You can tell that The Countess of Fife is a real countess because she has a tiara. You wouldn’t think that Fife would have a countess or, if it did, that anyone would admit to being the proud possessor of such a title. Yet here she was amongst the peasants of Coatbridge to, through music and song, cast her spell.
Talking of spells, The Countess of Fife has a thing about witches as Fife – the county – is apparently full of them and always has been. I’ve been to Kelty so I know that, at least, is likely to be true and I also do not doubt that the Countess of Fife is the best witch that I have seen since the last time the witchfinder general hit town.
Talking of music, Scotland has always had a fondness for country music – to almost purist levels – and, despite her red fringed jacket, her twisted take on country music tropes had a vigour that was definitely driven by something other than the horsepower of a V8 Chevy pickup truck. Aided and abetted by Brian McFie with his twangy collection of all the best country chords and the ever entrancing Kirsten Adamson, The Countess – a mere serf such as I would not dare to call her Fay – soon burned up that highway fuelled by the relentless momentum that comes with talent.
Talking of closing time bar room brawls, which we weren’t but strange things run through your mind when it is raining like a biblical apocalypse outside, would The Countess of Fife beat some conventional Nashville heavy weaponry in a fight? I reckon Miranda Lambert would win the tequila drinking contest but The Countess of Fife would then push her into a hedge and hijack the only taxi in town to get home. Don’t dress me up, she would say, because you know nothing about fashion. Rhinestones are so yesterday but reverb and a sporty attitude are forever.