Lick Online - Live

>> ABC, Sunday 21st Jan

It’s a mixed crowd for tonight’s gig, the first in Campbell and Lanegan’s mini tour of their critically acclaimed collaboration, Ballad of the Broken Seas.

A quick scan of the room suggests a hard core of fans in each performer’s camp, devotees of the brooding ex-Screaming Trees and Queens of the Stone Age vocalist mingling happily with followers of Isobel Campbell’s lilting, languid melodies from her Belle and Sebastian days and beyond.

A fair number of more impartial observers also seem to have been lured in by the fact that the show is part of Glasgow’s folkish Celtic Connections festival. Certainly the woman who asks us to move out of her line of sight (before the gig even starts – she’s watching a roadie tune up) is possibly used to more intimate gig settings than the packed ABC1.

Support comes from Kathryn Williams, charming the audience with a delicate yet soulful set and a great line in self deprecating onstage banter. Williams has the always useful lyrical knack of finding the poetic in the everyday, underlined by her talent in crafting soaring melodies and harmonies that do more to strike awe into the unsuspecting listener than any wall of sound assault on the ears.

So much of the rapturous reception surrounding the blues, folk, soul and country inspired Ballad of the Broken Seas has focused on the supposed contrast between the styles and personas of its two artists, with reviewer after reviewer casting Lanegan in the role of tormented demon lover to Campbell’s ethereal, wistful ingénue.

A couple of songs into the live set, and it’s striking what a lazy assumption this is. Sure, the distinction between her breathy, ghostly vocals and his gravel throated baritone is an obvious one, but it obscures the stylistic and psychological similarities that have made this combination such a success. As well as neglecting the fact that the vast majority of the album’s dark, eerie lyrics and melodies come from Campbell’s mind, not Lanegan’s.

On duets such as noirish ‘The False Husband’, it’s clear that the two are sides of the same twisted, darkly manipulative coin. Where he is haunted, she is haunting, responding to the plaintive dirge of “Where’ve you been my darling?/Where’ve you been my love?” with barely audible replies, a voice ahead on the wind leading him to the edge of the cliff.

It’s a similar story on their dusty, country cover of Hank Williams’ ‘Ramblin Man’ with Campbell reacting to Lanegan’s itchy feet by staking a claim to the trousers in the relationship, taunting him with: “Lying on somebody just like me/Got you dancing to my melody”.

The pair’s taciturn and introverted stage presence lets their emotive singing voices do all the talking, with Lanegan refusing to rise to the bait when the crowd good naturedly heckle him to speak. Although he does almost smile.

Both take their turn in the spotlight, with Campbell reprising her solos from Ballads and Lanegan treating the audience to the tragedy laden ‘Wedding Dress’ from his wildly inappropriately named album Bubblegum.

Exquisite as these solo turns are, it’s comforting when the two reunite to close the gig, restoring the weird balance between them and underlining the disservice done to each by easy ‘Beauty and the Beast’ comparisons. The dark heart beating at the centre of this collaboration is as much Isobel Campbell’s as Mark Lanegan’s.

Sugar and spice she ain't, and we might make a romantic balladeer out of him yet.

>>> Annie McLaughlin

>> Clyde Auditorium
>> 22nd January 2007

The weather tonight is rather appropriate. The wind around Clyde Auditorium is quiet and cold, and there’s frost underfoot out on the patio. The onstage arrival of soulful miserabilist Ray Lamontagne is not dissimilar. There’s a distinct air of unease as he straps on his guitar and steps up to the microphone. I get the sense that, despite the amount of records he has sold over the last year, he’s still not used to sharing himself with the rest of the world.

It’s only with the soft swell of “Be Here Now” that the audience actually let’s out its breath. “Don’t let your mind get weary and confused, you will be still, don’t try,” rasps Lamontagne gently as washes of pedal steel fill the room. Bent over slightly, it almost seems as if singing causes him some kind of deep rooted psychological pain. He is so weighed down by the music that even encouraging cries from crowd members seem to provoke no reaction. As a non-fan, I find myself becoming increasingly inquisitive as to how Lamontagne’s emotional state will progress throughout the evening.

My inklings are not entirely unfounded, as after the first few songs we’re presented with an entirely different man. During “Hold You In My Arms”, Lamontagne becomes more animated and empowered, his voice resembling a roaring car engine as his band stretches beneath him like a dusty open road. At the end of the song, he finally opens his mouth to speak, and utters an almost indiscernible thank you. This arouses some excitement in the audience, one of whom yells “Say something!”

