Deerhunter - Rainwater Cassette Exchange (EP)

Modern musicians tend to get a bit of a bad rap for not being as prolific as their counterparts of years gone by. Bradford Cox and his mates in Deerhunter, however, give massive lie to this reputation. By my reckoning, since the start of 2008, they have released four albums between them (two under the Deerhunter guise, one as Atlas Sound and one as Lotus Plaza). As well as this, dozens of songs, virtual singles and EPs have been given away for free download on Bradford’s blog.

In spite of the accusations of a lack of quality control which have been slung at the band, their prolific outlook is welcome, as is their relaxed attitude to giving their music away. It’s exciting to be able to chart an artist’s progression so readily. And, as anyone’s mother would tell you, it’s a bit churlish to turn your nose up at something that’s being handed to you for nothing.

The latest ‘proper’ Deerhunter release is the Rainwater Cassette Exchange EP. It opens with the title track which is an immediate example of the impact of Bradford’s recent Animal Collective fixation. The band take the underwater production feel of some recent Animal Collective songs and enhance it with a bassline which creates a real groove, making the song both woozy and stirring at the same time.

There’s something a bit child-like and heart-warming about the way Bradford’s influences seep into his band’s music. He’s clearly as much a fan as he is an artist. Where the genius of Deerhunter lies though is in their ability to create something completely original, in spite of wearing their influences firmly on their sleeves.

Like all Deerhunter records, Rainwater Cassette Exchange is a two-headed beast. Not content with just lulling the listener into a state of nirvana, they also decide to play around with their garage rock fantasies. ‘Disappearing Ink’ and ‘Famous Last Words’ form a twin pronged assault which see the band at their most visceral and energetic. So direct are they in fact, that at one point in ‘Disappearing Ink’, they almost sound a little bit like The Strokes (an unlikely comparison, I know).

The one EP track which we have already heard (thanks to Bradford’s giveaways) is ‘Game of Diamonds’. This is a beautiful piece of work, which chugs along gently, mixing plaintive yearning “No-one ever talked to me / Now I’ve forgotten how to speak” with some nice cryptic imagery, “As soft as a stranger’s hand / I’ve counted every grain of sand”.

The closing track on the EP, ‘Circulation’ quickly descends from distorted power chords and Deerhunter’s oft-utilised pounding beat into something else entirely. Random samples and noises are cluttered together, clinging desperately onto the back of a simple acoustic refrain, creating a delicate frenzy to close off the record.

It may clock in at a fraction over a quarter of an hour, but Rainwater Cassette Exchange takes you on a definite journey. It is varied, but not disjointed. Concise, but not half-formed. And it’s another mouthwatering reminder of just how brilliant Deerhunter are. Cherish them.

Lotus Plaza - The Floodlight Collective (Album)

The last couple of years have seen Bradford Cox become alternative music’s pin-up boy of sorts, what with the outrageously frequent and potent recordings he’s been involved with of late. But it would seem that amid all the adulation for Cox, a vital component of his success has been all but swept under the rug. As Deerhunter‘s guitarist / miscellaneous noisemaker since just after the release of Turn it Up Faggott Lockett Pundt has been the Robin to his Batman. The Lewis to his Morse. The Heskey to his Owen. And as the less vocal element of the band, this appears to suit him just fine.

Pundt’s importance to Deerhunter’s success has now become abundantly clear with the release of his debut solo record under the moniker of Lotus Plaza. The Floodlight Collective has been two years in the assembling and is a fascinating insight into what makes Deerhunter tick. Apparently Pundt is responsible for the band’s dreamier, ambient moods. This, offset with Bradford’s penchant for shoegazey pop, is what gives Deerhunter so much resonance.

The Floodlight Collective kicks into life with ‘Redoakway’, with its off-kilter harmonising and noodling guitar. It is a clear indicator as to what to expect from the rest of the album, setting the tone quite nicely.

Pundt’s vocals are so heavily obscured as to make them unintelligible. Their solemn tone adds to the disembodied, ghostly mood which is often apparent. The fact that the vocals are buried so deeply ends up making them oddly affecting.

This is exemplified on the ponderous ‘Whiteout’, which for me is perhaps the strongest track on the record. Lockett’s sombre voice is submerged as far as it will go, as he showcases his expertise in adding layers of sound on top, building to a decisive conclusion.

