Saturday 31st October 2026

Hallé at St. Michael’s, Manchester, England

In our modern England the places that are haunted, or said to be haunted, have been so for generations. So long is our history that there cannot be a patch of ground across the four corners of the island that has not already borne the marks of innumerable feet, and the ghosts of Albion, of Britannia, of the Angelcynn and the Danelaw, reside in forgotten barrows and country halls; on ancient marshlands and windswept moors; at erased crossroads and ancient hills long since sunken into mines. They dwell in ruined castles and on cliffside brows, in Victorian tunnels and Tudor inns. They are held in tourist traps and they are caught in curses amidst the Saxon gold that still lies buried in the ground.

Until tonight – All Hallow’s Eve, in the Year of Our Lord 2026 – the hall at St. Michael’s in Ancoats was remarkably free of such a burden. Built in 1859 for the Catholic conscience of Manchester’s Italian immigrants, the church served its parish for almost one hundred and fifty years before it was closed by the diocese, and you can scour the records for stories of haunts or curses or other spiritual blemishes without result.

Until tonight.

Twenty years ago, the church passed into the custody of Hallé and it was converted into a music venue and community space. And tonight, Hallowe’en night, the name on the bill that is pasted to the oaken front door is that of the Gothic folk artist Toria Wooff. Leave such a girl to wander with a guitar on the moors where she was born and she comes back with tales of winter ghosts and corvids; make the mistake of inviting such a creature onto consecrated ground and you have The Haunting of Hallé at St. Michael’s; an opportunity to see a haunt develop in real-time. Few are the occasions in our modern, unromantic world for such magicks, and so I offer below a rare contemporary chronicle of a place become dread. Whether that is taken as warning or as temptation is for each reader to decide for themselves.

For my part, I am stamped inexorably with the Black Mark by the doorman upon entry and I walk into the main hall. Choral chanting pours from the speakers and, ahead of me, the stage is already lit in threatening shadow by blood-red lights. Before I can eye a prime seat, a man in a white cassock bids me good evening and hands me a single sheet of red paper, as blood as the stage. “Tonight’s hymn,” the priestly figure says with an enigmatic smile. I look down and see the below five times written:

OPEN THE CIRCLE CALL THE QUARTERS,

I CANNOT WAIT FOR WHAT SHE OFFERS

I recognise this as the witchy refrain from Toria’s recent single, ‘The Morrigan’, though its purpose is still unknown to me as I find a seat in the front row.

I do not have to wait long to find out. As the lights dim further and the show is about to start, the priest walks up the aisle, passing the hushed crowd as he approaches the stage. “I’d like to start proceedings with a short reading,” he says, before opening a large blue ledger in his hands. In stentorian tones he delivers the lyrics of ‘The Morrigan’, delighting in teasing out of the rich soil of every English word their ancestral power and warmth. Not many lyrics are strong enough to withstand such a stark delivery, unaccompanied by musical instrument, but those of Toria Wooff are. It is the first of many signs tonight of this songwriter’s growing confidence and ambition – both of which are fully warranted.

“And now,” says our cassocked herald, “I would ask you to lift up your voices and join me in a brief hymn.” We hear an organ note come in strong from the stage. One of tonight’s players, Dan Bridgwood-Hill, known professionally as ‘DBH’, has already seated himself amidst the blood-lit ambience and is holding down the keys. The priest leads the seated audience of near two hundred people in song, gesturing with his hands:

OPEN THE CIRCLE CALL THE QUARTERS,

I CANNOT WAIT FOR WHAT SHE OFFERS

The rest of the band come in noiselessly on the second of the crowd’s refrains. First to walk across the threshold which DBH has breached is Dave Ormsby, who takes his seat behind the drums. He is followed by the bassist Danny Miller and then, on electric guitar duties tonight, the towering figure of James Wyatt. (“Of Sloe Flower Studio,” Toria says later tonight. “Also my fiancé.”) Finally, Polly Virr – essential and ever-present in Toria’s sound – seats herself behind her cello.

