There’s a voice in my head that tells me to do things like be nice to cats and never disrespect anyone holding a loaded kebab. I like the worldly wisdom of that voice and tonight that voice tells me to descend the life threatening spiral staircase into the basement of Broadcast and worship at the altar of Basia Bulat, The Weather Station and Chrissy Barnacle.
Chrissy Barnacle is, of course, from dear old Glasgow and is therefore destined to be worshipped as all things from Glasgow should be. Her between songs banter is an intriguing mixture of the quirky and the surreal and she even has a song about cannibal rats. In fact, she has a two part song about cannibal rats and that is as good a sign of an original talent as you are likely to get this side of common sense. Simply strange yet strangely appealing.
The Weather Station, for they were three, were, in comparison, the very model of conventionality with each song fading and fading out as if echoing from perfectly pitched grooves of vinyl. Tamara Lindeman had a voice that would beguile and, accompanied onstage by two possessed of the silent malevolence of bearded serial killers, she cast a spell made of stardust and lost times. Simply sonorous and unswervingly endearing.
And now to Basia Bulat. A performer of magnificence capable of always moving forward, she endeared herself to the audience, remarkably doubled in size after her mere appearance on stage, with a set that reflected sympathetically on her autoharp powered past but concentrated on her glorious, wrapped in gold cape, present with songs from her “Good Advice” album showing that putting your best foot forward is the only valid decision for an artist of her ability. Needless to say, the audience demanded an encore. Simply magnificent and yet…simply magnificent. Doubly good is good enough for me.
Somewhere and sometime in the blur, the guy next to me tells me that he missed a Hawkwind concert to see Basia Bulat. A decision well made, sir!