Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan
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
