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In praise of ICHI

Today marks the release of ICHI’s ‘Maru’ record on Lost Map. WOOOT! 

For the uninitiated, Ichi’s music is the sound of a restless creative omnivore let loose in a sonic soft play environment, complete with the requisite splash of primary colours and laughter. 

Often described as a Japanese Ivor Cutler / Heath Robinson, he builds a number of his own instruments, including the Kalilaphone, Hatbox-pedal-drum and Skipxylophon, and delivers a one man band show to marvel at.

Bedding down at the mischievous end of a vibrant Bristol music scene, he has found many kindred souls to collaborate with, including Kate Stables (This Is The Kit), Rozi Plain and James Hankins (Hankin Films) - not to mention the wonderful Rachael Dadd, who he is married to. Watching the two of them perform together on Eigg for Howlin’ Fling in 2014 was a wonderful experience; they used the language barrier as just another thing to be transformed by the power of play, delivering call and response nursery rhymes, sung in both languages, whilst from the side of the stage their small son looked on spellbound, like the rest of us.

It is tempting when encountering a talent as eccentric as Ichi’s to think that it would make a wonderful children’s show, particularly given the way he plays with ideas of naivety. It DOES make an excellent show for children, but I think that’s to slightly misunderstand the value of what we’re encountering.

Firstly, there is a remarkable technical fluency to what he does; playing a fretless bass that also doubles up as stilt, that also doubles up as a percussion instrument that also doubles up as a Mousetrap-style runway for ping pong balls on their way to a steel drum is really, really easy to get wrong!  He almost always plays at least two or three instruments at once, addressing each instrument as an object, exploring each material for it’s sonic possibilities. The fact that it seems (and sounds) seamless makes it all the more impressive. 

Secondly, play is not, and should never be purely the realm of children. The inherent humour in ICHI’s music reminds us that there was no one fixed point where we stopped being children, and suddenly became adults, different organisms, with different concerns. That CS Lewis quote comes to mind:

‘When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up’. 

Ichi’s music is astonishing. With seemingly endless energy he combines humour, language, craftsmanship, sound and aesthetics into a rolling whole that helps us reconcile ourselves with our silly selves. So go see him!

Ichi is playing the Total Refreshment Centre in London on March 24th. ‘Maru’ is available now on Lost Map. YUM!

#ichi #lost map records

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Following on from the discovery of Talkhouse’s impressive online archive, (See below) here are the compiled interviews that Hrishikesh Hirway conducted for his Song Exploder podcast. Various high profile songwriters, composers and rappers take a single track and give us a little insight into everything from inspiration to arrangements and production. First up, the wonderful Courtney Barnett looks back at the process behind ‘Depreston’ - one of many gems from last year’s glorious LP ‘Sometimes I Sit and Think and Sometimes I Just Sit’. 

#SoundCloud #music #Hrishikesh Hirway #Song Exploder #Podcast

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(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8m_Q_gakJbw)

HOW DAMN GOOD IS THIS! ? For fans of ‘The Greatest’ era Cat Power. OOFT!

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Props to the good people of GoldFlakePaint for introducing me to this woozy gem of a track from San Francisco native Jay Som - that combination of slacker melody, fuzzy noise and surprising lyric choices puts me in mind of Yo La Tengo’s seminal ‘I Can Hear the Heart Beating as One’. A most welcome soundtrack to our darkening days. 

Listen/purchase: I Think You're Alright by Jay Som

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(The Talkhouse)

#SoundCloud #music #The Talkhouse #Music Podcast

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In the run up to the Mercury’s tonight, I’ve got fingers crossed for Mish Mish pals C Duncan, who played our stage at Hidden Door back in May. I’d also love to see Benjamin Clementine take it. This remains one of the most inspiring pieces of music on film that I’ve seen in ages. Let’s wait and see eh....

