Beauty and the beast. Beauty first. She pours me a Guinness. She has eyes that you just want to dive right into. She makes me forget that I have somewhere to go and some bands to review. Parting is such sweet sorrow.
Onwards to the Classic Grand for a Glasgow blogger co-production as Peenko and Ayetunes gather together the combined musical forces of I Build Collapsible Mountains, Come On Gang and The Seventeenth Century for an evening of diverse pleasures.
So, starting things off was I Build Collapsible Mountains and it would be hard to think of anyone less likely to cause an outbreak of dancing that this one rather normal looking guy and his acoustic guitar. His songs, however, step away from norm and burn with the fire of a bitter, twisted soul. He was not a case of headphone music however and you were never in any doubt that the blood hasn’t dried on the wounds that gave rise to his words. Dark and vaguely discomforting, I Build Collapsible Mountains nevertheless struck a chord.
Rather friendlier to the dance floor were Come On Gang. Despite hailing from Edinburgh, their geographical starting point hadn’t apparently done their foot tapping take on post Postcard guitar pop any harm at all and it wasn’t long before a dumb grin crept across the face of this unusually sober reviewer. With lashings of jagged guitar, an endearingly quirky approach and the remarkably alluring voice of the female drummer, Come On Gang proved they had all the ingredients to make scones. I meant songs. Three minute pop scones at that.
But who - I hear you say - had the audience come to see? It wasn’t that hard to work out as there was only one band left. The Seventeenth Century duly took to the stage and delivered the goods. Subjugating melody with grandiose musical statements, The Seventeenth Century had clearly set themselves up to catch bigger fish than tonight’s audience who, almost as one, swayed to the hypnotic rhythms that highlighted both this band’s folk influences and the simple fact that they work hard for the money. The highlight for me was watching the floppy fringed, sweat soaked Mark Farmer getting himself and his violin “into the zone”, theatrically speaking. No doubt similarly impressed, the audience applauded. As well they should.
And finally back to the beast. Watch in wonder as a bunch of hoodie wearing, nicotine addicted runts attempted to attack another bunch of hoodie wearing nicotine addicted runts who were getting on a 62 bus. The future’s so bright I gotta wear shades…