This request is not granted until a few songs later - when introducing his hit single “Trouble” - he finally addresses his adoring fans and warmly thanks them for coming along. Just like the stage lights shift from cold blue to a warm tan orange, the uneasy atmosphere also shifts and becomes more relaxed. In places, the music is a bit bland and my chair is so damn comfy that I near convince myself I’m watching Saturday night television, but before long Lamontagne whips out another stunning roar and snaps me back to life. Up until now I’m still not sure if I even like the guy, but then some wifey down the front yells “I love you Ray!” He pauses with a coy smile and says, “I love you too.” It’s at this point that he wins me over.

After a couple more gospel-tinged numbers with his full band, Ray returns alone for his encore, in slightly more jovial spirits. Whilst telling a harmonica anecdote, I notice he’s standing a lot taller than he was before, and by the time he strums his last chord, I’m rooting for him as much as the next person.

> Vicki Cole

www.raylamontagne.com
www.myspace.com/raylamontagne

>> City Halls, Candleriggs
>> 14th January 2007

In trying to describe this experience I’m reminded of the look in old rockers’ eyes as they wistfully recall that fateful day back in 1979, during which their young and exhilarated eyes bore witness to Robert Plant’s god-like Knebworth antics. I can honestly visualise myself twenty years from now, in some suburban bungalow, bombarding my rebellious teenage daughters with numerous tales of how magical it was to see ‘that Joanna Newsom gig’ live at Candleriggs.

Admittedly, the word ‘gig’ doesn’t really do the night justice. There are no stinky toilet cubicles or doors wrecked by graffiti, no irritating emo disciples or dusty tour buses parked outside. Instead, City Halls finds itself positively bursting with energy as frantic ushers lead neckerchief clad boho-intellectuals up towering magenta stairwells that overlook stiff, formally dressed string players. All in all it’s a rather suave affair.

We tiptoe quickly to our seats on the balcony as support act Alasdair Roberts tinkles with the tuning on his acoustic guitar. A few ancient sounding folk ditties later and the hall is once again filled with the soft murmuring of the crowd, as they wait in sharp anticipation for the arrival of the elfin queen herself. Thankfully, we’re not kept waiting too long, and as Newsom glides timidly onto stage in a simple white dress and heels, I feel all my ethereal preconceptions of the singer float firmly away. She mutters an entirely genuine ‘thank you’ into her microphone before positioning herself behind a giant, majestic harp. Met by eerie silence, she begins to pluck the first few skeletal notes of Ys opener ‘Emily’, the strings swelling and recessing beneath her earnest warbling like wrists on a hot day.

This is far better than any of us could have imagined. Van Dyke Parks’ astonishing arrangements are played out note for note as Newsom, the scurrying spider, draws us into her web of lyrical genius. After a quick hats-off to the orchestra, she launches head first into ‘Monkey & Bear’, accompanied on backing vocals by bare-footed drummer Neil Morgan. Once again, the song sounds nigh on identical to the studio version; a fact which is by no means detrimental to the audience’s enjoyment of the live experience. Newsom’s stage presence is magnetic enough to keep the audience completely captivated during even the most lengthy songs.

‘Sawdust and Diamonds’ is a particular highlight as it allows us the opportunity to hear Newsom’s delicate harping without the backing of the orchestra. She seems to have no problem filling the room, and leads straight into ‘Only Skin’ with increased confidence. We are surprised to learn that this is the first time she has ever played with an orchestra, as her seamless performance gives little away. By the time ‘Cosmia’ reaches its triumphant climax I can scarcely believe that almost an hour has passed by! As Newsom rises to her microphone I half expect a goodbye, but am pleasantly surprised when she yelps “We’ll be back in twenty minutes!”

In the second half we are met by a wholly different experience. Gone are the flutes and cellos, to be replaced with only Newsom herself. As she starts to play ‘Bridges and Balloons’ I’m reminded of why I started listening to her in the first place. Unlike the baroque grandeur of Ys, the songs from The Milk-Eyed Mender reveal a more insecure and childlike side to Newsom’s voice. She is joined later in the set for “Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowrie” by two of her band members on drums and guitar. Stumbling over one of the lyrics she later apologises, claiming that she is nervous because of the orchestra. I have an inkling, however, that pretty much every person in the building will forgive her without so much as a moment’s pause.