In spite of all the mournful wooziness, the record isn‘t painted entirely in dark shades. It does have its occasional playful moments, such as the cheeky little guitar line on Quicksand and the chiming piano on ‘Different Mirrors’. The fact that this song’s intro sounds like it’s threatening to burst into 60’s girl-pop at any moment is almost certainly down to the fact that Bradford drums on the track. This is his only direct input on the album, but there are a couple of instances where it appears his predilection for warped pop may well be rubbing off on Pundt.

That said, The Floodlight Collective is at its strongest when at its most experimental. The title track is the one pitched furthest towards the ambient end of the scale. Pundt also utilises synths and electro drums sparingly but compellingly, as we see on the teasing beat of Sunday Night and the almost unbearably pulsating closing minute of 'A Threaded Needle' with which the album reaches its climax.

The Floodlight Collective is an album of delicious atmosphere which sounds like it is coming from the dreams which emanate from the deepest of sleeps. Its dreamy textures go a long way towards illustrating why Deerhunter’s last couple of albums have been such rewarding listens which stand up to many repeat visits. It’s one of the best late-night albums of the year so far, and deserves to be remembered in the Best of 2009 polls. It probably won’t be, mind you, especially as Bradford Cox has time to release at least six more albums between now and then. I get the impression that won’t irk Lockett Pundt too greatly though.

8/10

Viva Voce - Rose City (Album)

The major downside to being a music lover in the digital age is that it sometimes feels like there aren’t enough listening hours in the day. You can try to cut out mundane trivialities, like work and sleep, but there will still be bands who don’t get the attention they might deserve.

Case in point: Viva Voce. For a few years now, they’ve surfaced sporadically on my radar, only to eventually sink gradually back underwater until their next record arrives. And every time I listen to any of their albums, I’m surprised that this band still haven’t quite forced their way into my own personal A-list.

Maybe they were more astute than they realised when picking their name (which translates from Italian as ‘word of mouth’). The classic example of a slow-burning success, Kevin and Anita Robinson have steadily built on their fan base with each release.

Bringing in two extra band members for Rose City might have raised expectations that they were going to ramp things right up, and indulge their prog (note the small p) tendencies to decadent extremes. Perversely enough though, they’ve gone in the opposite direction, delivering a record that is more poppy and less trippy than we have ever heard them.

The dual assault of Kevin’s drumming and Anita’s brilliant effects-laden guitar kick the album off in urgent fashion with the exuberant one-two of ‘Devotion’ and ‘Die a Little’. The record then settles into something of a more leisurely pace, reaching it‘s zenith on the dreamy, piano-led song ‘Midnight Sun‘.

As well as their instrumental interplay, Kevin and Anita’s vocal harmonies are as important to Viva Voce’s sound as ever. They are used to great effect a number of times, and are exemplified on the pensive, woozy ‘Red Letter Day’, where they come across as a less whiskey-soaked Mark Lanegan attempting to woo a less ghostly Isobel Campbell.

From time to time, Rose City bursts back into life, as we see on the title track, with it’s pounding, insistent beat. It’s a paean for a lost time and place: ‘I wanna be back in Rose City / I wanna be in the town in love‘, and it’s one of the album’s best moments.

At times, the album is in danger of drifting off into inconsequentiality, but it is generally saved by the band’s inventiveness, usually in the shape of Anita’s sparkling guitar work. Occasionally things take a bit more of a turn for the unexpected, such as the wonderfully weird piano at the end of ‘Flora’ which very nearly sounds like some kind of deranged 1930s vaudeville.

Rose City is another fine piece of work by a band who clearly know how to play to their strengths. They have a distinctive sound, but have honed it to such an extent they are able to play around with numerous ideas and still maintain their innate charm. Viva Voce haven’t recorded their classic album just yet, but you get the feeling that with every release they’re getting closer.

Manic Street Preachers - Flawed, Contradictory and The Most Significant Band of Our Generation (Feature)

"We’ll release one double album that goes to Number One worldwide. One album, then we split. If it doesn't work, we split anyway. Either way, after one album, we're finished"

So claimed James Dean Bradfield in 1992. And at every available opportunity, the band repeated this laudable intention to anyone who would listen. And to a lot of people who wouldn’t. But, 17 years later the Manics are about to release their ninth album. Clearly, the boys from Blackwood were always the contradictory types.

But if they split tomorrow, they wouldn’t just be leaving behind nine bits of round plastic. They would be leaving behind a legacy greater than perhaps any band in the last 25 years. ‘Life-changing’ is a term which is grossly over-used, but it is an incontrovertible fact that the Manics have positively influenced the thoughts, tastes and values of thousands of people.

