The meaning of life temporarily escapes me. Not for the first time either but at least I’m not eating a chicken kebab whilst attempting entry to a club sometime after the midnight hour. No, I need no paracetamol for I’m basement surfing once again and the musical kitchen that is Pivo Pivo is cooking Matt Henshaw, Calum Campbell, Jack Hinks, Jemma-Kate and Old Bohemia up in their cauldron.
Jack Hinks hails from Edinburgh, which might possibly be a good thing, and his fingers proved themselves worthy of his frets with an enthusiasm for dexterity easily exceeding the effort that his voice afforded to his lyrics. Clearly capable of inducing relaxation, he made the M8, the only motorway to smell of chips, seem like a cultural conduit.
Jemma-Kate, on the other hand, had spirit and stage presence on her side and with inevitable confidence keeping said spirit and presence company, she took her songs and posted them first class to the audience in a manner that you might expect of a polished Nashville bound singer songwriter. It’s a wholesome and worthy approach and it served her well.
With acceleration into the cosmos now a real and probable thing, Old Bohemia spun a spell more than worthy of an Edinburgh Fringe act wishing to dominate all that is cabaret. The voice of Marie Laveau – but I knew she previously had to have another identity for this no mean city demands no less - was unmistakably theatrical and perfectly poised to capture your attention. The separation of effort with the equally skilled Otis Ebenhardt gave dividends that easily exceeded the simplicity of the decision making process and worship was therefore nothing less than inevitable.
Without further ado, Matt Henshaw took to the stage. It took but a few songs before he provided proof that his songs could exist without the encumbrance of a band and, with a notably unshakeable confidence, he made standing alone on stage with an acoustic guitar simply the logical outcome.
Rounding off the evening was Fife’s own Calum Campbell and, as if not to disappoint his busload of fans, he kept tempo fast enough to stop them from wondering why this was not Friday night and, as if to further reinforce the collective opinion, all that were there would surely vote that his heart is was and always will be in the right place.
The witching hour is nonetheless here and the time is right for fried food. Is that Woody Harrelson I see before me? No, it cannot be for Woody Harrelson would not repeatedly kick me in the head.