Bringing up the rear is the Woman in Black herself; Toria Wooff walking onto the stage in her signature look of black dress and boots. She looks stunning on this special Hallowe’en night – “Goth Christmas,” as she later calls it – her hair glossy black like rippled silk and held in place by bat-shaped hairclips. So striking is the chiaroscuro effect of the Woman in Black and the priest in white who continues to lead the audience in ‘The Morrigan’s refrain that it almost seems a false memory to recall that the first time I saw Toria live, she wore white.

The priest bows his head and walks away, and DBH’s organ carries the hymnic refrain straight into the band’s own version of ‘The Morrigan’. Announced by Toria’s acoustic guitar chords – appropriately enough, her custom guitar is made from English yew, the ‘tree of the dead’ – it has been an inspired bit of theatre to begin the show in this way. When the gig was announced back in June, I don’t think I’d ever bought anything quicker; tonight has been my seventh opportunity in the space of one-and-a-half years to hear this remarkable and largely-unheralded singer-songwriter.

It has also been my first to hear Toria with a full band, if you’re of the opinion that a group must have a drummer to be called a band. Polly Virr, Danny Miller and DBH had all joined Toria on stage at The Trades Club in Hebden Bridge back in May, but the addition of James Wyatt’s guitar and Dave Ormsby’s drums has made the ensemble a bona fide band – and they play like it too.

‘The Morrigan’ is a tantalising taste of what Toria’s music may sound like on her upcoming album Aleister (out on January 15th) – “a little tiny bit of a detour from the debut album”, Toria says later – and it certainly benefits from the amplified sound. Polly’s cello glides and falls beautifully, as it has always done alongside Toria’s music, but the live ‘Morrigan’ also benefits from Danny’s harmonies and especially from Dave’s drum beat. Nor is Toria swallowed up by the amplified sound swarming around her; her singing voice stands high and clear above it all as she delivers ‘The Morrigan’s now-familiar refrain.

Tonight’s second song, the latest single ‘Noiselessly’, illustrates this as well as any. Like ‘Sweet William’, which follows shortly after in the setlist, ‘Noiselessly’ is inspired by the loss of a close friend and begins with just Toria alone on her acoustic guitar, singing tenderly. Once they have established themselves, both songs bring in the band, to great effect on ‘Noiselessly’ especially. “Light up your mind,” Toria sings with rising force, before the song allows for a gorgeous solo from Polly’s cello.

It’s a performance that draws applause from the audience; a clapping which continues as James Wyatt has the honour of beginning the distinctive electric guitar riff of the next song. It’s the first of three Hallowe’en-themed treats of the evening; an infectious cover of Donovan’s ‘Season of the Witch’. Toria has shed her guitar and stands with her hands on her hips, singing smoky jazz-lounge vocals into her mic. James grins, clearly enjoying his guitar part, and DBH’s organ swirls with some funky notes. It doesn’t even seem odd to see Polly groove on the cello – the song is a vibe.

“How many of you are in fancy dress?” Toria asks at the song’s end, shading her eyes from the lights as she looks out into the darkness of the audience. (“I can just see tops of heads,” she says later.) She says her friend asked her what she was dressing up as, but she hadn’t thought about it. “So I’m just Toria Wooff for the night.”

“Aaaagh!” says James.

After ‘Sweet William’, Toria stays with her debut album to deliver one of my favourite songs, ‘Mountains’. Some soft lap-steel playing from DBH accentuates the gentle feminine understanding Toria conveys in the song, her shadow playing on the church wall like a brockenspectre as she sings. In a sequence that will please geographers everywhere, ‘Mountains’ flows into ‘Estuaries’, with Toria and her guitar accompanied only by Polly’s cello.

The full band returns for ‘Aleister’, the title track from Toria’s upcoming album. It’s a stirring, confident song, far removed from the pensiveness of the debut album’s songs we have just heard while still retaining Toria’s musical identity. It begins with a foreboding, drone-like intro before Dave Ormsby’s drums count in Toria’s guitar, followed by her clear, confident voice. Polly Virr provides some astute touches on the cello and the song, which speaks of confrontation and resolution and namechecks “Archangel Michael”, seems to find extra force here in one of St. Michael’s deconsecrated halls. You can almost hear his spear find strength to pierce the serpent as he is roused by the songwriter’s chords. This is as good as alt folk gets.