#benjamin clementine

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Pitchfork Paris: In Review

I arrive at Pitchfork Paris with a belly full of beer and a grin on my face. Looking around you, you become acutely aware that everyone is beautiful, unconscionably beautiful. And all the beautiful people are heading the same way as you down Avenue Jean Jaures, in some pilgrimage to the valley of the dolls that is La Grande Halle de la Villette.  At certain points in the festival you wish everyone would be a bit less self-consciously attractive and just make arses of themselves on the dancefloor, but fuck it, for the time being it’s just bemusing.

Things don’t start well for Ariel Pink. There’s a sweaty little crush emerging where we are; a diminutive hipster tries to push past with the classic ‘shout someone’s name so they think you’re bringing drinks for a pal’ technique. I’m not in the mood for it; he admits it’s a lie and him and his posse are now firmly ensconced next to me for the next 45 minutes. He makes the noisy mistake of thinking he’s fascinating because he’s an Egyptian living in Florence. Thankfully, Ariel and co arrive onstage before things get truly uncomfortable. Unfortunately the levels are completely off, with the majority of our main man’s vocals going bizarrely AWOL, and staying there. Balls.

Thankfully, Godspeed! You Black Emperor are on next. Bathing in the teasing, primordial noise they create is an astonishing experience. On a platform to our right a projectionist peels reels of film off some celluloid tree, and masterfully arranges them across four 16mm projectors. It’s a pleasingly analogue moment in a resolutely hi-spec weekend; forms twitch in and out of focus, mirroring the ordered chaos onstage. This is the sound of the sea at night; melodic motifs rise and fall out of the squall; gigantic sonic tectonics shift, impervious to the presence of an audience. It’s a fucking revelation, encompassing everything.

Later on, Deerhunter play a blinder. Our Egyptian in Florence makes another cameo appearance, crowdsurfing and throwing a shoe at Bradford Cox, who graciously intervenes when security wade in to get him thrown out. Until the final night, the security presence is satisfyingly minimal.

I had been sceptical about Beach House as a headliner, but it turned out to be a programming masterstroke. The Baltimore dream pop crew wrapped the night in candyfloss, sliding seamlessly from fluent French patter to swooning, melancholy darkness. Playing a set that drew evenly from across their now impressive back catalogue, they’re the perfect choice to bring the curtain down.

Over the next two days my crew totally fall for Pitchfork Paris. There are downsides, the most obvious of which is that once you’re in for the night, they won’t let you offsite and back in. This means we miss some appealing stuff that’s programmed early on, like Hinds. Whilst this is obviously a cynical move, it guarantees turnover for a large craft market - selling comics and clothes -  as well as the bars and food stalls. There’s also a sort of park, with swings, arcade machines, table tennis, and so on, to keep you entertained. The appeal of swings to drunk people cannot be underestimated.

With staggered stage times, and stages at either end of one large hall, there is also no need to miss anything you really want to see. Highlights include the breath-taking swagger of Father John Misty, whose stage persona comes off like the progeny of Jarvis Cocker and Pan, the oversexed god of wildness in Greek mythology. We all swoon accordingly. At the close of one song old snake hips whips his acoustic guitar off and hurls it, in a huge, practised arc off the stage. This is not a small stage. That is a very small, infinitely breakable instrument. The guitar tech holds out a hand and, sure enough, it slots safely home. We can only assume that club-throwing cultural gonad Happy Gilmore has another disciple in Josh Tillman.

From the joyous grooves of Unknown Mortal Orchestra, to an incendiary set from Run the Jewels that nearly blows the speakers (cue a brief return of sound gremlins for Ratatat) the festival just gets better and better.

The balance between dance music and live shows is another thing the organisers have got down to a T. If the crowd are a little reserved for Four Tet, the combination of HudMo, followed by John Talabot B2B with Roman Flugel and Laurent Garnier is more than enough to get people loosened up.