Erupting onto the music scene at the start of the 1990s, they accurately described themselves as “a mess of eyeliner and spraypaint”. They were a dream come true for the music press. Four rent-a-gobs from a Welsh backwoods (sorry, Blackwood), they looked fantastic, and hated everything from Slowdive to Smash Hits to Glastonbury and everything in between. It was almost irrelevant what they actually sounded like.

As it happened, their debut album Generation Terrorists stood up well. It was everything they promised it would be: Intelligent, caustic, and it saw James Dean Bradfield attempting to ‘out-Slash Slash’ at every possible opportunity. Many of their most iconic moments were on there, including ‘You Love Us’ and ‘Motorcycle Emptiness’. That the album was a touch overproduced and plagued by filler in the form of a pointless cover and a horrific remix of ‘Repeat’ is hardly important, merely misplaced ambition.

Whether they ever really planned to split after the first record or not, alas they inevitably came back with Gold Against the Soul just over a year after releasing their debut. At this point, if the wheels didn’t quite come off, they certainly wobbled a fair bit.

Against all odds, Wales’ most idealistic firebrands fell into the corporate trap. Encouraged to make a radio friendly album of modern rock, they and producer Dave Eringa polished the record to within an inch of its life. The end product was something which would very quickly sound dated. In spite of this, scrape away some of the sheen, and some classic Manic moments reveal themselves. Although their political edge had been blunted, there was a clear sign of evolution in their lyrical themes. The sloganeering polemic was making way for topics such as the neglect of war veterans, corrupt record company types and a macabre look at Tourette‘s-afflicted children. We also saw some of the first indications here that Richey‘s mental state was beginning to fray: “There’s nothing nice in my head / The adult world took it all away”.

To their immense credit, the Manics were intelligent enough to realise they were heading down the wrong path with their foray into radio rock. So, in an effort to recapture their discipline and focus, they covered themselves from head to toe into military paraphernalia and unleashed what will forever be their greatest achievement, The Holy Bible. It was a disturbing, abrasive record, summed up best by the JG Ballard quote at the start of ‘Faster’: “I wanted to rub the human face in its own vomit, and force it to look in the mirror’”. Richey’s increasingly unravelling mental health brought about his densest, most incredible poetry. James rose magnificently to the challenge of setting this to music, half-killing himself at times to fit in lines like “Holding you but I only miss these things when they leave” over his brutal riffage.

Six months after The Holy Bible was released, the world got too much for Richey and, as we all know, he chose to disappear without trace. Whether he jumped in the Severn, or decided to anonymously start his life again elsewhere, we don’t know. Nowadays, I genuinely don’t know what I believe. The idealistic sixteen year old I once was would tell you in no uncertain terms that he is alive, and hiding away from the world that crushed him.

But in spite of his vitriolic tendencies, by all accounts Richey is/was a loving man who cared more about his friends and family than anything else. Could he just disappear into thin air like that, cutting them off without any kind of goodbye? But then suicide is an even more selfish act, as the mental anguish is entirely with the surviving family, and not shared by the one who runs away, so what to think? The horrible fact is that we (and more to the point, his loved ones) won’t know the truth until Richey surfaces, one way or another.

With all this on their minds, it’s astonishing that the remaining three members were able to release their fourth album Everything Must Go just over a year after his last sighting. What is all the more incredible is that the record is not the depressing feast of wallowing the Manics were entitled to make. Instead, it was an uplifting, string-soaked work, replete with lyrical diversity and dignity. Five of the album’s twelve tracks were written in full or part by Richey, but it is Nicky’s efforts which were arguably the most memorable. Songs like ‘A Design For Life’ and the album’s title track showed Nicky stepping out of Richey’s shadow as a writer. He was in turn able to pay tender tributes to his friend and acerbically mock the world’s perception of the working class condition.

Everything Must Go had made the Manics ‘properly’ famous, but their fifth album This is My Truth Tell Me Yours finally garnered them their first ever number one single with ‘If You Tolerate This Your Children Will be Next’. This album was a far more downbeat effort than its predecessors. It was the sound of a band jaded by all they had experienced in the seven years since their first record.

Choosing to follow Everything Must Go with an album so steeped in inertia and a very adult sense of angst was also the clearest indication to date that the Manics were never going to sound like the same band they were with Richey. And rightly so. However maligned this record eventually became, it’s still a strong piece of work, infinitely preferable to a lot of what followed it. One thing Manic Street Preachers have always been is an honest band. True to this, This is My Truth is an album which sees them at their most world-weary.

