Barrowland, Glasgow
09/10/04
Sometimes a venue is as much a star of a concert as the people performing in that venue, and sometimes the crowd in that venue can make as much of an impression as those on the stage. Sometimes. Last night, watching Sons and Daughters support The Delgados, both happened.
Ashamed as I am to admit it, I’ve never, in the 13 years I’ve lived in this city, been to Glasgow Barrowlands. There was an abortive attempt somewhere round 1993; the details are sketchy, but I think either PJ Harvey or The Breeders attempted to play there and for some reason, she/they couldn’t, so we were all suddenly moved to the now long-dead Plaza down the road.
But you just can’t deny the place’s legendary status, among Glaswegian musicians and Glaswegian non-musicians alike. Get past the huge neon twinkling sign outside, and its interior is a dark, sprawling former dancehall, the décor strictly working men’s club: functional, brown, to the point. But then you’re not there to stare at the walls.
First on were Mother and the Addicts. Unfortunately, I arrived during their final song, so I couldn’t honestly tell you the first thing about them. Soon after, on came Sons and Daughters.
18 months ago, a few of us went to watch Throwing Muses play at the Queen Margaret Union. Much as I just dismissed Mother and the Addicts, that night I dismissed Sons and Daughters, principally because of what was to follow them that night, much as you sit through the trailers in the cinema, maybe giggling a bit at an amusing ice cream ad but knowing you’re saving up your interest for the main feature. They were four sort of timid people sort of moving about on a stage making a sort of hillbilly boy-girl type racket - kind of fun, if Throwing Muses weren’t on directly afterwards, and I only had so much attention to spare. Well, how times have changed. Resplendent in a vampy red dress, Adele gads about the stage, shaking a tambourine, howling and shrieking in counterpoint to guitarist Scott’s simple and striking voice. The music’s exciting, loud, brash, fun. It contains all my favourite elements – a dirty guitar, boy-girl swapped vocals, a break in the song for unaccompanied clapping, howling… It’s excellent stuff. More pointedly showing just how far these four have come in that 18 months, I don’t know of any other “support” band who, after having played a song they’ve told us is “from the next album”, then get such a rapturous response from the crowd, you’d think they were headlining. I’d never wanted a support band to do an encore before. Their brashness suits them well, they seem to have grown into the music in the best way possible. Superb.
Dermot Fitzsimons
Photo: Stuart Reidman
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