By this stage the atmosphere has become one of communal conviviality. I get chatting to a young pastry chef, who rails against historic tensions between France and the UK; one friend request later and, for a brief window we both really believe I will move to Paris and slide seamlessly into the bar job he has lined up for me. A 30 something insurance broker opens up to me about the death of his younger brother last year. People have come from all over the continent for this particular party, determined to enjoy themselves. In the weeks to follow, terrorists will target this group of people, and this activity; that sense of a common European identity, which all too often feels dilute, or elusive, will come sharply into focus. For now, Paris remains in innocence, doing what it does best: throwing an almighty, gorgeous party.

Photo Credits (in order): Alban Gendrot, Sophie Jarry, Ellie Pritts 

#pitchfork #father john misty #godspeed

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Noah would shite himself if he saw how wet Glasgow is in November

Rough Trade have  just released their Top 100 Records of the year. It feels uncomfortably early to be embracing ‘Listmas’; maybe they feel like they’ll get maximum exposure by getting theirs out before anyone else. Either way, it’s satisfying to see plenty of my favourite records from this year being celebrated, with Courtney Barnett, FJM, Sufjan Stevens, Julia Holter and Beach House all getting the nod. Nice to see Bop English in there too; their Broadcast show earlier this year was a glorious, infectious classic rock throwback - what a tune Struck Matches is.

Leaving the wonderful Ezra Furman aside, these groups are all fairly established players in the indie world. Here’s a few tunes that have recently charmed my ears by artists who’re a bit more under the radar - for the time being at least... 

1. Martha Ffion - So Long

Claire McKay is a Glasgow-based songwriter with a knack for penning understated, 60′s pop gems, in the vein of  Nancy Sinatra, or the Shangri La’s. They manage to tread a fine line, being incredibly melodically rich, yet more subtle than showy; planting a little seed of sound in your ear, that you can’t help but return to, again and again. She’s off on a mini tour this week, featuring a stint as Marc Riley’s session guest on 6Music; here’s hoping she plays this one whilst in Manchester:

2. Hop Along - Powerful Man

I cannot get enough of this caramel noise. Lyrically, the song addresses singer Frances Quinlan’s experience of witnessing child abuse, but being too afraid to confront it. Sonically, it has a lot of fun with dynamics, and reminds me of early era Regina Spektor, with a bit more raw/roar. WIN. 

3. Beverly - Crooked Cop

Ignore the press shots! Jesus, they’re very much a product of Brooklyn. That doesn’t matter. What matters is that Crooked Cop is a really well crafted pop song that’s damn catchy. The combination of breathy female vocals and tremolo guitars instantly brings Tennis to mind, but that’s no bad thing at all - Cape Dory is a totally underrated record that still sounds ace. 

Beverly are coming to Glasgow this Friday, supporting Maximo Park at the Barra’s. Anyone heading down, get in early, eh? 

#hopalong #martha ffion #beverly

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Introducing Andy Shauf

This week’s discovery is the haunting, brittle ‘Americana’ of Regina-resident Andy Shauf. There are quiet, smart, invasive lyrics. There are sparse, uncomfortable arrangements to complement those lyrics. If you need a reference point, it’s Elliot Smith I guess, or Sam Amidon, at a push. What really matters here is that, in Wendell Walker, the Canadian has written a stark, hard-nosed little short story, that also happens to be a bloody great song. Any of you heading to End Of The Road later this year, go wrap your ears around this:

#andyshauf

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Peter Broderick @ Mono

I first came across Peter Broderick’s music about 9 years ago, whilst I was still at school. In a gloriously noughties’ moment my pal Jen leant me her ipod mini. For a week or two I strolled around the bonny streets of Bath returning obsessively to a Bella Union sampler. The high-points were J Tilman’s ‘Firstborn’ and PB’s ‘Below It’.

After returning the ipod, Jen showed me the ‘songy’ videos on Peter’s youtube channel, where, with characteristic playfulness, he demonstrated how easy it was to create loops without splashing out on the exciting, pricey loop pedals that were flooding the market at the time.

