8.15pm and the lights are purple. Intimacy is the game, it would seem, and playing it tonight in the basement of Stereo in damp old Glasgow town are Laurie Cameron and Turning Plates.
Turning Plates, or the two of them present tonight at least, are purveyors of maudlin melody haunted by the ghosts of the past and, with stridency clearly an alien concept, it took them little in the way of effort to fade away into the audience’s heart.
Perth, as in up the road a bit Perth rather than the rather drier city in Australia, is the home of singer songwriter Laurie Cameron and she is here tonight to promote her album “The Girl Who Cried For The Boy Who Cried Wolf”. As similarly fond of downbeat melody as Turning Plates, she used subtlety as her sword and, with a sometimes awkward band at her side, edged forever forward in the field of battle that was the space between the audience and the stage. Her voice, undeniably, had a story to tell and that story was a thoughtful one replete with inner reflection.
9.45pm and the lights are now the unappealing yellow glow cast over the city streets in the hours of darkness and the rain has washed away every smile. Reality is overrated.