C Duncan performing in Bristol (Jessica Bartolini for Live4ever)
Tonight there’s a suspicion that Christoper Duncan’s music – ethereal, nostalgic, full of exquisite nooks and crannies – somehow lives in a dimension outside that of a rainy northern English city on a Friday night, although at least the weather is welcomingly dreich for the Glaswegian.
Something certainly appears to be at odds, for whilst his brief career has been elevated by a Mercury nomination, widespread critical acclaim and resultant support slots for the likes of Elbow, the Wardrobe’s sparse crowd is testament to the fact that the great British public have yet to be fully won over, despite a disarmingly affable nature.
Never mind, those braving the downpour are both enthusiastic and devoted, so whilst the Scot’s now expanded five piece band take to the stage at gone a babysitter unfriendly 9.30, the reception he receives is still unqualified in its warmth.
The relative success has certainly brought in C Duncan a greater confidence to performing, the stop-start emergence of the last couple of years making him less the slightly awkward under graduate of those early shows. Released last year, sophomore album The Midnight Sun was a notable change from his debut; inspired by both the almost supernatural eighties duo Cocteau Twins and the sci-fi chintz of cult TV series The Twilight Zone, its rubric was closer in tempo to that of American alt-balladeer Active Child, its nuances mired in a similar vein of cloistered synth pop.
This change is reflected in his setup; a keyboard now his instrument of choice and a further one being played on his flank, emphasising a songwriting diversion into headier atmospheres. Opener Like You Do both removes and drapes this veil: like many of Duncan’s tunes it is seemingly vulnerable, but the sparkle in his voice continues to hint at some far off redemption. The set reveals a slight bias towards the new – we are, very politely of course, trying to sell records here – and this material’s subtler arc is revealed astutely on Nothing More and the gorgeous, rolling drift of Other Side, the luxurious two, three and sometimes four part harmonies tracing a line between nineteen seventies MOR and contemporary baroque.
Its predecessor Architect‘s strengths lay in something different, a clutch of cross patched styles and bygone eras sewn together for the modern cool hunter. It’s dutifully well represented, the whistles that punctuate For still daring anyone to challenge them, whilst Silence and Air and the toothy camp of the title track are still as joyfully lush as on their enchanting first rendezvous.
The evening’s highlight is not, however, from one boot or another, but a totally different foot. Laying down everything but the simplest of guitar lines, the otherwise acapaella Castle Walls is met with almost complete, awed silence, the city whirring above the audience forgotten momentarily, its malcontent smudged and soundproofed. The whisper passes all too soon, but leaves a trace for the rest of the night, one the euro-disco throb of Wanted You To Want It Too and an effervescently rendered encore of Garden can’t quite erase completely.
In the end we were left to the rain, wind and nearly empty streets of progress. Christoper Duncan’s music may not be reaching the number of ears it deserves, but he continues to play it anyway, not seeking our assurances that he’s doing the right thing, but invariably getting them anyway.