In the years that followed, my relationship with music deepened, and I started to see Peter Broderick’s name all over the place. Here he was guesting on the M Ward records I loved, or beaming from behind a keyboard for the euphoric Efterklang show at the Usher Hall. After seeing Sharon Van Etten at the Oran Mor back in 2012, I learned that Sharon’s right hand woman and collaborator was none other than his sister, Heather Woods Broderick. On a trip to Portugal the groundbreaking http://www.itstartshear.com filled a rented car with piano and strings, lifting it out of sterile anonymity to become a little beach-bound cocoon of sound.  And as Erased Tapes moved from cult label to veritable cultural powerhouse, there he was again, releasing the unfairly maligned ‘These Walls of Mine’, among other records. 

Support tonight comes from Brigid Power-Ryce. Hers is a sapling sound, built around a remarkable voice, reminiscent of Judee Sill and Joni Mitchell. The Laurel Canyon connection is reaffirmed when she tells a story about Tim Buckley taking 15 minutes to tune his guitar between songs. The songs have a certain magnetic pull to them, but as a whole the set feels more solid than remarkable. A highpoint comes in the form of her Patsy Cline cover, a welcome reminder of how much you can achieve with little, if the language and melody are this engaging.

For me, the remarkable thing at the heart of Peter Broderick’s music is that it so often marries playfulness with sadness, or darkness. Where unhappiness can lead to repression, or contraction, that sense of play makes the music expansive, euphoric; it’s involving instead of isolating.

That desire to involve and empower his audience, seen in the ‘songy’ videos, is on show straight away in ‘Colours of the Night’. Looping up a backing track, PB jumps off the stage and gets various members of the audience to layer up some improvised harmonies. Looping live can feel formulaic, or gimmicky, but in the hands of a few, (David Thomas Broughton, Adam Stafford) it remains an exciting, powerful tool for the solo performer.

From humble beginnings a quietly majestic set unfolds across the next hour. Drawing heavily from ‘How They Are’ and ‘Home’, Peter flits between violin, piano and guitar. The effect is utterly compelling. The way he uses language is totally idiosyncratic, but it fits perfectly over those delicate, searching compositions.

He also uses the full possibilities of the space, balancing on the monitors to deliver a solo violin piece written for a friend’s wedding, and closing the set by looping up a final song, coming to the back of the audience, and hollering harmonies, a capella, back at the stage. That sense of playfulness is seen again during an encore rendition of ‘Hello to Nils’.  During a song about absence and presence our guide takes the guitar above his head and hides behind it, in a glorious sort of adult version of peekaboo. 

At one stage he invites Brigid Power-Ryce back onstage for an unrehearsed collaboration. It doesn’t quite take flight, and it doesn’t quite matter; the whole set is coloured by the spirit of adventure – as is so often the case with PB’s music, the integrity of expression and collaboration triumph over the fear of failure.

#peterbroderick #mono

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A Quick Word with...Plastic Animals

Next to submit himself for questioning is Mario Cruzado, lead singer of righteous Edinburgh noise makers Plastic Animals. Only three days to go until you get to hear them, C Duncan, Jonnie Common and LoneLady light up Hidden Door’s opening night! 

1) How much of a role does music theory have in your work? Does it figure consciously in the writing process?

No role at all. We try to make it sound not obvious, that's sort of the rule for me. If it sounds predictable then it's not good. 2) Which other band do you wish you were in? 

Probably Yo La Tengo. 

3)Which musician would you like to fight with and why?

Can't be arsed with musicians. I'd just let them be and wallow in their own self-importance. Oh my feelings. 4) The madness of Record Store Day has come and gone. Have you had any particularly memorable crate digging experiences lately?

I bought a Bruce Willis record a while ago and it was as shit as you would expect it to be. 

5)   How did you come to pin down what the project would look like aesthetically? How important do you think it is for a band to have a visual component to it?

Not sure we've got a concrete aesthetic. In my dreams we wear green, blue and orange space suits in a dark venue illuminated by projectors and strobe lights only.  I guess we do try to have a certain sci-fi type of thing going on with visuals when we can. A band doesn't necessarily need to be anything in my opinion, it can be as large a role as you want it to be! 6) What scares you? 

