It’s only on reaching the venue tonight that your reviewer (who’s back out on the circuit after an enforced absence due to a teaching course) realises how much he’s missed coming up to the city for shows of late: especially the excellent Cyprus Avenue, which – true to form – is already filling up in anticipation of JAMES YORKSTON’S return to Cork.
It’s the third time your reviewer has been present for an intimate soiree with Fife’s finest and both of the previous times were markedly different. The first time was in the gently formal, seated surroundings of Cork’s Triskel Arts Centre and Yorkston had two trusty Athletes in tow (bassist Doogie Paul and drummer/ harmonium player Faisal Rahman) while the last time was two years back at Connolly’s of Leap: a secret show shoehorned into the itinerary at the last minute with a full compliment of touring Athletes and support act King Creosote joining them onstage. Both were excellent, spontaneous events which have remained etched in this writer’s mind.
Tonight’s show promised to be (and so proved to be) a third memorable, but markedly different event, too. In a way, Yorkston inadvertently drew the short straw by arriving in Cork during the Guinness Jazz Weekend, as a certain percentage of the swelling crowd appeared to be here purely because it was one of numerous shows available in and around the weekend. It proved easy to distinguish this element because the noise of their chatter from the back bar was incessant as Yorkston and his violinist/ vocalist Marilyn (Athlete singular?) played their way through an intimate and extremely lovely set. Admittedly, the devotees outnumbered this element, but their presence clearly wasn’t lost on Yorkston, who opened proceedings with a beautifully-weighted a capella folk tune: a subtle, but pointed fuck you if ever there was.
Yorkston’s irritation also poked through at one stage a little later, when he directed a lyric towards one couple holding an audible conversation stage right while he was performing. The chorus became “I don’t mind you talking, but shut the fuck up while I’m playing” and received a major cheer into the process. It wasn’t the only interruption, either, as Yorkston’s mobile phone trilled during an early song, forcing him to admit (albeit with a smile on his face) “Ah fer fuck’s sake, some cretin’s left his mobile phone on. Can you believe that?”
Still, regardless of these minor hassles, tonight was more then special enough. Although the Athletes’ subtle playing was conspicuous by its’ absence in places, Yorkston’s excellent, finger-picked folk guitar figures and Marilyn’s keening fiddle lines compensated admirably and allowed us even closer to the heart of Yorkston’s intimate muse. Mostly, the songs from ‘Just Beyond The River’ and new album ‘The Year Of The Leopard’ dominated, with sterling versions of ‘Shipwrecked’, a gentle and stripped-down ‘I Awoke’ and ‘Surf Song’ (dedicated to Baltimore in West Cork, where it was written) among the highlights of the set’s first half.
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At home as always in Ireland, James’ stage patter was warm and wry and – as he warmed up - he engaged us with witty stories of driving down from Galway (“it only took five hours!”) and his post-gig activities the previous evening (“at four o’clock in the morning, Marilyn and I were boarding a Japanese trawler in Galway harbour”). This latter presaged the first of the evening’s dips into Yorkston’s classic debut album ‘Moving Up Country’ via a beautifully-poised version of ‘St.Patrick’ before requests encouraged Yorkston to take on both ‘In Your Hands’ and a lovely, emotional take version of ‘Sweet Jesus.’
He saved arguably the best for the end, though, by keeping a tender, fragile ‘Us Late Travellers’ and a fantastic, extended take of the traditional ‘I Know, My Love’ in reserve for the farewell. The latter, especially, found James and Marilyn working off each other with an apparently supernatural ease, and while the drone-y, Velvets-style instrumental coda the full complement of Athletes usually brings to the tune may have been absent, the vibe provoked Yorkston into some magnificently fluid guitar picking and it’s true to say that when they finally took it down for the last time, no-one really wanted it to end.
According to W&H’s sources, it hasn’t proved the easiest of tours for James Yorkston. The other show we witnessed recently (in Glasgow) found Yorkston taking the stage late after a rowdy set from Lily Allen at the adjoining hall over-ran, while tonight he has to be finished by 11 due to a late show from a Tom Waits-covering band. Such things are the lot of the touring artiste, of course, and this fiery Scotsman has enough skill to see it off, even though such hassles must still prick his skin at times. Nonetheless, he pulled it off for the faithful tonight and gave this reviewer his third very different live experience in a row. Not a bad effort, all told.
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