So the world is flat after all. Or it might be with the self-levelling capabilities of beer and we might all, hangover or not, fall off the edge into the abyss or, instead, those of us with Christian beliefs close to hand, might alternatively migrate our heart and soul to Kitty O’Sheas. So it was that Reverend Bluesbunny and Ed The Producer, fresh from nostril waxing and feeding the ginger pony, found themselves in the company of Mairi Fenella, Patersani, Broxi, Jodie Pollock and Chris Brooks.
Jodie Pollock, easy on the ear and equally at home in her chosen role as mistress of ceremonies, picked up her guitar and set about injecting her sparkling personality into the veins of the room. It’s an addictive thing that she does.
It’s a guitar fondling thing for Patersani and the two bearded brothers took little time in providing evidence that they could transfer the limitations of indie rock into the two voices and two guitars environment and still escape with their integrity intact.
Mairi Fennella, on the other hand, exuded class with her jazzy inclinations highlighting a vocally adventurous spirit that was as at home tonight as it would have been on any cabaret stage. Her potential was never less than obvious and the enchantment exuded by her cultured vocal style soon imprinted itself upon all that had ears for the finer things in life.
Broxi, aided and abetted by the now ubiquitous Jodie Pollock, proved that man could indeed use an acoustic guitar to escape from the confines of the mixing desk. Tune it and make it happen. That’s what I say and that’s what we got.
They say it is the end but all such things are relative and Chris Brooks was more than happy to demonstrate that he could make the stage his own before the curtain fell upon another right of neo-ironic terpsichorean worship.
May the force, or Gwyneth Paltrow at the very least, be with you all.