Foreigners and dying alone.

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A quick word with...C Duncan

Ahead of next Friday’s Hidden Door launch party I sent a list of questions around to some of the band’s who’re playing. First out of the gate is Glasgow’s classically-trained, delicately-maned C Duncan. 

1) How much of a role does music theory have in your work? Does it figure consciously in the writing process? Music theory plays a large part in my work. I approach song structures and chord progressions and patterns in the same way I approach classical music. I don’t have a clear idea of what I want when starting songs, but as they progress I start to use theory as a tool to make them coherent. 2) Which other band do you wish you were in? I would like to be in Connan Mockasin’s band. He makes a lot of pretty crazy sounds.

3) Which musician would you like to fight with and why?

Connan Mockasin. He ain’t so strong looking.

4) The madness of Record Store Day has come and gone. Have you had any particularly memorable crate digging experiences lately?  

I was looking through a few boxes of vinyl that I inherited from my aunt recently. There is a lot of Abba, Boney M, Adam and the Ants and Don McLean - doesn’t get much better than that.

5) How did you come to pin down what C Duncan would look like aesthetically? How important do you think it is for a musical project to have a visual component to it?

I think it’s very important to have a visual component to music projects. It’s a way of conveying what your music is about in a different medium. I was working on the paintings that accompany the album and singles whilst I was writing the music. Both are fairly intricate.

6) What scares you? Lack of cake.

Chris also wrote a great little piece on home recording which I’d recommend reading. It can be found in this little corner. 

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LoneLady, our headliners at next month’s Hidden Door Launch Party! WOOP! 

#lonelady #bunkerpop #grooveitout

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Mish Mish / Hidden Door Launch Party / May 22

Last year’s Mish MIsh x Hidden Door was a bona fide sell-out success –   big thank you to those of you who made it along. In fact it went so well that those canny liberators of disused space have invited me to programme the opening night of this year’s festival. Woop! Here’s some of what you can expect in the Secret Courtyard on the 22nd of May . . . 

1. LoneLady 

Manchester’s Julie Campbell has been getting rave reviews for her desolate, delicate post-punk disco-funk. The Guardian have already named it one of their favourite albums of 2015, and gave her a pretty banging live review too, which bodes well. The WARP signee has also been nominated for the Times Breakthrough Award as the Pop representative at this year’s South Bank Sky Awards. Media-schmedia, it’s utterly idiosyncratic and infectious and excellent - let’s just go and dance to Bunkerpop in an abandoned building eh? 

2. Jonnie Common 

Jonnie Common is the absolute don, and that should be the end of it really. The endlessly inventive Trapped in Amber came out on Song By Toad last year, and it was my favourite Scottish record of 2014. Maybe in an arm wrestle with Young Fathers, but sod the lists. Lyrically it’s quietly articulate, charming, disarming and really wryly writhingly smiley. Those lyrics are floated out on soundscapes that are texturally and rhythmically soul satisfying, and he happens to boss the show live with his drummer man. So there. I’m totally buzzing to be putting this on.

3. C Duncan 

Chris is classically trained and it shows - he goes to places I cannot go, and takes his shoes off when he gets there. Some have said that this is the sonic convergence of Arvo Part with Fleet Foxes and Burt Bacharach. Whatever it is it’s lovely, and has gained tons of admirers in what has already been a busy busy year. The band play Hidden Door a week after The Great Escape down in Brighton, and just before making their headline London debut at the Islington. Their album comes out on the mighty Fat Cat this summer - get it whilst it’s hot. Or warm. Whatever.

4. Plastic Animals 

Grandaddy are amazing. Yo La Tengo are amazing. Plastic Animals know and understand these things. Do they know that Plastic Animals are amazing? If they don’t, they should. Like a well oiled wrestler they’ve been getting slicker and tighter and covered in lycra in the run up to their record coming out on Song By Toad later this year. It will be melodic and noisy and messy and delicious.

