Great gig at Limerick's University Concert Hall ignites musical memories

There are few things more reliable than the cathartic power of a great guitar riff. On Thursday, October 30, at the University Concert Hall in Limerick, that truth was on full display when Rock Rising: The Supreme Classic Rock Show rolled into town.
The audience was a cross-section of generations: grey-haired veterans in tour T-shirts from the 1980s sat beside students who might have first heard these songs through Spotify algorithms rather than vinyl sleeves. But once the opening chords tore through the hall, it didn’t matter who was from which decade. The music - the eternal language of melody, and shared memory - levelled everyone into a single, roaring congregation.

The Concept Behind the Sound
Rock Rising isn’t a band in the conventional sense, but a curated collective of top-tier Irish rock musicians dedicated to resurrecting the spirit of the greats. Conceived as a live theatre production rather than a mere covers act, it bridges two worlds: the arena-sized swagger of classic rock and the intimacy of a live performance where every note is earned in real time.
At its heart lies the principle of fidelity - not mimicry, but respect. Rather than dressing up as Queen, AC/DC, or Pink Floyd, Rock Rising performs their songs as themselves, allowing the musicianship to carry the weight of homage. The result is a show that honours the originals while asserting its own character.
The group’s roots trace back to members of Big Generator, the long-running Irish rock outfit known for their touring and meticulous musicianship. Guitarist Dave Hockedy, one of the creative forces behind Rock Rising, has said in interviews that the band approaches these legendary songs “note for note,” striving to reproduce their intricate details without sterilising their soul. He deserved the standing ovation he received after one of many incredible solos. Around him are some of Ireland’s most accomplished performers - players who can shift from the tight funk of Thin Lizzy’s Jailbreak to the symphonic density of Bohemian Rhapsody without breaking a sweat.

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Setting the Scene
The University Concert Hall, a venue celebrated for its crystalline acoustics and warm ambience, was perfectly suited to the task. There’s something almost poetic about staging a rock extravaganza in a theatre more accustomed to orchestras and musicals. As the audience filtered in under soft amber light, a low murmur of anticipation rippled through the room.
Then, without fanfare, the house lights dropped to black. A single white beam cut across the stage, catching the glint of chrome on a guitar headstock. A thump of bass drum followed - one, two, three - and then the sound erupted: guitars crunching, drums hammering, a voice rising above it all. The show had begun, and from that moment, it refused to let go.

The Sound and Fury
What followed was a meticulously structured two-hour journey through the canon of classic rock. The pacing was deliberate: big, swaggering openers designed to pull the audience straight into the era, followed by a run of deeper, more atmospheric pieces that showcased the band’s dynamic range.
The first section leaned heavily into the driving pulse of the 1970s - the kind of songs that once filled stadiums and car radios alike. When the vocalist hit the familiar cry of Don’t Stop Believin’, the crowd responded instinctively, voices joining as if rehearsed. The guitar tones were rich and warm, perfectly balanced between bite and body, while the rhythm section kept everything grounded with muscular precision.
From there, the show moved into its latter half, where the energy climbed relentlessly. By the time the unmistakable stomp of We Will Rock You echoed through the hall, the audience was fully in on it — clapping in time, stamping feet, and shouting the chorus back at the stage. It was a genuine communion between band and crowd, the kind of shared moment live music was invented for.

The Players
Though the show’s branding places emphasis on the collective rather than the individual, a few key figures stood out. Dave Hockedy’s guitar work was masterful - crisp, expressive, and filled with small flourishes that revealed deep familiarity with the source material. His solos walked the line between technical precision and pure emotion.
The lead vocals were shared to get the best voice/range for particular songs. Their performances will linger in memory. They could belt the anthems with raw grit. The rhythm section deserved its own spotlight: the bassist locking perfectly with the drummer to create that tight, chest-thumping foundation upon which everything else rested. A keyboardist added the cinematic sweep needed for some songs and the saxophonist was superb, especially performing Gerry Rafferty’s Baker Street.
It’s tempting to think of Rock Rising as a nostalgia act, but the professionalism of these musicians puts it closer to a rock orchestra. Each song was arranged with care, dynamics carefully sculpted, transitions seamless. They weren’t just performing; they were conducting an emotional timeline through decades of music history.

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The Production
Visually, the show struck the right balance between theatre and concert. The lighting design was particularly effective: washes of deep blue and scarlet for the moody numbers, bursts of white and gold for the climaxes. Rather than overloading the senses with pyrotechnics or excessive video screens, Rock Rising trusted the music to lead. The few visuals that did appear - brief projections and stylised backdrops - served more as atmosphere than distraction.
The sound engineering was superb. In a venue like the University Concert Hall, where acoustics are unforgiving, the mix achieved rare clarity. What makes Rock Rising remarkable isn’t only its musical precision, but its understanding of what classic rock represents. These songs were born in an age of rebellion, of youth and volume and social change. Yet hearing them performed in 2025, by musicians who treat them with both reverence and renewed energy, gives them fresh life.
The show doesn’t attempt to rewrite history; it curates it. Each song becomes a chapter in a wider story about how rock shaped the emotional landscape of the twentieth century - and how it continues to resonate long after the amps were supposed to have gone quiet.
In this sense, Rock Rising isn’t just entertainment; it’s preservation. It keeps the flame alive for a genre that refuses to fade. The meticulous musicianship ensures that younger audiences hear these songs as they were meant to sound — alive, dangerous, unapologetically big. For older fans, it’s a rediscovery: the rush of being sixteen again, air-guitaring in a bedroom mirror.

Beyond Nostalgia
What could easily have been a predictable trip through greatest hits instead became a surprisingly emotional journey. There was humour and joy, of course - the sheer fun of shouting along to Livin’ on a Prayer or Sweet Child O’ Mine — but there was also tenderness. A mid-set tribute to the late legends of rock, projected against a slow, minor-key instrumental, drew quiet reflection from the crowd. In those moments, you could sense not just admiration for the music, but gratitude for the artists who created it.
That emotional balance gave the performance depth. Rock Rising wasn’t trying to replace the originals or to bask in imitation; it was, in its own way, saying thank you - thank you to the riffs that raised generations, to the bands that changed everything, and to the fans who keep showing up because they still believe in the magic of rock.

The Final Chord
As the final encore faded and the lights came up, a murmur of contented disbelief filled the hall - that rare mix of exhilaration and exhaustion only live music can create. Outside, the crisp autumn air felt like an exhale after two hours of sonic fire. Groups lingered in the lobby, swapping stories and favourite moments, many already talking about catching the show again when it returns.
In a cultural landscape increasingly defined by streaming algorithms and short attention spans, Rock Rising feels like an act of resistance. It insists on the value of the live moment - the sweat, the volume, the shared heartbeat between stage and crowd. For one night in Limerick, that heartbeat was loud, defiant, and absolutely alive.
When future generations ask what kept rock music going long after its supposed decline, perhaps the answer will lie in nights like this - in the dedication of musicians who refuse to let the amplifiers cool, and in audiences who still crave the thunder of a drum fill and the sting of a guitar solo. Rock Rising didn’t just play the classics; it reminded us why they mattered.
A particularly touching moment was when the band played two Horslips numbers, Dearg Doom and Trouble in an emotional tribute to the late Johnny Fean and Limerick rose to its feet in heartfelt response.