Gillian Welch & David Rawlings, London Palladium, October 27, 2025.

‘Long Black Veil’ is an American folk ballad that dates from 1959, written by Marijohn Wilkin and Danny Dill, that tells the sad story of a man hung from the gallows for a murder he did not commit. He chose not to declare his alibi – he was “in the arms of my best friend’s wife” – in the courtroom so as not to betray his lover who “walks these hills in a long black veil”. It’s been covered by many – I heard it for the first time on The Band’s debut LP Music From Big Pink, sung plaintively by Rick Danko – and on Sunday night, at the London Palladium, Gillian Welch and David Rawlings chose to sing it for their sixth and final encore. 

But this was no ordinary encore, no ordinary climax to a wonderful concert, no ordinary way to close an evening that many will remember for a long time to come. Slightly overcome by the endless ovations, Welch and Rawlings stepped away from the microphones that amplified their voices and guitars, and walked towards the platform that covered the theatre’s orchestra pit. “This is something we’ve never done before,” said Welch. “We love this theatre. It’s like an old schoolhouse. You’ll have to keep very quiet now.”

You could hear a pin drop in the big old Palladium as the pair began, Welch strumming her Gibson, Rawlings picking out the odd note on that elderly Epiphone he so plainly adores. “Ten years ago, on a cold dark night…” And when they’d finished, after we’d strained but just about succeeded in hearing them perform acoustically in the strict sense of the word, the audience exploded, as they had time and time again during the previous three hours. 

        The current brief tour of the UK by the King and Queen of Americana is long overdue. My wife and I saw them the last time they were here, in 2011, in Brighton, and the long wait to see them again has been frustrating. Their stage set was absurdly simple, a pair of matching rugs, four microphones on stands, a small table and one stool, no drums, no back line, no lighting rig aside from spots that shone down on where they stood and a wash of whirly circles that spread across the deck. At just after 8 o’clock a lone roadie brought a banjo on to the stage, leaving it on a stand next to the table. It raised a cheer which he failed to acknowledge. 

        Then they arrived, Welch in a long, patterned dress, flared below the waist, country style, her shoulders bare; Rawlings dressed as a cowboy, scruffy old jacket, faded blue jeans and matching shirt, on his head a big hat that hid most of his face, its brim turned up at the sides. Welch chose her words carefully between songs, and seemed visibly moved by the warmth with which they were received. Rawlings said next to nothing, leaving his extraordinary guitar skills to speak for him. “Don’t hold back Dave,” said Welch at one point, grinning. At another, after songs that required both harmonica and banjo, she said: “You’ve heard it all now. Banjo and harp, that’s all we’ve got.” She's very droll. 

        They sang 25 songs in all, divided into two sets with a brief interval. Though they began the concert with ‘I Wanna Sing That Rock And Roll’, from 2001’s The Revelator, a good few – I counted seven in all – were from their Woodland album, released earlier this year. They nowadays have a deep well of material from which to draw, and the subtle change in billing that seems to have taken place fairly recently – they’re officially a duo in name now as well as in reality – adds Rawlings’ own recordings to their repertoire which now tots up to ten albums’ worth of songs between them, plus a covers set, some live recordings and archive releases. Very few songs from Welch’s first five albums were performed. 

        But whatever they sang, from whatever stage of their career, didn’t really matter. Each and every song was delivered with tenderness and care, with perfect harmonies and subtle accompaniment that gathered momentum only when Rawlings took a mesmerising solo, frantically picking away at his instrument, fast, clear lines, arpeggios and ringing top notes that took him well past his 12th fret. He hugs that Epiphone like a newborn baby. Almost every solo he took inspired applause that somehow launched the pair into the next, often final, verse of whatever song they were singing and thus created a fabulous momentum to close it. On most songs Welch set the pace, crouching forward to establish a chorded rhythm that Rawlings picked up very quickly, inking in the details in his spindly, spider-web fashion. For many they were joined on double bass by Paul Kowert who either plucked or bowed his instrument, its deeper timbre balancing the sharp tone of Rawlings’ guitar and adding depth to the music’s overall tonality.

        Highlights? Too many to count really. Rawlings’ ‘Ruby’ and Welch’s ‘Red Clay Halo’ which closed the first set. More came in the second: Rawlings’ lovely ‘What We Had’ and ‘Hashtag’, both from Woodland; ‘Six White Horses’ from 2011’s The Harrow And The Harvest, with Welch hamboning and even stepping forward for a well-received twirl and two step; ‘Revelator’, with Rawlings’ sprawling, cresting solo; and all the encores, beginning with a delightful ‘Make Me Down A Pallet On Your Floor’, which, said Welch, they learned from Doc Watson himself, running through Neil Young’s ‘Cortez The Killer’, played furiously, a triumphant ‘I’ll Fly Away’, almost but not quite a singalong, Jefferson Airplane’s ‘White Rabbit’, another furious, incendiary cover and the icing on the cake, that pure rendition of ‘Long Black Veil’.

At the front of the stage – look, no mikes – for the final encore. 

        It takes a good deal to prise me from my nest in the country these days but it was more than worth it to spend three hours in the company of these ambassadors of a country that is no longer as great as it once was. Here’s hoping Gillian Welch and David Rawlings don’t leave it another 14 years before they visit our shores again.