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Tweedy + Field Report @ Celtic Connections

‘My wife's been looking into it, and apparently the Tweedy's come from a clan of grumpy fiddlers'

'Fiddling with what?' comes the reply from the floor.

'Go to the back, sir, this is a family show'.

View image | gettyimages.com

This is indeed a family show; Jeff Tweedy and his son Spencer are touring the record they co-wrote that saw release last year. 18 year old Spencer plays drums, with a supporting cast of keys, bass and second guitar joining Dad to make up the numbers. They rattle through ‘Nobody Dies Anymore’, smooth and simple, and sparse as hell. A couple of songs in I begin to feel that everyone is playing well within their own abilities, but maybe it’ll go up a gear later on. Tweedy Snr. mentions that father and son played nearly everything on the record - giving it a pretty limited palette - but have chosen to fill out the sound for the tour. It's a nice idea, the music itself is irredeemably safe.

The last time Wilco were in Glasgow they played this same room, and some guy on the balcony got punched in the face; two songs in he wouldn’t shut up, and ended up with a broken nose. No one will get punched in the face tonight: danger, immediacy and passion are all a long, long way away. The band noodle gently through waltz after waltz as the mostly older crowd drift laconically between the toilets, the bar and the concert hall. The sound man chews languorously on his gum; his assistant has been on Facebook for a good hour.

At one point they play the Wilco track ‘Hate It Here’, and Jeff mentions that it was used in Richard Linklater's 'Boyhood'. If less pronounced in Linklater's film, it remains the case that with both 'Boyhood' and the Tweedy project, the conceit is more interesting than the content. The film risked more, and gained more - it's decent, and features some strong performances. Tonight’s performers offer nothing by way of chemistry, rarely doing anything as gauche as looking at each other. There is a rare lift in energy for Diamond Part 1. (more noise = more fun) but the squealing guitars are still too far back in the mix, and sound thin rather than commanding. The evening stumbles gently on like a sleepy drunkard confusing streetlights for stars.

The support band were woeful. Field Report make americana that some people will like, but for me it is too earnest, too nice, painfully incidental.  They have a very capable, sensitive drummer, but sonically it’s sat so firmly on the fence. The lyrics and melody aren’t strong enough to play it straight, a la Caitlin Rose, but similarly their experiments with drum loops and samples lack any real conviction, leaving them falling well short of the heights of 'Song for Zuma'.

Just as my patience reaches it's end Jeff announces that he's going to let the band go, and do some older material solo. Thank fuck. He opens up with 'I am Trying to Break your Heart' and within two minutes we've had more risks, both lyrically and melodically, with the wilful use of dissonance, than we've had in the whole show up to this point. This is a timely reminder of why I'm here in the first place. We've moved away from the wholesome hokey stuff towards the hard America of Annie Proulx. We listen to old classics like 'Via Chicago' and 'Jesus Etc', but he lost me a long time ago; by this point I'm an admirer, but I'm not involved in any of these songs. Still, everything is tighter, more considered, and much more successful.

I'm reminded of the Sun Kil Moon show that took place in SWG3 back in December. That night Mark Kozelek had moaned about how Steve Shelley and his other drummers were all busy elsewhere, so he had to play drums himself. When the novelty wore off he picked Innes, a 17 year old drummer out of the crowd. He taught him the basic, driving rhythm at the start of every song, took a liking to him, and, after nearly two hours of playing, counted out 200 quid in pay on the floor tom. The atmosphere was electric; Innes didn’t take his eyes off Kozelek the whole time, and neither did the audience. Simple drum parts, delivered by a young drummer are not the problem here. The problem is the song underneath the drumming, which all too often feels like Wilco-lite. You get a sense with the Tweedy material (all 20 songs of it on the album!) that there might be a good record in there somewhere, if someone had just done a ruthless edit of it. Unfortunately both live, and on record, there is no one to rein Jeff Tweedy in, and the evening feels as long, lazy and dull as a suburban summer, complete with stabs of existentialism.

