B.A. was looking fit and rakish. To borrow from Chris, he looked like Andrew Neil’s healthier, younger brother, and the patter was back in full effect. When Ross came onto to cue his time to leave the stage he threatened not to leave, wanting to lead a chorus of We Have a Dream, or even Kool in the Kaftan (perish the thought).
Robertson was always the kind of pop performer that was never taken seriously, even by himself. He was quite popular in the primary playground because he was daft, lanky and deeply uncool, and young kids don’t care about such matters. He also wrote Scotland’s best World Cup Song (admittedly there is not strong competition) with the aforementioned We Have a Dream. Fronted by Gregory himself (John Gordon Sinclair) and backed by the 1982 squad, the song captured the optimism that used to accompany following Scotland. No chance of that these days. Robertson throws the kitchen sink at it. I’ve tried to find a clip of them on Top of the Pops, but to no avail. However, here it is with some relevant imagery:
Back to the Concert Hall. The form of the evening was that performers chose their favourite Scottish Songs to sing. It started with The Eurythmics’ Here Comes the Rain morphing into Bronski Beat’s Small Town Boy and finished with everyone coming back on for a rousing Sunshine on Leith. Highlights included Emma Pollock doing The Humblebums’ Everybody Knows That and Kenny Anderson doing Ronnie Clark and Carl McDougall’s Cod Liver Oil and the Orange Juice. Here’s a great wee clip of Kenny performing the song with James Yorkston and Pictish Trail. The quality, and the speed, of the film add to the manic nature of the performance:
Emma Pollock and Kenny Anderson gave themselves, what I considered to be, the biggest of challenges of the evening with two of their choices. Emma, backed by Karine Polwart, went for The Blue Nile’s Downtown Lights, (and you’ll have gathered by now my feelings towards them). They sang beautifully but missed the aching sadness, the effortless emotion, that is present in Paul Buchanan’s original vocal.
Kenny, even more courageously, plumped for The Associates Party Fears Two. Perhaps I am too close to these songs, they mean too much to me, but these were brave attempts that only made me pine for the originals. Billy Mackenzie’s soaring vocals in particular gives Party Fears Two a magical quality. Here are The Associates performing it on Belgian TV:
God I miss Billy Mackenzie. If I ever start hearing voices then I hope it’s his telling me to take out the queue at the post-office.
Sunday night was Laura Veirs at the Oran Mor, and apparently was the first night of her tour. She is good on record, but was great live, after a slow start. If you have the opportunity to see her in the future I would highly recommend it.
*Word of warning. Never seek out the official video for this song. It features Peter Kay and will spoil what you have just seen forever. See you in the New Year…
I’m going to start with a band who made some of the best music of the early part of the decade. Possibly inspired by Irvine Welsh, this is Ballboy with I Hate Scotland:
The next two are live clips from two of my all time favourite artists. The first is Roddy Frame who released two fantastic albums in the last ten years; 2002’s Surf and 2006’s Western Skies. Sometimes there are artists who are just so consistently brilliant that people seem to take them for granted. Elvis Costello is one who springs to mind, and I would place Frame in that category. I own everything he’s ever done and any life is improved by his music. From Surf, this is Over You:
My desert island disc is The Blue Nile’s Hats, but I love every second of their music. 2004’s High runs Hats close, and I cannot give higher praise. If I could, believe me I would. If I was to recommend one album from the last ten years that every one should own it would be High. Unsurprisingly, after all this hyperbole, my best gig of the last ten years was The Blue Nile at Glasgow’s Royal Concert Hall. I think you get the drift; from High this is I Would Never and reaffirms to me that there is no one who moves me like Paul Buchanan can: