Fireside Kicks, A Feckless Boy, Steven Duguid, Naz live at The Liquid Ship in Glasgow
Stardate -312622.2 (that's a real stardate by the way and there's an online calculator to work it out). Away mission to planet Earth. Due, I think, to an unfortunate misunderstanding last night involving the transporter chief's wife, I appear have been beamed down to Glasgow on a Tuesday night. No doubt this administrative oversight will be rectified soon. I also appear to be wearing a red shirt with "shoot me first" screenprinted on the back.
Whilst I await retrieval, I blend discreetly into the audience in the basement of the Liquid Ship for a Free Candy Session. The tricorder identifies the nervous looking Naz as a local singer songwriter which is apparently a common breed in this part of the world. Further analysis confirms this as he plays the same John Martyn cover that all other males of this breed seem to play. However, he passes the time pleasantly enough.
Next on was Steven Duguid. There is soon evidence of a dry sense of humour and an advanced intelligence. Songs that have both melody and a lightness of touch in their lyrics cause the tricorder to drag up Jonathan Richman as a possible progenitor. The stage must also be his natural habitat as the bearded Duguid and his electric guitar wielding bodyguard seemed happy to be there. The audience also seemed happy they were there.
Analysing the historical context of this episode during the commercial break led to the conclusion that there should be some examples of art in evidence. As A Feckless Boy took to the stage, it seemed plausible that evidence of culture would be provided. Starting off by imprisoning a woman at the back of the stage - the prime directive stopped me from rescuing her - two men sat down and exuded emotional acoustic intensity. The meaning of it all wasn't entirely clear but there was certainly something compelling about this tortured artist's performance.
I use the tricorder to scan the five people next on stage. Everything looks normal. Everything sounds normal as well. Musically, Fireside Kicks seem restrained perhaps downbeat and, at times, verging on the laconic but science can't explain everything (outside of the movie franchise). Perhaps it was just an unexpected side effect of the delicately sonorous charms of the female vocalist but the tricorder began to make a strange purring noise and I began to feel all warm and fuzzy. Then I realised that I had been entranced as I now wanted to stay on this God forsaken planet.
Beam me up, Scotty! But not just yet.
May 18, 2010
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