Live Reviews

  Jodie Pollock, The Dreaded Lurgi, Funf, Daniel Forrest and Doug live at Kitty O'Sheas in Glasgow

Why, said the wise man, is the world spinning faster than usual? Because it is Monday and no one expects the unexpected came the answer from the hamster on the wheel of life. Hamsters get a different perspective on life than you or I and they do so by drinking the beer at Kitty O’Sheas.

To the music. Jodie Pollock turned out to be the hostess for the evening that is, or was by now, tonight. Revving up her engine powered by effervescence and a rather playful sense of humour, she powered through songs hit by the cue ball of life as if she were destined to put them in the pockets of a pool table. She also had a red guitar but that, as time will shortly tell, turned out to be the sellotape that held the night together.

The Dreaded Lurgi would, or should, have been no strangers to that cultural realignment that is generally called the Festival fringe with their indignant poetry merging seamlessly into the harp and double bass combination that would guarantee their spot in the cabaret at the end of the universe. The world indeed has tassels.

The red guitar then returned to keep Daniel company and, while his name might not actually have been Daniel, he clearly had no fear of being thrown to the lions. With an oblique all pervasive humour neatly compensating for his rather individual vocal style, he demonstrated a mastery of the art of nonchalant acidity. He even brought a likeminded soul on to the stage for an industrial strength bitchfest and that is, without doubt, why Daniel is a Liam Neeson for our times.

Taking the seated approach to making his music move was Doug and his own guitar. No handholding required either as this man and his mastery of matters acoustic was never in doubt with all thoughts of unilateral disarmament banished by his often fluent amalgamation of jazz and classical styles.

Next, or at least next after a Franciscan Well Chieftain IPA was Fnuf. A Frenchman relocated, presumably by force, to Govan, he looped his oddball thoughts and sounds into a curiously appealing melange of urban and wholesome influences that, and who saw this coming, could even calm the troubled souls of a group of passing neds.

One more Monday duly removed from the firmament of the universe, there remained but one more task. Time to shout up another beer and, while we are pretending to be philosophers, red guitars are still where it is at.

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