The last time I found myself in this excellent and friendly venue was when I managed to catch THE ORGAN in action last summer, on the balmiest of balmy evenings when the sticky heat almost melted the windows and the place was jam-packed full to the rafters. Other memories include a set from the legendary soul icon LOU PRIDE (famed for the stomping Northern anthem 'I'm
coming home in the morning'), who shrugged off the fact that the venue was virtually empty, delivering a show that will stay in my mind always.
And as fantastic live shows go, MALCOLM MIDDLETON's appearance was right up there with the best of them. With a stage presence that seemed to shrink the spacious venue, making each silence tangible, the unassuming songsmith and his band filled the stage just as audience expectations filled the room.
The spotlight he does not like. Even with the backing of the musicians formerly known as ARAB STRAP, that much was still evident in his constantly averted gaze, a combination of furtive glances at the audience and then away from them.
Nevertheless, this excellent outfit opened the show with a barnstorming version of 'We're All Gonna Die', and the adulating masses were hooked from hereon in. The grinding keys and insistent drums fleshed out the nihilistic humour of it all superbly, and the bowling ball rendition skittled everyone in a perfect strike. Applause, and masses of it!
'A Brighter Beat' was a breath held in sway with ours, urgent and defiant in celebration of the blind rush into every new day that comes with the true battle against dark thoughts and inert psychosis. Rumbling headlights beamed out and gazes were averted all around this time. Absolutely awesome.
'Fuck It I Love You' jangled and jaunted itself seamlessly into earshot, chiming itself out and into our hearts. By this time I was bobbing and spinning like a fishing float awash in a sea of broken dreams, stunned, hooked and ready to be landed. The singalong chorus murmured gently before the explosive middle eight doubled up and dropped out magnificently, leaving the tune's bass-driven essence to hit us again. How he writes from the edge of the abyss and then gets off his arse to tour it I'll never know, each song coming buried from under the duvet as days slip by almost in spite of themselves.
With the keyboards in an 'L' shape visible through the 45degree mirrored metal sheeting above the back of the stage, also a splendid view of the awestruck, all female front row, and the respectful 3 feet distance from the low stage, this was something else entirely.
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'Stay Close, Sit Tight' shimmered and fanfared on it's rhyming faux upbeat clenched fist. That acoustic was arpeggioing for fun, as 'oor Malky painfully bore the brunt of his magnificent songs, a pain that he could not possibly share the burden of, despite the appreciative whoops of recognition and delight at a darkened existence articulated.
Ditto 'Somebody Loves You', with an acoustic thread linking all the haunting elements together delicately and beautifully. 'Fight Like The Night' came off the back of Jenny Reeve's beautiful vocals, whilst Paul Savage's drumming was lazily superb.
'Death, Love, Depression, Death' retained its vulnerability - before the band gatecrashed it on a tidal wave of thunderous proportions. It was quite simply brilliant, as slice after slice of this magnificently downbeat album was given a full airing
Encore saw Malky back on his own, and looking like he was enjoying the evening. Request time brought the stripped down, self-depreceating genius of 'The Devil & The Angel', and a subliminal working of the crowd. This was beautiful. Talk about eating out of the palm of his hand!
That half-assed introduction of the band when they trooped on after two or three numbers brought forth more giggles and grins: Laughter, and plenty of applause as they each took a well-deserved bow.
And then came 'Superhero Songwriters', a fanfare and a half if ever there was one. The honesty, the bullshit-free fragile honesty of it all slayed me completely.
It stays with me as I walk dazed into the street pumping the hands of strangers and grinning in a spaced out fashion. In a nearby pub, I stare into the last beer of the evening, still awestruck, wholly moved, and totally chuffed to have been at this one.
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