To end the first half of her set (there will be an intermission), Toria turns to two fan favourites. ‘The Waltz of Winter Hey’ is inspired by Winter Hill on the moors near her hometown; a ghost story about “a scorned woman who’s been betrayed whilst she’s in the grave” – self-evidently perfect for Hallowe’en. Rather revealingly, Toria introduces it as “an oldie”, a sign of how far she has come as she looks forward to her second album. Even a false start to the song – “I’m so sorry, I put my capo on wrong” – can’t dent her confidence. The band end the first set with the soaring, triumphant ‘See Things Through’.

After the intermission, when the choral chanting has once again died from the speakers, the priest returns to the front of his congregation. Toria and the band have already reappeared to take their places on the stage behind him.

“1577. Bungay, Suffolk,” the priest says. A heckler is cut short with a firm but gracious ‘good evening’. “The Church of the Holy Trinity. A community much like ours tonight. A setting ripe for the appearance of a dark and fiendish creature. None other than the Black Shuck!”

His eyes scan the crowd. He speaks slowly and precisely, enjoying the language just as he did before.

“It was a warm evening. October 4th, to be precise. And a storm had been howling through the town all night. Upon the arrival” – he claps harshly – “of a thunderclap, the great oaken door of the church flew open to reveal a hell-hound, with one giant red eye in the middle of his head.

“He took no time running through the congregation and mauled two strong men and caused the church steeple to writhe and topple. With careless abandon he fled, leaving three scorch marks on the great oaken door – still to be seen to this day.

“The figment of a black dog often appears; it is associated with many things. In literary examples, he is often portrayed as a metaphorical spectre of ill omen.

“But tonight, let’s hope the doors of Hallé at St. Michael’s remain firmly locked. And will keep us at bay from: The – Black – Shuck!”

At the announcement of those final words, Toria’s guitar immediately breaks into the melody of her unreleased song ‘Black Shuck’. It’s a short folk song, which Toria’s hands run through as quickly as said demon-dog mauled its way through the Suffolk congregation. Unlike the church of the priest’s portent, Hallé at St. Michael’s somehow remains standing in the face of this appearance of ‘Black Shuck’.

The momentum is carried straight into the next song, ‘The Plough’, which starts with a foreboding sound and a rather epic, emphatic acoustic guitar intro from Toria that wouldn’t be out of place as a Led Zeppelin track. The one-two punch has successfully restarted the band’s haunting of Hallé at St. Michael’s after the intermission.

“How was your little break?” Toria asks. “Useful? I did my Duolingo.”

“What language?” someone asks, amidst the rumble of laughter.

“Norwe– Norsk,” Toria replies, correcting herself. She then rattles off a line in Norsk. It sounds impressive to me, but unluckily for Toria the Manchester crowd seems to be teeming unexpectedly with Norwegians, who choose this moment to suddenly sprout from the ground like the skeletons in Jason and the Argonauts.

A flurry of Norwegian phrases are launched at the stage from around the room, no doubt asking which way to the post office or how much this bus ticket costs. Poor Toria must feel like Lindisfarne as she gamely fields the Norsemen’s queries – “What was that?” she says, bending her ear to one query, which was perhaps asking after the pen of my aunt – before she admits defeat.

“I don’t know,” she laughs, overwhelmed. “Listen, bit by bit. Bit by bit. I know how to say a lot of really useless stuff though, like stuff about having a brother.” She then rattles off another confident line of Norsk. The appreciative cheers from the audience’s surprisingly substantial Viking contingent suggests she has redeemed herself.

“But I don’t have a brother,” she deadpans, to widespread laughter.

