Live Review: The Cult @ Warner Theatre — 10/15/25

The Cult Bring Their Brand of Mysticism to the Warner Theater
Story and photos by Mike Sprouse / Odd Rocker Photography

The Warner Theater in downtown DC is one of those grand old venues that feels alive, the air thick with echoes of decades-old applause and cigarette ghosts.

When The Cult rolled through town recently, it felt like the place had been waiting for them. The band took the stage to a low rumble of anticipation, Ian Astbury appeared first, tambourine in hand, looking more like a rock-and-roll mystic than a frontman. Billy Duffy followed, all in black, Gretsch guitar gleaming under the lights. No introductions, no buildup, just that first haunting riff of “Ghost Dance,” and suddenly the room was theirs.

There was a rhythm to the night that felt intentional, almost ritualistic, at Warner Theatre on Oct. 15. The Cult had announced in advance that they’d be doing two sets with an intermission, and that alone made it feel different. Most bands these days come out, run through the hits, and call it a night. But this was structured like a ceremony with Act One and Act Two, light and shadow.

The first half was rooted deep in their early catalog, back when the band was called Death Cult and carried that post-punk edge before the hard rock muscle of Electric and Sonic Temple took over. Hearing those older songs live felt like we were being handed a map back to the beginning. “Resurrection Joe” kicked in and the room shifted. That drumbeat hit like thunder and Duffy’s guitar tone was sharp enough to split atoms. Astbury’s voice, lower and heavier with age, carried a strange kind of authority, less wild than before, more commanding. “Gods Zoo” followed, and it was pure motion: bass pulsing, tambourine shaking, the crowd falling into rhythm with the beat. There’s something primal about watching The Cult when they’re in that mode. It’s not nostalgia; it’s a communion between the band and their fans.

Stream “Gods Zoo” by The Cult on YouTube:

“83rd Dream” came next, that hypnotic swirl from Dreamtime, and the Warner’s acoustics made it sound massive. There’s a quality to that song live that’s almost trance-like, the way the guitars loop and shimmer around Astbury’s vocals.

Then came “Butterflies,” one of the night’s first real quiet moments, the lights dimmed to soft orange and golds. Duffy played like he was painting with sound, those delicate runs filling every corner of the theater. Astbury barely moved, his voice low and calm, almost prayerful. For a few minutes, the room was completely still.

“Christians” brought everyone back to the present, its dark groove building tension that finally exploded when they launched into “Horse Nation.” That song remains one of their purest expressions of identity; tribal, loud, unapologetic. The song echoed from the stage to the balcony and back again, and it hit with a kind of conviction you don’t often see anymore. Then, just as quickly, it was over. The lights came up, and the first set was done.

During the intermission, nobody seemed eager to leave their seats. There’s something beautiful about those 15 minutes when a band has already knocked you over once and you know they’re coming back to do it again.

When the second set started, it was like a whole new band had taken the stage. “Wild Flower” exploded right out of the gate, all swagger and sweat. Duffy’s guitar cut through like sunlight on chrome and Astbury came alive, pacing the stage with that strange mix of menace and grace. If the first set had been spiritual, this one was physical. “The Witch” followed, its slinky groove reminding everyone how effortlessly The Cult could cross from mystic to sensual without losing a bit of intensity.

Stream “The Witch” by The Cult on YouTube:

“War (The Process)” was a slow burn, darker and heavier than anything before it. The rhythm section drove it hard, and Astbury sang it like a warning. The visuals behind them flickered, giving the whole thing a cinematic feel.

Then came “Rain,” one of those timeless songs that makes you forget what decade you’re in. The opening notes alone got a cheer. It’s strange how something written forty years ago can still sound like prophecy. Duffy’s guitar sparkled; Astbury’s voice rode the melody like wind through water.

“Edie (Ciao Baby)” followed, and it was stunning. That song has always had a kind of fragile glow to it, but live, it feels like it’s breathing. Duffy’s solo was gorgeous, clear and mournful, every note hanging in the air like mist. Astbury stepped back, eyes closed, just letting the music fill the room. When it ended, the applause lasted longer than usual, the kind of applause that feels like gratitude.

Then the band leaned into “Hollow Man,” letting it unfold slow and smoky, before tearing right into “Rise.” That was the moment the energy flipped again, just pure electricity. The Warner Theatre isn’t built for mosh pits, but for a minute there, it came close. Astbury shouted, Duffy’s riffs roared, and the crowd just lost themselves in the sound. “Lucifer” came next, its modern edge meshing perfectly with the older material.

When Duffy hit the opening riff to “Fire Woman,” it was like a spark hitting gasoline. The crowd was instantly on its feet, arms raised, the balcony shaking. Astbury delivered the vocal with that mix of grit and grace that only he can pull off, tambourine flashing in the lights. The band sounded huge; tight, raw and still dangerous.

Then “Love Removal Machine” came roaring in, all swagger and stomp, that perfect riff reminding everyone how effortlessly The Cult can make hard rock feel stylish. Duffy was locked in, trading grins with Astbury as if they were reliving a moment from 30 years ago, but it didn’t feel like an act, it felt alive.

Watch the official music video for “Love Removal Machine” by The Cult on YouTube:

The band walked off briefly, leaving the stage bathed in low light. Everyone knew what was coming, but the anticipation still buzzed.

When Duffy finally strummed the first shimmering notes of “She Sells Sanctuary,” the crowd erupted. There are songs that define bands, and then there are songs that define people. This one’s both. Astbury’s voice soared, and Duffy’s guitar created this vast cathedral of sound that filled every inch of the theater. The song didn’t end so much as dissolve, slowly fading into reverb, into applause, into the kind of moment that lingers long after the lights come up.

What struck me most wasn’t just how good they sounded, it was how present they were. There’s no autopilot with The Cult. Every song is played like it’s being written in real time, pulled from something deeper. Astbury moves like a man still chasing the fire, and Duffy plays like he’s still trying to perfect the sound of real rock. They’ve aged without losing an ounce of purpose, and that might be the rarest thing in rock and roll.

Some shows end. This one just stayed with you.

Setlist:

Set One:
Ghost Dance
Resurrection Joe
Gods Zoo
83rd Dream
Butterflies
Christians
Horse Nation

Set Two:
Wild Flower
The Witch
War (The Process)
Rain
Edie (Ciao Baby)
Hollow Man
Rise
Lucifer
Fire Woman
Love Removal Machine

Encore:
She Sells Sanctuary

Here are some photos of The Cult performing live at the Warner Theatre on Oct. 15, 2025. All pictures copyright and courtesy of Michael Sprouse/ Odd Rocker Photography.