The sound man has run out of gum, and I'm bored of scratching my own face for something to do. Jeff invites the band back on, joking that 'That's the kind of band Tweedy is; leave em’ wanting less'. I do want less, and l’m going to do the leaving, walking out midway through another half-baked tune. This is only the second show I’ve ever walked out of.  The merch lady is telling a Celtic Connections rep that they went on for nearly three hours last night, in a fit of sweet country indulgence. Sat on the train home I eat three bananas in a row for dinner, raging at it all.

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King Creosote performs From Scotland With Love + Tiny Ruins @ Celtic Connections

Six months ago the Buchanan Street steps were an emotive focal point in the referendum on independence; a battleground where both yes and no campaigners gathered to belt out their beliefs to the passing Saturday traffic. Tonight a packed crowd make their way up those same embattled steps, with bellies full of wine and anticipation, cackling in the cold.

Support comes in the form of New Zealand’s Tiny Ruins. Their album Brightly Painted One was my favourite of last year, an emotionally articulate, elliptical record that revealed more charms with each listen. Maybe it’s the music, the stark lighting, or the fact that there’s just three of them on such a big stage, but it suddenly feels like we’ve stumbled into something out of the 70’s, like deleted scenes from Bird on a Wire. Hollie Fullbrooke is a gracious presence onstage, revealing that ‘Blue James’ is based on a portrait of a Glasgow town crier, seen on a previous visit to the Provand’s Lordship. The melancholy warmth of tracks like ‘Straw Into Gold’ and ‘Reasonable Man’ make them an apt support act for tonight’s show.

After the interval we find the stage is now a rammy, with a full complement of backing vocalists, guitar, keys, bass, clarinet, drums and string section, with Kenny Anderson sat side-on in the middle, accordion slung over his shoulders. They slide into ‘Something to Believe in’, mournful notes soundtracking long lost trams and reunited lovers; it is the first spell cast in a night of nostalgic magic.

As a body of songs, From Scotland with Love ranks amongst Kenny’s finest output. Lyrically as strong as ever, it’s also varied in it’s tempos, moods and textures. The arrangements are sensitive but add a real muscle to tracks like ‘Pauper’s Dough’, which manages to be both delicate and anthemic at the same time. We move seamlessly between the uproarious energy of ‘Largs’ to the heartbreaking KC classic that is ‘Favourite Girl’, and it’s riveting. The marriage between music and visuals is perfect, with samples of steam engines and street scenes taking the place of patter between songs. This adds to the feeling of tonight as a collaboration, a cultural celebration devoid of ego - a sense that’s only reaffirmed when the band play Hamish Imlach’s ‘Cod Liver Oil and the Orange Juice’ for the encore.

In interviews Kenny and director Virginia Heath have said that it was a back and forth development process, with music supervisor David McAulay playing a crucial role. The fruits of that organic approach are there for all to see tonight, as the film and it’s score feel totally cohesive. The film is funny, humane and utterly remarkable. This is a portrait of a nation seen through it’s people; a nation of grinning schoolchildren, sweating shipbuilders and lovers dancing in the Locarno. We jump from black and white to colour, from the country to the city and from decade to decade with a playful irreverence. From Scotland With Love is a lively portrait of society from the ground up, not a dry chronology, and it is all the better for it.

After the period of self-interrogation that Scotland has moved through over recent months and years, it is impossible not to frame tonight’s event in the context of the referendum. In the leadup to the film’s release last year Kenny was very clear that it wasn’t a piece of indy propaganda, arguing that you didn’t have to support independence to love Scotland. Tonight the room was full of yes and no voters, both onstage and in the audience. In the aftermath of the vote this country was gripped by a collective fatigue, and a call for togetherness against the backdrop of tense scenes in George Square. As the concert hall rose to give an emotional standing ovation, there was a tangible sense for performers, director and audience alike that they had just shared in something both beautiful and important. After the white heat and rancour that has dominated this country’s cultural and political life over the last six months, what better platform could there be for a coming together than this people’s history, this heartfelt love song?

#king creosote #from scotland with love #tinyruins