Welcome indeed. A cheesey John Sebastian tune heralds the Califorian five-piece’s first Scottish appearance since their dissolution in 2006.
The show is part of the No Mean City festival, which celebrates Americana. Fortunately this is a broad term – in fact, dropping the final “a” might tie things together, as while the trucker caps and backwoods beards say “USA” as strongly as the accents, the band’s take on slacker alt.rock leans more to the likes of Pavement and Flaming Lips than Scott Matthews and, er, Hayseed Dixie, bot of whom will visit the city later this month.
First time I saw Grandaddy live was in 1998, in Edinburgh, at the now-defunct Venue. Touring debut album Under The Western Freeway, the contrasts couldn’t be greater. Then, it was a rather smaller venue, and that review suggest they were a little embarrassed at headlining over contemporaries Snowpony (remember them?) and also at having to stretch their set to over a half hour.
Tonight, the cavernous ABC hosts the band, who are still quietly polite – a simple “hello” heralding their entrance, and a giant screen making up for any lack of stage presence. It’s a fairly high-tech mix, contrasting the shrubbery stage props of 14 years ago. A live mix is intercut with their singles videos and a good helping of sci-fi and technology.
From the opening ‘El Caminos In The West’ and ‘Now It’s On’, it is like they’ve never been away, though despite the modest demeanour, the band seem to have adapted to the large, sold out arena. They even stock largely to The Hits – none of the meandering instrumental passages that pepper their albums, just three (ok, four) minute perfect pop (well, indie rock) anthems.
There are no new songs – since the split Jason Lytle has released a solo album (with a second to follow soon), but as the continual driving force through their time together, any trips with his four bandmates to the studio will depend entirely on him. This hierarchy is emphasised by the video screen which focuses entirely on the singer, although as ever, interaction is limited. He fluffs a lyric, appending “or something like that”to good-natured cheers.
‘AM 180’ – the one everyone knows from its use on film and TV – is dispensed with early doors, and the set focuses more on the ‘classic’ period which spawned albums The Sophtware Slump and Sumday. These supply most of the hooky, pop tunes – ‘I’m On Standby’, ‘Hewlett’s Daughter’ – but there’s room for the cracked emotion of ‘Jed’s Other Poem’ and a delve into the back catalogue with ‘Levitz’.
As a punter beside me says, it’s a very old school encore – massive crowd reaction, a polite acknowledgement from the band, and an “appreciation for bands that don’t exist anymore” – a version of Pavement’s ‘Here’ – and just as in 1998, a rare occasion for bassist Kevin Garcia to share vocals.
The fractured version of ‘He’s Simple, He’s Dumb, He’s The Pilot’ that closes this chapter of the band’s career and is swiftly followed by old kids tune ‘It’s Time To Go’ coming through the PA and sending us into the night. If Grandaddy decide to visit our shores again, this crowd will welcome them with open arms.