Botanic Gardens, Glasgow
12/06/04
You’ve probably heard them all before – Twee In The Park, Death by 1,000 Kirby Grips, the reading festival, The Crowd Goes Mild, The Packaged Kitsch Dolls. That last one was particularly dreadful. But on the 12th June, the West End of Glasgow was invaded by Belle and Sebastian fans (though many are themselves indigenous to the area) to watch their favourite band play at the Botanic Gardens.
Not being particularly enamoured with them myself, but more excited about the fact the James Orr Complex were on, I snuck in early, in order to make a quick exit. I see why people like Belle and Sebastian, but much in the same way I see why people like to drink Malibu. I found a patch of grass near the front and was promptly berated by a large girl bedecked in so much Japanese kitsch she looked like a Tokyo toyshop. Apparently, “the fans” had all been sitting there “for hours”, so who did I think I was, stalking in just before the first act? I was clearly on hostile ground, anyway, even if the bands weren’t. I did my best to placate her and her thin friends, but to no avail. Thank God James Orr Complex were on first.
After a few words from Stuart Murdoch, on strode Mr Chris Mack into the cloud of indifference/excitement that typifies these afternoon-long affairs. “Yay, it’s started”/”Boo, but it’s not who I came to see.” Opening with 'Happy Adversary' and working his way through the album, note perfect, fascinating to watch, it was good to hear the applause increase in volume as each song ended. He seemed nervous, as you’d expect. One man and a guitar is always going to be lost in situations like this, in the expectation, in the scale, and I felt a pang of regret that my first time seeing him live was in a park where his effect was diffused somewhat, but after a lovely 'Antibodies', which seemed longer than I remembered it, he was, in a small way, winning the crowd over. He played out his half hour with a few smatterings of stage conversation with the crowd, and as he left, received a sizeable and respectful round of applause, except from the girl next to me, who complained all the way through the set that he sounded “like Paul Weller”. It was too public to strangle her, and I’m sure her Hello Kitty necklace would have done the job, but in the end, I decided to be the bigger man (insert joke here), and left, satisfied. I’m looking forward to seeing him in a more confined and intimate space, but today it was a lovely beginning to it all.
Dermot Fitzsimons
Photo: Alister Black
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