But what the hell their mood was like when they recorded Know Your Enemy will always escape me. It was described by Nicky Wire at the time as ‘one of the best albums of all time’. It wasn’t. They may have tried their hand at everything including, but not limited, to disco, rock ‘n’ roll, jangly pop and raucous punk, but its eclecticism was to prove its downfall. There were some decent moments on the album, such as ‘Intravenous Agnostic’s arse-kicking guitar and the touching sentiment of ‘Ocean Spray’, but Know Your Enemy will go down in most people’s books as Manic Street Preachers worst album.

However, some people would award that dubious accolade to 2004’s Lifeblood. I would disagree. Like This is My Truth, Lifeblood suffered in the public’s eyes for being a subtler affair, more keyboards than power chords. It was a laid-back, melody-soaked effort, and to me showed that the Manics were freer than ever of the fear of what Richey would think of it. Perhaps it’s down to the fact that this was their seventh record, and meant they had made more albums without Richey than they had with him.

Not that they had forgotten him entirely, they weren’t that crass. Album opener ‘1985’ refers to Nicky’s musical awakening at the feet of Morrissey and Marr, a period in his life of which Richey was very much a part (as well as James and Sean). Final track ‘Cardiff Afterlife’ is another of Nicky’s poignant eulogies to Richey: “Your memory is still mine / No I will not share them”.

Perhaps bruised by the harshly indifferent reaction of the record-buying public to Lifeblood, the band decided to go back to a formula which had brought them previous sucess with their next album Send Away the Tigers. They appeared to take the blue print of Everything Must Go, and mixed stadium-rocking power melodies with meaty power chords and threw in some endless solos for good measure.

It was refreshing to hear the Manics in this kind of setting again, and ‘Indian Summer‘ and ‘The Second Great Depression‘ were up their with their best efforts. However, perhaps for the first time ever, the ugly spectre of self-parody reared its head, particularly on Underdogs with its “This one’s for the freaks” refrain. Far be it from me to accuse the Manics of cynicism, I’ve already said they’re too genuine for that. As James sang on ‘An English Gentleman’ on his solo album, “There are no lies / It’s just the way we feel today”. That said, the album as a whole didn’t quite sit right with me.

So, finding themselves at yet another crossroads, the Manics decided that the time was finally right to blow the dust off Richey’s lyrical legacy, recording Journal For Plague Lovers entirely with words left behind in his notebooks. Words intended to appear on the fourth Manic Street Preachers record finally see the light of day on their ninth, a full fourteen years after Richey’s disappearance. I won’t dwell too much on this record, because I’ve already documented my thoughts in detail here but I will say this: Journal For Plague Lovers is the best Manics album for years. Perhaps even since The Holy Bible. And, in my view it is a fitting place to end the career of one of the most sincere, intelligent, and human bands we’ll ever have.

Forever Replayed - A more fitting retelling of Manic Street Preachers history than Sony’s 2004 cash-in - Spotify Playlist

1 Everything Must Go - Everything Must Go
2 Archives of Pain - The Holy Bible
3 Sepia - Kevin Carter Single
4 Stay Beautiful - Generation Terrorists
5 Motown Junk - Motown Junk Single
6 This is Yesterday - The Holy Bible
7 From Despair to Where - Gold Against the Soul
8 Prologue to History - If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next Single
9 1985 - Lifeblood
10 No Surface All Feeling - Everything Must Go
11 You Love Us - Generation Terrorists
12 Ready For Drowning - This is My Truth Tell Me Yours
13 Faster - The Holy Bible
14 Sleepflower - Gold Against the Soul
15 Indian Summer - Send Away the Tigers
16 Bored Out of My Mind - Motorcycle Emptiness Single
17 The Masses Against the Classes - The Masses Against the Classes Single
18 Yes - The Holy Bible
19 PCP - The Holy Bible
20 A Design For Life - Everything Must Go

Manic Street Preachers - Journal For Plague Lovers (Album)

It’s now 14 years since Richey Edwards disappeared, and in that time Manic Street Preachers have become a very different band indeed. Mondeo-man aside, most Manics fans would accept they have never hit the creative heights without him that they did with him. So, the news that Journal For Plague Lovers would be recorded with lyrics left behind by Richey has created more anticipation than a band’s ninth album has any right to.