This is all part of Toria Wooff’s winning charm; her live sets of deep, thoughtful folk songwriting punctuated by moments of endearing humour. She introduces the next song and finds herself rambling, telling herself to “fuckin’ shuddup” which prompts yet more warm laughter. The song in question is ‘Eileen’, the first single released from her upcoming album and one which is more in keeping with her established sound from her debut album. It starts off with just Toria on the guitar, and later Polly’s cello comes in with its glorious keening sound. The sombre tone is continued in ‘Song for A’, another tribute to the same lost friend evoked in ‘Noiselessly’ and ‘Sweet William’ from tonight’s first set.

“I’m gonna do a little cover for ya,” Toria says, strumming her guitar idly. “Of one of my favourite bands, The Ramones.” She goes on to regale the audience with the story of how her parents turned her onto the band when she was ten years old, and how she then listened to all of their music by the same means any young person does – by [redacted]. “That was bad,” she says with a smile. “Listen, I’m paying my atonements. I’m an artist using Spotify now, so fuckin’ hell.” She then plays a song the young Victoria was fascinated by – “I thought it was the best song in the world, and I didn’t understand the lyrics at all”.

Toria’s version of ‘Pet Sematary’ is a revelation. In one way, it is similar to The Ramones’ original, played by Toria’s guitar and Polly’s cello with – at least to my uncultured ear – no great rearrangement. But there is one profound difference, for Toria gives it the same sort of folk flavour and confident singing that she gave to her own song ‘Aleister’ in tonight’s first set. Far from being just a Hallowe’en-themed treat, it is a very well-judged song for where Toria is currently at artistically. Sung in her crystal voice, ‘Pet Sematary’ sounds aspirational and resolute. I find I prefer it to The Ramones’ version – and if you’re not allowed to speak such heresy on Hallowe’en, just when in the hell can you?

Toria goes straight into the acoustic strumming of the next song, with Polly’s cello immediately joining in. ‘House on the Hill’ is always a highlight when I hear Toria live, a centrepiece of her setlists, and tonight is no exception. I always find myself anticipating Toria’s high vocals on the chorus of this stark and spooky song, and this time the song is augmented by Danny Miller’s bassline and a tasteful drum beat from Dave Ormsby. This is a band which knows when to allow Toria’s music space to breathe and when to come to the fore, as evidenced in the follow-up song ‘That’s What Falling in Love Will Do’, which is enhanced by some delicate lap-steel touches from DBH.

It’s at this point, with the second and final set approaching its end, that Toria gives her band members their due, introducing them by name to the audience as they each receive a round of applause. “We actually tried to come up with spooky names for ourselves,” Toria says. “Mine was Toria Ah-woooooff!” The audience laughs as Toria rattles off the names of this new Crypt-Kicker Five: Polly Grrr, Danny Killer, Grave Ormsby, Maims Wyatt (“that was a hard one”) and finally “for DBH we just came up with ‘R.I.P.'”

It’s a band prepared to end their haunt of Hallé at St. Michael’s with a big finale. ‘The Flood’ starts with just Toria and Polly before the rest of the band join in. The organ sound of DBH and the drums of Dave Ormsby are particularly prominent as the song builds and builds and slips straight into a similar melody – and our now-familiar refrain:

OPEN THE CIRCLE CALL THE QUARTERS,

I CANNOT WAIT FOR WHAT SHE OFFERS

This reprise of ‘The Morrigan’ is a thrilling end to the second set, as Toria’s vocal melody stands out amidst the crash of the drums and the swirl of the organ and the frenzied cello bowing of Polly Virr: a powerful ending for a proper band. The return of ‘The Morrigan’ shows that this has not just been an excellent night of live music – that, in my experience, has always been the case with Toria – but has been a full-blooded show, with a calculated beginning and end, while losing none of the artist’s spontaneity and authenticity. Confidence and aspiration have been the themes of the night, moreso even than Hallowe’en dread. Even more excitingly, they also seem to be the character of the music Toria is set to release in the New Year, qualities to meet the talent which has always been there.

The circle closed and the quarters called, the confident Toria becomes momentarily bashful, as she bows and unslings her guitar and leaves the stage. The band remains as the audience’s keen applause summons her back to the stage, and she quickly returns for an encore.

