The last time W&H went to see MALCOLM MIDDLETON it was a Monday night, it was pissing down with rain and we ended up racing a hearse down the dual carriageway outside Cork. Suffice it to say it seemed curiously apt at the time.
Tonight, the rainclouds are strangely absent and the motorway is happily hearse-free. Yet we're still attending a funeral of sorts, for we are gathered here tonight, dear brethren, to witness the final live show by Malcolm Middleton. Ever.
Thus, a suitably hushed, almost reverent atmosphere pervades at an all-seated Cyprus Avenue for Falkirk's "second greatest miserablist" (not my words) to wheel out our favourite songs of love, loss, desperation and death one last time.
Bearing in mind he's armed merely with his trusty acoustic and some of the most gloriously bleak songs ever committed to tape, you might imagine our hero would expect a respectful crowd, but – erk! - it seems like he's expecting us to enjoy ourselves. Hell, at the end of a loaded and exuberant version of his X-Factor smashing hit 'We're All Going To Die' he even murmurs: "Ah, c'mon, it's supposed tae be a celebration, no' just a wake!"
Fair enough. But while oor Malky's wintry slices of life on the edge may not be the obvious soundtrack to scoring with the neighbourhood's most desirable member of the opposite sex, when twinned with his gorgeously fluid guitar playing and that super-morose vocal delivery, his (actually not at all "shite") songs conspire to make perfect sense.
Besides, this being his last gig an' all, he's even prepared to do a 'greatest hits' of sorts, amiably taking requests and trying to fit in as many of these as he can. Thus, his more easily recognisable high profile songs like 'Blue Plastic Bags' and a tense'n'dynamic 'A Brighter Beat' rub shoulders with lesser-heard treats like 'Devastated' and a weirdly tender 'Best In Me', not to mention a hilariously profane 'Autumn' which our hero assures us recently destroyed his chances of ever appearing in Cambridge again. When I inform you the promoter at said venue was a lady called Autumn and the lyric to Malc's song opens with "Autumn, ye fuckin' cunt, ye bring me memories I dinnae want", then the penny may begin to drop as to why.
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It's not all oldies but goldies, of course. After another round of requests for early tunes, Middleton sneers "I really fuckin' hate it when no-one requests stuff from yer new album" and proceeds to serenade us with some of the best moments from his tremendous 'Waxing Gibbous' LP courtesy of a spirited and stirring 'Red Travelling Socks' ("all we have is distance and time/ out of sight but you're on my mind") and a wonderfully sepulchral 'Box & Knife'.
Sensibly, the 'encore' consists of the great man merely staying on to play several more tunes. These include a super-sad 'Four Cigarettes' ("I remember failure after failure after failure") and – inevitably - the set-closing 'Devil & The Angel' where the man upstairs and the guy with the forked tail below vie for Malcolm's soul. It reaches a superb conclusion where Middleton leaves the final line "and all my songs are..." hanging. Instead of the expected "pish!", the crowd chorus "very good!" to which our man lets his first smile of the evening slip, picks us his pint and leaves the stage. And that really is that it seems.
Having played second fiddle to Aidan Moffatt in Arab Strap for many years, few would have expected Malcolm Middleton to find Indie-crossover success on his own terms, yet after five largely fantastic albums the idea of not hearing his self-proclaimed "shite" (yet brilliant) songs any more seems desperately sad right now. Still, he's on time for his own funeral and his desire for us to carouse at the graveside ensures he slips into history in style. Let's hope the resurrection is only just around the corner.
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