Having managed to sit on these notebooks for so long, the dilemma must have burned constantly in James, Nicky and Sean’s minds: When, and indeed, if, they should ever commit these to tape. Why they decided to wait so long is unclear. Regardless of the answer to this, one thing is clear. They have managed to sidestep the biggest banana skin in their path since Everything Must Go, and delivered their best album in years.

What they have presented to us is, unsurprisingly, a far cry from the “Pantera meets Screamadelica and Linton Kwesi Johnson” direction Richey suggested. (There’s a reason he had little to no musical input in the band). Instead, Journal For Plague Lovers is a blend of the sounds cultivated on Gold Against the Soul, Everything Must Go, and, yes, The Holy Bible.

James Dean Bradfield’s ability to make even the most unworkable of poetry into a memorable rock song has always been something which sets the Manics apart from the crowd. The Holy Bible demonstrated his ability to pick the most appropriate musical tone, and as a result, the album was as much a triumph for him as it was for Edwards. Journal For Plague Lovers is a similar story. At times the album is classic euphoric Manic vitriol, at others it is edgy, tense and disturbing. Steve Albini also deserves major credit for the way his production has freed the band of some of the stodgy bloatedness which has dogged them on occasion in the past.

As expected, the lyrical content is sometimes unnervingly dark. ‘Doors Slowly Closing’ is the apex of gloom. The song has previously been described by Nicky as ‘total Ian Curtis’, and cited as an example of Richey’s state of mind around the time of his departure. It is dense and disturbing, features lines like “Crucifixion is the easy life” and is set to an appropriately sombre musical background.

Many of Edwards’ classic lyrical traits are present on the album. On ‘She Bathed Herself in a Bath of Bleach’ (A contender for ‘Bleakest Title of the Year 09‘), James sings “She’d walk on broken glass for love…Love bathed her in a bath of bleach”. And for all Richey’s mind was unravelling, he could still deliver his characteristically concise and unfathomable, lyrical couplets, such as “Riderless horses on Chomsky’s Camelot” on ‘Peeled Apples’.

The song which is most likely to be discussed on Manics message boards for years to come is ‘William’s Last Words’. It’s the Manics fanboy’s wet dream, reading like Richey’s long-awaited goodbye note, “Wish me some luck / As you wave goodbye to me / You’re the best friends I ever had”. In actual fact, the lyric was edited down by Nicky from a piece of prose left by Richey. As James has recently pointed out, someone as sensitive and smart as Richey wouldn’t be so crass as to leave behind such as thinly veiled clue about his plans to disappear. In spite of this, the context renders it impossible to be anything but choked by Nicky’s flat but heartbreakingly tender delivery.

So, the stakes were so high that Journal For Plague Lovers had to be something special. Mercifully, it is. It’s not The Holy Bible Mk II, which is a big factor in its success. It’s the sound of a band who are older, wiser and more likeable than the firebrands who promised to break up after one album. However, they’ve shown us that after all they’ve been through, they are still in touch with their roots. But how the hell do they follow this up? And, more to the point, should they?

Jason Lytle - Yours Truly, the Commuter (Album)

When a former (or indeed current) member of any band you like releases a solo record, I always think it’s best to try wherever possible to treat it as a completely separate entity to the band’s output. However, in the case of Jason Lytle, it’s difficult to view his debut effort Yours Truly, the Commuter outside the context of Grandaddy.

The album has all the ingredients you would expect from a Jason Lytle album. It’s bursting with melodies, often masked with fuzziness and occasionally backed up with nice electro touches. His delivery is as woozy and forlorn as ever, which makes it increasingly affecting as he enters his 40s.

On the record’s title track, Lytle leaves us in no doubt about his feelings regarding the recent past, and his hopes for the future: “Last thing I heard I was left for dead… I may be limping/But I’m coming home”. This is a bold statement of defiance, tellingly placed as the album opener. It encapsulates the bruised sense of hope which few people can generate as well as Jason Lytle.

Lytle is at his best when delivering seemingly innocuous lyrics in his most melancholic voice for maximum effect. We see this on ‘Rollin’ Home Alone’ when he sings ‘I bought you something nice/I got you something warm/For when the weather turns’.

Another tearjerker is ’This Song is the Mute Button’ in which he lays ’And I see the pretty in things/But you disappear like a dream/I wish I could laugh now/But I’ll never see you again’ over a simple piano melody. The result is something desolate and beautiful, and probably the saddest point in the album.

Only once does Lytle indulge his space-rock tendencies. And he does so with typical panache on ‘It’s the Weekend’, a short, punchy song which provides a nice little bit of breathing space in the middle of the album.

