I must look less desperate than usual. How do I know that? I've just walked by a lapdancing establishment and did not get offered a free pass. God must therefore have a plan for me and that plan included McCann, James Johnston, Maryjane McIvor and Adriaan Blom.
God does work in mysterious ways though. I just catch Adriaan Blom's set. I reckon he has a foot fetish as, in his deep, musically meaningful and serious way, he seems more concerned with his left foot than he is with entertaining the audience. Mysterious that.
After the customary musical chairs, it is the turn of McCann to rock the house. Well, at least it might have been if the four good men and true of McCann had not been more interested in being in a band than being an actual band. An opportunity missed without a doubt, as the makings of a decent rock band were all there.
Back to the acoustic arena next with Maryjane McIvor. New to the musical game it seems, she nonetheless overcame the occasional chord changing faux pas with undeniable charm and an entertainingly oddball approach to songwriting. For example, I can't actually remember the last time I heard a song about a hospital or indeed heard the word gangrene used in the lyrics of a song. Early days, as they say, but Ms McIvor is clearly cut from a different cloth than your usual singer songwriter.
Last on were James Johnston and his two compadres. It was soon clear that these three gentleman were hell bent on getting an award for the most gratuitous use of a tambourine in a basement whilst feigning disinterest in the concept of being a performer. It might just have been the mixed metaphors involved in being a stripped out rock band but the conclusion was nonetheless drawn that James Johnston would have been better on his own.
Another night over, another chicken pakora. Some things, it would seem, never change.