Few bands of the late ’80s and early ’90s occupied the margins quite like Jerico. Too political for pop, too eclectic for rock purists, and never content to sit neatly inside genre lines, the band built a fiercely loyal following by doing things their own way. Now, as Jerico returns to the stage, frontman Mark Shaw reflects on legacy, live intensity, creative independence, and why the anger and urgency behind the songs still matter.
Speaking candidly ahead of the tour, Shaw talks about setlists, survival, and the responsibility of leaving everything on stage — every night.
How was Christmas for you?
Quiet — which was exactly what I needed. I live in a small village in Kent, very old, very peaceful. I’d been flat out before Christmas, finished just in time, then promptly came down with pneumonia. That wiped me out, but it forced me to rest. I’m not hugely festive, but this year I appreciated slowing down.
The tour is approaching fast. How are you shaping the setlist?
The tour’s called The Return, and that’s exactly what it is. Fans want the material they know and love, so the focus is mainly on the first two albums and my early solo work.
I do have new material, but I always prefer to play songs live before recording them — and I haven’t even played them to the band yet. We only get about ninety minutes on stage, and with long songs, high keys, and barely any breaks, we simply can’t fit everything in. Whatever we leave out, someone complains about — so it’s all about balance.
Touring seems tougher these days. Is that fair to say?
Definitely. We don’t have the luxury of endless rehearsal time or a big tour bus. Financially, it just isn’t possible. We don’t even have a keyboard player anymore — all the keyboard parts are now on backing tracks.
That means introducing new material takes planning and programming. So we do it gradually — a few songs at a time — to keep things fresh without overwhelming the setup.
Do you still write while on the road?
Not like we used to. Years ago, we’d write straight after gigs in hotel rooms — which didn’t go down well with other guests. These days, we’re travelling separately in cars and vans, so I tend to record ideas on a memory stick and forget about them… sometimes for years.
Do you still feel the same urgency on stage?
Absolutely. The adrenaline is still there. Jerico shows have always been high-energy — drama, intensity, emotion. We don’t really do ballads. Even Sugarbox is fast.
When I sing, I put myself back where I was when I wrote the song. Most of my work comes from anger, injustice, political corruption, social inequality. Injustice bothers me more than tragedy.
If I come off stage and I’m not shattered, then we haven’t done our job.
Jerico were often hard to categorise. Do you feel misunderstood?
Yes — very much so. We deliberately pushed against expectations. Musically, visually, politically. Some people couldn’t work out how we looked one way and sounded another.
We were told we weren’t “rock” enough — which always made me laugh. Rock isn’t about uniforms; it’s about friction and opposition. One reviewer said we reinvented rock. Another said I shouldn’t be allowed near it. I took both as compliments.
Does today’s music landscape offer more freedom?
It’s easier to discover music, but much harder to be heard. There’s just so much of it. That said, we’re seeing younger audiences now — teenagers choosing to come to Jerico shows on their own.
I played an acoustic show recently and spotted a group of 18-year-olds right at the front. They told me they liked the music because it isn’t predictable — there are different worlds inside it. That really meant something to me.
The album as a fixed concept doesn’t really exist anymore. People curate their own playlists now — which is basically what we did with mixtapes in the ’80s.
What can first-time audiences expect from the live show?
I want people to leave emotionally and physically exhausted. I want them thinking, I’ve never seen anything like that before.
We throw everything into it — heart, soul, and sometimes body parts. The songs matter. The audience matters. People deserve to see musicians working hard for their money.
And the community matters too. Jerico fans are friendly — people meet at shows and become friends. That’s one of the things I’m most proud of.
As Jerico step back onto the stage, there’s no sense of nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. This is about momentum, relevance, and reaffirming what the band has always stood for: intensity, honesty, and refusal to be boxed in.
For Mark Shaw, the mission remains unchanged — to challenge, to connect, and to leave nothing behind once the lights go down.
If the upcoming shows are anything like he promises, audiences won’t just hear the songs — they’ll feel them.
With thanks to Mark Shaw.
Matt Jacobson
Explore Liverpool
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