Having set such high standards at the outset, and lived up to them on a number of occasions later on, it’s perhaps inevitable that the album peters out slightly towards the end. It’s forgivable, too given the lovely moments that Lytle has managed to deliver here. And besides, he is able to leave things on a high note, in the form of ‘Here For Good’, a fragile, piano-led lament.

All told then, Yours Truly, The Commuter is a major success. It’s all very Jason Lytle, but this is by no means a bad thing. It’s heavy on emotion, and packed with ideas. In these uncertain days, there’s something reassuring about the fact that one of indie’s royalty is still able to deliver such a strong piece of work.

Duke Special - Northumbria University Stage Two - 1/5/09 (Gig)

Casting my mind back into the hazy reaches of my student days, I recall Northumbria University’s Stage Two as the scene of most of my formative gig experiences. Many of 2002’s indie all-stars/also-rans got their claws into me there, including the likes of Seafood, My Vitriol, Easyworld and The Cooper Temple Clause. These days, since Carling (and subsequently O2) planted their flag in Newcastle’s indie scene with the Academy, I’m sad to say I barely manage to get to Northumbria once a year.

So, with the friendly curse of nostalgia already on my mind, it is perhaps fitting that tonight’s visit there was to see Duke Special, an artist as familiar to me as a pair of comfy old slippers. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen him, but it must be rapidly approaching double figures.

And in those few years since I first saw him, I’ve seen him develop from a fabulously ragtag vaudevillian into a far more rounded showman, able to command the complete attention of every member of his perpetually-increasing audience.

Upon Duke’s arrival on stage tonight, I must confess I feared that this growing stature had started to have an adverse affect on his unique stage shows. For you see, he was not accompanied by Chip Bailey, his percussion genius, the loveable lunatic whose inventory includes cheese graters and whisks. Instead, for the first time I can recall, Duke was followed out by a conventional band, with a drummer, guitarist and bassist (albeit a double bass).

By worrying that this set-up meant that he was pandering to the masses, however, I did the Duke a great disservice. As ever, his performance was completely captivating and the slightly more traditional band arrangement augmented, rather than diluted his fantastic catchy melodies.

What we are dealing with in Duke Special is one of pop’s last great eccentrics. A soft-spoken, dreadlocked man from Belfast who sips red wine on stage and takes most of his backing samples from a record player which sits atop his piano. A man who recently recorded a live EP directly to vinyl and distributed them straight after the show (apparently making him the first to do this in over thirty years). And someone whose most recent project is a collection of songs based on the 12 films of obscure ‘20s film star Hector Mann.

Three of these songs were played tonight, and the standout was ‘The Jockey Club (A Bitch Called Wanda)’ a typically jaunty, witty song, which tells the tale of a waiter in an exclusive California club. He falls for a champion female pilot who visits the club, and, of course ends up getting the girl, fulfilling his wish for “crazy day trips, with my darling aviatrix”.

The rest of the show was a trawl through Duke’s burgeoning back catalogue, veering from the piano-hammering crowd-pleasers such as ‘Salvation Tambourine’ and ‘Last Night I Nearly Died’ to the arguably more substantial and fulfilling recent songs like ‘I Never Thought This Day Would Come (But Now it Won’t Go Away)’. There were plenty of tear-jerking moments too, none more so than the stark performance of ‘Why Does Anybody Love At All?’

Towards the end Duke, ever the collaborative spirit, invited the wonderful support act Foreign Slippers to join him and the band. Her incredible voice, with its capability to pin you to the floor in the same way as the likes of Martha Wainwright and Joan Wasser adorned ‘Freewheel’. It was one of the highlights of the show, as her singing almost put even the Duke’s honeyed tones to shame.

One thing Duke Special is always going to struggle with is capturing the feel of his live shows on record. His gigs are more than the sum of their parts, because he and his various associates are able to create a certain special mood that I‘ve yet to experience from another artist. He’s able to make his audience feel that every show is a one-off experience, which is incredible considering how frequently he tours.

This point was exemplified by the way the gig ended tonight. Rather than the traditional encore and goodnight, the band decided to pitch right out into the middle of the crowd (double bass and all, but thankfully with spoons replacing drums). They then sat us down, and engaged the whole room in a singalong sea shanty. This finished the evening on an appropriately high note, sending everyone off into the night with a smile, which is the only expression it is possible to wear on leaving a Duke Special show.