Whilst speaking between songs she appears amused and charming. “If I pronounce anything wrong you can throw food at me”, she says before putting her own folk-pop twist on a traditional Scottish folk song. My favourite part of the night comes when she auditions a new track from her forthcoming live EP, in which she squeals fiercely like a cork popping from a champagne bottle during each chorus.

At the end of the set I’m disappointed by the absence of songs like ‘The Book of Right-On’ and ‘En Gallop’, but clap feverishly nonetheless, as Newsom rises amongst a thousand thankyous, and waltzes off stage. The house lights come up and my heart sinks. “Guess there’s not an encore, then?” I ask my friend Catherine. She shrugs her shoulders as the fans continue to cheer, whoop and stomp their feet. No one is leaving it appears, and after about four straight minutes of rapturous applause the house lights fade back down and Newsom reappears, overwhelmed by the adoration she is receiving. She sits back down behind her beloved harp and starts to pluck the enchanting harpsichord intro to ‘Peach, Plum, Pear,’ and I’m absolutely overwhelmed with excitement. Scratch twenty years, I’ll still remember this show when I’m crippled, blind and riddled with Alzheimer’s!

> Vicki Cole

www.dragcity.com/bands.html

Glasgow Barrowlands
Tuesday 23rd January

I Am Ghost skulked onto the Barrowlands stage with the misery of a Tim Burton character, a feeling only encouraged by their somewhat lacklustre performance. The six-piece band seemed lively and eager to please, but their classical inspired rock songs and lead singer’s deathly pale face did little to excite the few who had arrived promptly at 7pm.
The Audition managed to lift the mood with the help of front-man Danny Stevens, who bopped and hollered his way through a set of mediocre tunes. Despite their rigorous attempts to rouse some audience interaction, they failed to leave any lasting impression on anyone except their die-hard fans.
Third to grace the stage were the excitable and vibrant The Bronx, an all-male band displaying a catchy collision of rock and roll with punk. The Californian band was fronted by an enthusiastic and charming front-man whose attempts to dance and stage dive with an injured knee were unmissable. The height of the madness was when Simon from Biffy Clyro ran on-stage to do an impromptu duet with the wounded singer.
The highlight of the evening was undoubtedly the lone Scottish act on the programme, Biffy Clyro. The Ayrshire trio blasted through their set with ease, performing various favourites from their previous albums as well as new material from their forthcoming release ‘Puzzle’. Singer and guitarist Simon Neil dazzled an adoring crowd with a selection of spot-on melodies over a delightful ruckus of spontaneous riffs and time changes. The threesome appeared welded together in a truly tight performance only achievable through the passage of time and sheer dedication. They entertained the crowd beautifully, and overshadowed every other band in the Barras.

Fiona Reid

Classic Grand

Frantically hurdling through the back end of a wet Glasgow in search of the Classic Grand on Jamaica Street, where Recliner were due on in five minutes, I was relieved to spot the flamboyant lights of the venue, shimmering over what looked to be the rougher end of Glasgow. With absolutely no preconceptions of where I was I entered the club with an open mind and was once again dazzled by the luminous lights inside blaring onto a well polished dance floor. I was greeted by a half empty room of scenesters wearing fancy clothes. Finding an open spot right in the center of the dance floor, I began to feel slightly conscious of being extremely under dressed. I waited there a few brief moments for Recliner to make their entrance.
Right from the off start you could see that these four clean cut 20 something years olds have no pre-discussed style. They all have different dress sense and it’s easy to tell that they’re definitely no one man band. Kicking out their first tune they blew the whole audience away, my self included. Fast guitar and heavy drums rapidly thrashing reminded me of early Strokes and I began to feel like this gig could turn into something special. The response from the audience at the front was a clear indication that Recliner have a few die hard fans, whilst the equally positive response from the back of the room suggested that they can easily win new ones over.
After the initial boom of their first song faded away Recliner produced a series of well written, slightly softer indie ballads that show off their individual technical talents and ability to perform tightly as a group. By combining a few nifty guitar solos, a drummer who likes to bang, an amazingly agile dancing bassist and a singer who can pull more shapes than play dough, Recliner successfully managed to keep their audience in a constant state of awe and wonder.
I left the Classic Grand with a feeling of satisfaction. The thought that I may have actually witnessed something worth while pressed on my mind as I strolled through some dark lanes back to central station. In a genre of bands that work mostly to formulas and generally sound the same, Recliner have enough of that little difference that makes them at least worth a listen. Hats off to you lads.

>Michael Tod