It’s one of the great things about Celtic Connections that whoever does the scheduling is either a genius, demented or couldn’t give two figs. As a result, you get some of the oddest combinations put together that actually work. On paper this seems like really odd double-header. But then you never know, putting together two seemingly disparate elements can leave one looking foolish or fractured or it can it result in a sure hot gig. Even if the wrong half of the audience don’t get that.
Singer/songwriter Peter Wilson has been performing and recording as Duke Spirit for around five years now. A large chunk of which has seen him championed by The Divine Comedy. Friends have regaled me for quite some time now with tales of how I should get myself along to see him. One even swearing blind he’ll never foreswear a support act after kicking himself about the number of times he’s overlooked this guy. So – big build up – I’m prepared to be disappointed. And, let’s not mention the times I’ve seen The Duke Spirit as a result.
The former smut emporium is near bursting at the seams when we arrive. Wow. Expecting an audience around the same as for Billy Childish (bizarrely supported by Andrew Weatherall) or Robyn Hitchcock (and some bloke from REM), at best, I’m quite taken aback. And, evidentially, they’re all here for Duke Special.
Robert Smith’s poor Irish cousin takes to the stage and places himself behind a piano. He then proceeds to wibble out some drivel about mockingbirds that I could swear blind is a cover of an early eighties Manilow b-side. Could be wrong; it’s maybe not that good.
He is then joined on stage by regular percussion section Chip Bailey (aka The Temperance Society) and magically, about halfway through, the second track transfers to a stomping, crashing thing of wonder that makes me even more angry about how boring Tom Waits was earlier in the year. I think he’s winning me over.
We are then treated to a fantastic set of modern vaudeville tunes that bring to mind Momus more than Mr Hannon’s crew at their cabaret best. Songs about skeletons waltzing round haunted ballrooms in search of love. Steampunk scratching, using 78s. Bell ringing, and joyous singalong numbers. All delivered with a twinkle that were I lazy I’d call Hibernian charm.
Don’t know if I’m convinced enough to investigate the records, but I’ll be first in line the next time he comes to town (May, apparently).
Then regular Glasgow returns to the venue as half the audience leave. Shame on you. You lot don’t even have the excuse of being the band’s granny and aunts dragged along to fulfill some ill-advised pay-to-play billing. You’re here as supposed music fans. At least have the decency to stick about for the first song by the headliner. You never know, you might like it.
And, there’s a lot to like about Nick Harper. Harpic’s (as his very dedicated fans call him) father is a bit famous or is guitar playing. An early champion of lots, and lots, of effects, he was no slouch when it came to playing the guitar. Regarding the effects, his boy is a chip off the block. But, dad never attacked the instrument with quite the vehemence of junior. Watching him play, you could be forgiven for wondering what the poor instrument did to him.
He opens tonight with a blistering version of Building Our Own Temple with the section composed by Holst replaced with a highly unlikely take on Public Enemy’s Don’t Believe the Hype, which he dedicates to president Obama. Let’s hope he’s wrong. There’s a killer medley of Guitar Man and Whole Lotta Love and much serious six-string abuse. I’m not one for raving about a particular artiste’s technical prowess, but the stunned drop-jawed look on my companion’s face (who I’ve finally convinced to come see Harper) seems to sum up just how powerful the experience is.
Among the rest of the set we get unnecessary covers of Monty Python’s Galaxy Song and Zappa’s Titties & Beer. Perhaps it’s the easy crowd-pleasing qualities, and he’s treating this as a ‘festival’ gig. But, when you’ve got such beautiful songs as My Little Masterpiece and such a powerful maelstrom of sound (from the one guitar), it seems he’s selling himself a bit sort. Let’s see what he does next time he plays outside a festival (April, apparently).