Negotiating the vague after effects of a Pimmstravaganza the night before some bank holiday jollies are needed as a collective corpse reviver. Eschewing the delights of a within earshot Streetrave froth-about and the previously unnoticed Merchant City festival we head to Oran Mor for Mr Harvey and co. What could be more elevating than a night in the company of an ex Bad Seed and Birthday Party member (though this sells the peripatetic Mr H somewhat short – he’s been about)?
What follows is a thoroughly Sunday kinda gig, bank holiday or not. It’s a low key evening for a low key long weekend. Though I do end up watching Calvin Harris play Ibiza on iPlayer at silly o’clock just to see what the (un)cool kids are up to – horrifying; caution advised.
First up is support Suzie Stapleton offering PJ Harvey-esque guitar and voice with some live-looping along the way. Apt as Mr Harvey co-wrote and produced Polly’s ‘Let England Shake’ as well as others in the chanteuse’s extensive catalogue. It’s good and she cuts an elegant figure both onstage and whilst flitting about later but songs tend to fizzle out rather than reaching a definite end point or crescendo. Inevitably leads to the crushingly awkward, “Do I clap or do I not?….well I ain’t being the first one…oh, someone else has, I can join in”, moment.
There’s a feeling of potential but a need to tighten things up and stage manage that talent a little better.
A compadre remarkably identifies some of the guitar work as similar to Dire Straits but since she likens the headliner’s physical presence to Peter Gabriel and suggests the Manic Street Preachers recorded ‘The Killing Moon’ she is clearly either insane or has insights into a parallel universe where such calamities have come to be. Plus she’d just been to Hamilton which on its own should disqualify any utterances tossed into the mix.
A quick slide around the handrail leading to the bar and Mick and band trundle on. It’s an unassuming entrance but fitting the relaxed vibe and damp sky outside. A three piece tonight – the bass player has absconded to Australia to do the baby-viewing thing – we get a laconic performance that ticks many boxes without perhaps really heading for anything transcendent. There’s echoes of the Bad Seeds without perhaps the darkness and pugnacity. Apparently the separation from a certain Mr Cave was slightly less than amicable so the change in direction is no great surprise. Most recent album Four strays a touch into “could see this being thoroughly appreciated on that Jools Holland programme” territory but there’s an underlying uneasiness that agreeably distances it from some of the less interesting and self-congratulatory material seemingly favoured by Mr H’s producers.
The nearest one can get in descriptive terms is that this is music for a modern western. If the gig had been outdoors, apart from getting bleakly soaked under Glasgow’s seasonal skies, I’d have been galloping to the nearest cheroot emporium for a chomp. Should things get desperate the Western Baths around the corner might provide a certain simulacrum but without the requisite horses (or kangaroos). Certainly no need to get any wetter right enough.
‘Glorious’ – a highlight and with a certain Polly Jean scribbling the words – slithers around the fretboard and offers mournful vocals suggesting a certain desolate but warm vista. ‘Slow-Motion-Movie-Star’ is another goer and injects a little oomph into proceedings.
A chilled air pervades up to and including musing on whether or not he’s done T in the Park with previous bands. The crowd say “No!”. And that relaxation shows in the straying away from a sepulchral atmosphere – apt down here beneath the church – to a gritty groove through ‘Famous Last Words’. Stripped of it’s horns and whatnot on the rambunctious recorded version it’s still a scratchy delight.
Harvey is a convivial presence. More than that, he’s able to hint at a darker underbelly…though perhaps without fully putting the pedal to the floor and heading down that deviant path. Restrained…very restrained.
And with that we’re tossed out into the drizzle. Only lack of Jarmusch-esque characters blocking our way prevents a mournfully happy symbiosis.
See if: you’re in the mood for…well…lyrical and seductive moodiness.
Don’t see if: you’re in the mood for dancing to some EDM horror show down San Antonio way. Or The Nolans.