banger, part sermon — and the mothership took off. What followed was an hour-long transmission of groove-driven psychedelia, tightly synced light shows, and improvised space lore that blurred the line between theatre and euphoric delirium.

The performance surged forward like a hyperspace jump. Throbbing synths, rapid-fire

rhythms, and theatrical breakdowns flowed into one another - HENGE’s cosmic funk was infectious. At times, the sound felt engineered to dislodge gravity itself: basslines that melted into your bones, glitchy vocal effects that twisted reality, and interludes that felt lifted straight from an indie game soundtrack.

The crowd was buzzing from the group's magnetic energy. Photograph: Ye Swan Yi

The crowd responded in kind. Heads bobbed in tight clusters up front, while space-freaks toward the back unleashed chaotic, limbs-everywhere dance rituals.

Between songs, the band stayed gloriously in character. “Who among you are humans?” Zpor, the lead singer, asked the crowd. Many raised their hands. For the few who didn’t, Zpor leaned in with a wink: “What planets are you from?” It was cheeky banter, just enough to draw the hesitant into the cosmic fold.

Though the staging was minimal, a necessity of the venue’s size, the immersion never

cracked. Distorted vocal filters, game-level transition sequences, and tightly synced strobes kept the illusion intact.

Sing-along cards added to the immersion. Photograph: Ye Swan Yi

The climax came with In Praise of Water, a celestial hymn that reverberated off the walls like a message in a bottle hurled across time. But it was the closer, Demilitarise, that truly cracked the room open with sing-along cue cards. A spoken-word plea to lay down arms and reach for the stars turned the crowd into a choir, not passive, but defiant.

“Now it is almost time for us to leave you—” the Zpor began.

“No!!!” the crowd protested.

“Don’t worry—we’ll drop you straight back at Portsmouth,” he promised, before launching into the anthem.

Audience voices echoed the chorus in unison, their chants bouncing against the walls of the intimate space, closing the show on a tidal wave of unity and interstellar optimism.

Outside, beneath the streetlights, fans staggered out looking freshly returned from orbit, sweat-slicked and giddy.

HENGE may dress like aliens from a Doctor Who reject bin and sing about space peace, but there’s nothing frivolous about what they do. In a world short on awe, they offer ritual. They remind you that a good gig can be transportive, absurd, and soul-stirring — sometimes all at once.