Trying to find the Classic Grand is a bit like stumbling into Narnia. There`s something rather elusive about its narrow black door, which sits nestled snugly down the back of central station. I could`ve sworn it wasn`t there last time I went for a Big Mac!
Like Lucy scrambling through mothballs and fir branches I jaunt up the stairs, and entering the main hall I find something no less magical than a land of snow and ice queens. Jenny Reeve of Strike The Colours sits fragile as a glass hammer behind her fox red violin, and although she`s accompanied on a couple of songs by an extra guitarist, she performs mostly solitary, positioning a beautifully gentle folk sensibility within a decidedly modern frame of lyricism. Her set is quietly received, and she`s followed by death-obsessed folk troubadour Sophia, whose subject matter is initially engaging, but becomes a little tired after half an hour.
Soon after his exit the room begins to swell, and I stupidly decide to head to the bar before Mr. Middleton comes on. Just as I try to catch the barman`s eye, I notice a scurry of excitement and then all at once the speakers yell, and on screams the band with We`re All Going To Die. Not without stepping on some toes, I negotiate my way back down the front where the crowd insist upon bopping a white balloon up and down the room. Malcolm exudes an air of quiet rage underneath the distinctly upbeat feel of the song, and continues in much the same way throughout the rest of his set. Newer tunes like A Brighter Beat and Stay Close, Sit Tight appear early on, but he saves the best till last, performing the light and humorous Devil and the Angel, before thanking the crowd and asking politely that they `stop killing the fucking balloons`. Ever the antithetical depressive mystery, I still get the sense he`s enjoying himself, because god knows the crowd is.