The Pictish Trail
Ah the Scottish indie/folk music scene. One imagines bearded cute men in jumpers and bobble hats and ladies in psychadelic robes and head-dresses hidden away on islands making music with their friends from down the pub. It’s heartwarming that tucked away in the nooks and crannies of those Scottish coastlines are people making music because it’s fun to make music with other people, and it’s fun to just create. Tonight was a celebration of such folk.
A shame numbers are low for this, the latest Folk That night, but those who were there were truly the lucky ones. Apologies to Ginny Dix for missing her set - I heard good things so hope to catch her soon. Rory Hill from local outfit Keep Up in the cafe bar is a delight, rather Ffion Regan in vocal and playing style which means a big tick from me. His cover of Justin Townes Earle’s One More Night In Brooklyn is heartfelt and gentle. Rory’s set is peaceful, and he has a lovely way about him. Onwards, Rory, onwards.
Birds of Hell is one of my favourite local acts. You may have read many previous favourable reviews penned by my good self in Outline, to the extent that I’m in danger of repeating my accolades ad nauseum. Tonight Pete plays with his band, and it’s a raucous affair. It’s beautifully loud, intensely feedbacky and almost too big a sound for the stage. Astronomy Lessons is delivered at a full force strut, Practice Punching My Hands Son is a woozy, bass heavy, punch drunk tour de force and Two Brothers is a pastoral folk knees-up that nearly has people jigging about. Pete’s talent at interpreting his songs totally differently whether playing them à seule or with a band gives him a professional grace that he should be proud of.
Monoganon, signed to The Pictish Trail’s record label Lost Map Records is a fucking revelation. There’s a small screen in front of the stage on the floor, that plays homemade videos of landscapes, carparks, murmurations and 60’s family movies. Monoganon himself, a slight, modest, understated Scottish chap lurks about on the floor of the Arts Centre amongst the audience singing in a homemade dress/cape/leggings/eye mask/wig/hood combo. At the start of his performance he kneels gently on the floor, and proceeds to take a great deal of care removing photos of unknown members of his family, dried wisps of plants and other whimsical treasures from a box and placing them on the floor in a specific arrangement. Thus begins one of the most intriguing and individual live shows I’ve ever had the honour to bear witness to. He’s funny and sweet, with lovely banter with the crowd despite the slightly ominous outfit and sacrificial-style treasures - at one point we watch video footage of his very first performance at the age of five, and I realise that this man has achieved a wonderful thing. He has taken some of his own very essence, his innermost soul, and has created a show that holds a mirror up to himself and then reflects it back so we can all see (not literally, but I wouldn’t put that trick past him). And yet at the same time he is wandering about in leggings and a wig and singing songs about a peacock stuck up on a ledge ("how did you get up there?”) set to dreamy cyclical music, and he’s completely serious. This is like proper magic. Through the show he slowly removes his mask, wig and hood and his face is fully revealed, only to don a medal in the form of a dreamcatcher on a length of string round his neck at the end of the performance as a reward for himself for his singing. Sure, that’s fine. The songs are good, but don’t blow me away, perhaps as he’s singing to a recording of live music he and his friends have made...this is more than a normal live music show though, and even though there is only a screen and a man, sometimes it’s hard to decide what to look at because it’s all so good. His ‘set’ finishes with the lyrics “I know he will heal me, i know she will heal me”, and it’s all so intimate and beautiful and simple, and I love it. Nice one Monoganon.
The night is running late, and The Pictish Trail doesn’t start his set until 11, but we’ve been so throughly entertained this evening I’ve not even looked at my watch, and the small but enthusiastic crowd are well pumped. Johnny Lynch has brought his band consisting of guitarist, keys/bass player and drummer as well as Mobignon on beats over from his homeland, the Isle of Eigg in the Scottish Hebrides. Johnny is a brilliant frontman, done up in a colourful mumu and a baseball cap because why the fuck not. He’s very funny, very talented and difficult not to watch throughout the hour long set. I’ve loved what I’ve heard of The Pictish Trail’s recorded material, but live it’s an absolute powerhouse that blows me away - a thumping beat, catchy tunes and big old phat samples and chords is exactly what Saturday night was made for. The band are excellent and tight.
Lovely gentle ballads aren’t much in evidence tonight - maybe next time we’ll get “An Intimate Evening with..” Johnny’s voice is big, strong and powerful, and reminds me of John Grant’s ability to mix cutting Euro electro rhythms with indie rock/ballads with a soaring, unapologetic vocal so successfully. I particularly enjoyed the massive cock-rock guitar solo performed on his electro-acoustic guitar - here is a man entirely comfortable and in control on stage. Winter Home Disco is so huge and stompy and shimmery tonight. Half Life will be apparantly be his entry into Eurovision if Scotland ever become independent, and has a jaunty, trippy almost poppy beat with his voice soaring over the top and an onslaught of drums, keys and guitar. Far Gone (Don’t Leave), written about his favourite film Fargo, is slinky as fuck with a massively catchy tune that I can’t help singing on my walk home in the rain. Brow Beaten, the last song of the night, is dedicated to “Our Lord and Saviour Jimmy Somerville”, and is allegedly Johnny’s answer to Bronski Beat's Small Town Boy. It’s almost as much of a banger as the original.
What a night of unique talent. Cheers everyone, hope to see you again.