DBH’s fingers dance across the piano keys that drive the band’s cover of Warren Zevon’s ‘Werewolves of London’, the final Hallowe’en-themed treat prepared for the audience. It’s a fun song, with Toria Ah-woooooff howling as she stands and sways without her guitar, taking the mic in her hand. Polly is howling too as she runs her bow across the cello; Danny’s electric bass roves; James nods and grins as he strums his guitar. Our haunt ends with ‘Lefty’s Motel Room’, one of Toria’s finest songs.

But the night is not yet over for Toria Wooff. The venue might impose a curfew but this is Goth Christmas – and a creature of the night. For a further half-hour Toria mans the merch stall alongside fellow Sloe Flower Studio alumni Jacob George, a musician friend helping out tonight. She signs prints and vinyl sleeves; chats with fans and hugs those with familiar faces. This is a commendable part of the Toria Wooff live experience, and while the music itself is no doubt the main reason there are many returning faces, it is gratifying to see that there is an authentic person behind it all.

I myself hang back, listening to the songs coming over the sound system. Alice Cooper’s ‘I Love the Dead’ pours out as the crowd does too. The original versions of ‘Pet Sematary’ and ‘Season of the Witch’ allow me to double-down on my earlier heresy. I am happy to wait as ‘Pagan Baby’ plays, and not just because six minutes of Creedence Clearwater Revival is welcome at any time.

For me, there is one more pre-arranged Hallowe’en treat. Ahead of tonight’s haunt I purchased the original canvas Toria painted for tonight’s gig; an arresting Hammer Horror-inspired canvas with a spooky red Toria looming over the ill-fated St. Michael’s, possessed by a spectral lightning. It is a threat she has lived up to in the music I have just heard; the opportunity to witness the Haunting of Hallé at St. Michael’s in real time.

James Wyatt asks about my own writing – a self-published novel and a shorter novelette so far, both coincidentally with some Gothic inspirations. He and Toria are aware I write these reviews and are full of gratitude; I joke that when I write about tonight I won’t mention [redacted] from earlier. Toria hands over the canvas – which has been on display all night – with a hug. She signs the night’s setlist for me – DBH had obligingly handed me the sheet earlier as he packed up his equipment on the stage – and I wonder if I am the only one who has noticed that it seems to be in its own Twilight Zone, with the date ‘31.10.31’ printed at the top of the page in this the Year of Our Lord 2026.

I wonder where we will all be in 2031, when that typo becomes reality, and I hope that James and Toria will still be making great music for me to hear. Between then and now there will no doubt be many opportunities, not least with the upcoming release of Aleister and the album tour in the New Year.

So ends this chronicle of a place become dread. These words come from the pen of a convinced Renfield; I intend these passages not as warning but as enticement – to open the circle and call the quarters for the Woman in Black. I step out into the night, the half-moon big in the sky. With Toria’s canvas under my arm I look back at the haunted hall of Hallé at St. Michael’s. A warm pumpkin-orange glow comes from the door and windows, from where Toria and her clan are perhaps already concocting their next fantastic scheme. I cannot wait for what she offers.

Setlist:

(no opening act; two full sets with intermission after ‘See Things Through’)

(all songs from the album Toria Wooff and written by Toria Wooff, unless noted)

  1. The Morrigan (single)
  2. Noiselessly (single)
  3. Season of the Witch (Donovan Leitch) (unreleased)
  4. Sweet William
  5. Mountains
  6. Estuaries
  7. Aleister (unreleased)
  8. The Waltz of Winter Hey
  9. See Things Through [End of Set #1]
  10. Black Shuck (unreleased)
  11. The Plough
  12. Eileen (single)
  13. Song for A
  14. Pet Sematary (Dee Dee Ramone/Daniel Rey) (unreleased)
  15. House on the Hill (unreleased)
  16. That’s What Falling in Love Will Do
  17. The Flood
  18. The Morrigan (reprise)
  19. Encore: Werewolves of London (Warren Zevon/LeRoy Marinell/Waddy Wachtel) (unreleased)
  20. Encore: Lefty’s Motel Room

My other concert reviews can be found here.

My fiction writing can be found here.