A night where post-punk shadows met rock’s eternal flame!
Some nights, rock doesn’t just return — it rises. That’s what happened at San Antonio’s Last night at the Majestic Theatre, we witnessed something rare: a band revisiting its own origin story and reanimating it with the same danger and mystique that once defined an era. The Cult brought their Paradise Now tour to San Antonio, and instead of simply playing the hits, they invited the crowd into a time warp—first as Death Cult, then as their full-fledged selves. The dual sets framed their evolution perfectly: from post-punk shadows to arena-filling rock majesty.
The night began with the electro-industrial pulse of Patriarchy, whose eerie energy primed the room for transformation. Then came Ian Astbury and Billy Duffy, two veterans who’ve carried the banner of British post-punk and mystic rock for four decades.
Between the distortion, chants, and Astbury’s ritual-like presence, it felt less like a concert and more like a ceremony of faith and ferocity. The stage shimmered with ritualistic light — smoke, silhouettes, and a sonic undercurrent that pulled the crowd straight into the heart of 1980s cool. Yet, nothing felt dated. Instead, it was raw, vital, and alive — a reminder that The Cult were never about revival. They were, and still are, about transcendence.
PATRIARCHY
If you’ve never experienced Patriarchy, imagine performance art and apocalypse colliding under a strobe light. Frontwoman Actually Huizenga strutted onstage like a cyber-priestess of chaos, commanding every gaze before uttering a word together with killer beats launched by Andrew Means. Opening with “New Way,” her voice — a haunted blend of sultry and mechanical — cut through a haze of distortion and menace.
Songs like “Coming Up” and “Suffer” throbbed with industrial beats and razor-edged synths, turning the Majestic Theatre into a dark dancefloor of defiance. There’s an eerie charisma in Patriarchy’s sound — somewhere between Nine Inch Nails, Ladytron, and a fever dream after too much neon. By “Servile,” Huizenga was in full dominatrix command, whipping the air, sneering, laughing — a living critique of control and submission.
The closing track, “Boy On A Leash,” felt like an exorcism — seductive, violent, liberating. The crowd, unsure whether to dance or genuflect, simply surrendered. Patriarchy didn’t just open the show; they detonated it — leaving the room scorched and ready for The Cult’s ritual.
DEATH CULT
When the lights dropped, the audience knew they were witnessing something special, DEATH CULT was in the house. Before The Cult became a household name, they were this—raw, urgent, spiritual, and defiantly underground. The set opened with “Ghost Dance,” a ritualistic rhythm that felt like it could summon the past itself. Ian Astbury’s voice, still rich and commanding, carried the same conviction that first made him a prophet of post-punk mysticism.
“Resurrection Joe” pulsed with menace, Billy Duffy’s guitar slicing through the air like a relic rediscovered. When the band launched into “Gods Zoo,” fans in vintage shirts sang like it was 1983 again—proof that the cult never truly died. Midway through, they honored the bridge between eras with “83rd Dream,” and then the haunting “Spiritwalker,” a track that still feels prophetic in its beauty and rage.
As Astbury declared, “This is where it all began,” there was a collective shiver in the room. The Death Cult set wasn’t nostalgia—it was resurrection. It reminded everyone why this band mattered in the first place: they turned darkness into devotion, rebellion into something almost divine.
THE CULT
Paradise Now Tour
Then came The Cult, shedding the shadows for full-blown fire. As the first riffs of “Wild Flower” tore through the Majestic, the energy surged into overdrive. Ian Astbury prowled the stage wearing some type of black Samurai clothes, his voice both fierce and vulnerable, while Billy Duffy unleashed those iconic guitar lines like a warrior conjuring lightning.
“The Witch” carried a mystical groove, while “Rain” turned the theatre into a communal chant, every voice echoing back decades of devotion. The crowd, a mix of lifelong followers and new believers, swayed and shouted as if baptized in distortion. Astbury, ever the spiritual provocateur, peppered his banter with gratitude and reflection—thankful to still be here, still sharing these songs, still believing.
When “Lucifer” kicked in, the sound was apocalyptic in scope—dark, seductive, transcendent. But it was the closing track, “She Sells Sanctuary,” that brought the house down. Lights exploded, voices rose, and the whole venue seemed to lift for one last glorious moment of rock ’n’ roll salvation.
The Cult didn’t just revisit their legacy—they reaffirmed it. Decades in, they remain proof that intensity, passion, and mysticism never go out of style.
Born of Fire and Faith
Before they were The Cult, they were seekers. Emerging from the post-punk scene of early ’80s England, Ian Astburyand Billy Duffy fused spiritual themes, mystic imagery, and guitar-driven power to create something both primal and transcendent. Originally known as Southern Death Cult, the band evolved rapidly, shedding their underground skin to embrace a widescreen rock sound that echoed Led Zeppelin’s grandeur and The Doors’ mysticism.
By the mid-’80s, with albums like Love and Electric, The Cult had become one of rock’s most formidable forces—bridging goth, hard rock, and spiritual rebellion into a single, unforgettable identity. Today, their legacy lives on as a band unafraid to confront its past and reinvent it for the present, forever straddling the line between darkness and deliverance.
As we stepped out into the cool San Antonio night, the echo of “She Sells Sanctuary” still ringing in our heads, one thing felt certain: The Cult aren’t a nostalgia act—they’re a living, breathing force. Their willingness to revisit their origins as Death Cult and then explode back into their full power proved that evolution doesn’t mean dilution—it means devotion.
At the Majestic Theatre, the lines between past and present dissolved into pure, communal energy. The fans—many who’ve carried these songs through decades—left with that unmistakable mix of exhaustion and elation that only true rock rituals deliver.
The Cult gave us more than a concert; they gave us continuity. A reminder that even after forty years, faith in the music—and in the fire it sparks—still burns eternal.
THE CULT – San Antonio, TX, – 10/21/2025
DEATH CULT
- Ghost Dance
- Ressurection Joe
- Gods Zoo
- 83rd Dream
- Butterflies
- Christians
- Horse Nation
- Spiritwalker
THE CULT
- Wild Flower
- The Witch
- War (The Process)
- Rain
- Edie (Ciao Baby)
- Hollow Man
- Rise
- Lucifer
- Fire Woman
- Love Removal Machine
Encore:
- She Sells Sanctuary
