Photo: Paul Bachmann
‘The View, The View, The View are on fire!’ chant a few members of the audience halfway through Kyle Falconer’s set, as if a) there were people in the sell-out crowd who were somehow unaware of the singer’s history, and b) they were determined otherwise to turn the show into a greatest hits night.
To his credit, the Scot plays along for a little while, picking out a matching riff on one of the guitars from of his heavily rotated collection whilst giving his sextet a breather in the claustrophobia-inducing room’s sweaty atmosphere. Eventually though he rallies, as if determined to keep the genie mostly back in its lamp.
The band which brought him briefly to national prominence aren’t dead of course but on pause, allowing the Dundonian to explore another aspect of his songwriting away from the tearaways that somehow conjured up a number one album from the chaos. This departure has manifested itself in No, Thank You, a surprisingly articulate and grown-up solo album that, for the time being at least, celebrates the un-rock start virtues of familial joy and sobriety. So much is its message important that the set begins with The Therapist, its introspective chorus of ‘And why should I not crumble?/ And take a tumble on my own sweet head?/Cause if I wasn’t here, then I’d surely be dead/That’s what the therapist said’.
Not exactly Saturday night vibes, but a sober Falconer is surprisingly good company, turning in passable attempts at Yorkshire and Scouse accents amongst others with the justification that unless he speaks in a more understandable brogue ‘even my own band can’t understand me’. Complete with a violinist and keyboard player, he’s in mercurial company and could hardly be accused of turning the whole venture into a showcase for his well-known virtuosity.
In fact, with the devil on his shoulder in retreat he’s writing some of the best material of his career, even if it’s in stark contrast to the pixilated apathy of the preceding decade; Japanese Girl shimmers even if only momentarily, while the rosy-cheeked Family Tree, the singalong blues of Avalanche and Last Bus Home’s folky abstinence are more than adequate proof that the booze wasn’t his only muse.
All of this of course is keeping those stood at the front happy enough (you suspect until they realise – or the singer figures out – what all of it represents). If No Thank You’s hellraiser-on-hold is just that, the more vulnerable side on display tonight may eventually be just too soporific for them, with a quiet defection to the DMA’s likely. But all of that’s in the future; for now there are songs, there are tales and there’s much love for a man who made it out the other side.
Whether anything will be on fire again sooner or later, only time will tell.
