Chris T-T upstairs at the Black Swan in York. A grand old pub, actually, with cheery bar staff serving a wide range of ales, though I stuck to the Golden Pippin.
There were three supports, which was one too many, as Chris T-T's set was less than an hour long. The first guy, we only caught his supposedly rabble-rousing finale, but it was more than a bit sixth-form politics debate. Look, we all know the Tories are bad and stuff, now make some music out of it!
It's a tiny little venue, and I was hoping that the other two supports weren't going to be equally sincere folk-wannabes, as when you're close enough for the performers to see the whites of your eyes, it's hard to maintain facial composure.
The second support wasn't a sincere folkie. However, it was yet another version of the Blueprints, who seem to be stalking me using the unusual method of supporting bands I actually want to see. There are bands I adore, who I've never seen live, and I've seen these bleeders three times now. Stu out of the Blueprints (for it was he) is accomplished on the guitar, but has the slightly nervous, expectant air of someone performing to a panel of X Factor judges. Let someone else do the singing, mate. That would be my verdict.
Tumbleweed Salesman was third, dressed as a waistcoated Dr Who for some reason, though he left his scarf of many colours with his coterie of fans before taking to the stage. He was alright, tending towards enjoyable at times, with some likeable between-song banter and an admirable range of harmonicas which he deployed strategically. There was a lovely mandolin-and-kazoo-and-sleigh-bells-tinged finale of a Hawaiian Christmas song. It deserved a crowd sing-a-long, but no one could pronounce the Hawaiian bits. He did lose some goodwill for facebooking throughout Chris T-T's set, mind.
Untitled by
dean.clementson, on Flickr
Then, finally, and I felt we'd earned it, Chris T-T, who spent a bit of time commenting on the muriel which formed the backdrop. A king on his throne, which is probably some allusion to the history of the pub, and which doesn't really fit Chris T-T's style of anti-establishment folk-indie. He seemed amused by the juxtaposition, though.
As he said, he must have jinxed himself by dissing the decor, as technical issues crippled the sound, and he had to play the first couple of songs unamplified, which wasn't an issue in such a tiny space, though they did have to shut the door.
It was a good set, mostly new stuff, with a couple of AA Milne poems set to music thrown in. I wasn't entirely surprised when he released that album, as he's always spiced his rage with a mix of wit and charm, and the sweetness of the songs was sandwiched across a very sweary anti-Disney rant. I also thought of Mr Larrington during his first song, The Bear, from his new album, The Bear.
And the encore (after an amusing half-hearted pause at the side of the stage - the venue being far too tiny for any proper leaving-the-stage shenanigans) was a pleasing to me version of Giraffe #9, the oldest song on the set and one I would have picked if he'd asked, which he sort of did, except he then added that he was going to play what he wanted anyway, and he finished with a quiet, sad little tune. Always leave 'em wanting more.
