The life of the travelling troubadour can be a lonely affair. Instead of arenas and fifty feet gaps between artist and performer, the solo acoustic gig can often mean sparse turn-outs in pubs, seeing the whites' of the punters' eyes and humping your own gear – even if that only consists of one guitar case, a small amplifier and a couple of pedals.
It's not something that easily fazes RICKY WARWICK, though. Having been around the rock'n'roll block with long-term Glasgow metallers The Almighty, Warwick has experienced the rollercoaster ups and downs of the industry at first hand and lived to tell the tale. His excellent new album 'Belfast Confetti' totes a bulging bag full of raw, resonant confessionals and with the help of his lovely cousin Fiona manning the merch stand, he's making a great fist of establishing himself on the solo circuit.
From the off, it's clear this is gonna be something special. Ricky ambles onstage, shrugs into his guitar and blasts into the new album's opening track 'Can't Wait For Tomorrow', attacking it like he's playing three consecutive nights at Madison Square Garden rather than a relatively low-key tour of small Irish venues. He's got us onside within a few minutes and soon follows through with a further string of gritty slices of life courtesy of 'Church of Paranoia' and the intense 'Throwin' Dirt'.
Warwick's earthy, no-nonsense approach ensures the set positively bristles with energy and heart. He plays a low-slung percussive guitar which is the perfect accompaniment for his grainy, lived-in vocal delivery and a generous set list takes in past, present and future, not to mention a few unexpected, yet brilliant detours like a great cover of Motorhead's 'Ace of Spades', which sounds remarkably visceral despite the acoustic setting.
He's a magnificent raconteur, too. 'Ace of Spades' is prefaced by a hilarious story of on-tour rites-of-passage antics overseen by the great Lemmy himself; the yearning 'I Can See My Life From Here'”s inspiration is drawn from a trip to a desert motel involving a soldier and a stripper and is the best song this writer's heard about listening to sexual antics through thin walls since Crowded House's 'Whispers & Moans' whilst the memorable 'Three Sides To Every Story' is bridged by a great tale of a long-running Xmas power struggle involving Ricky's Dad, karaoke and removing strings from an acoustic guitar. I won't spoil it for you, save to say that Mr. Warwick senior is clearly a very canny chap indeed.
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Though he's LA-based these days, Ricky's come full circle with his new album and the inspiration is often drawn from his formative years in Northern Ireland. The album's title 'Belfast Confetti' is derived from whatever bystanders could find to throw in a riot during the heights of The Troubles (“dogs, cats, small children...whatever” he jokes) and the emotional title track is suffused with references to the Mountains of Mourne and the evocative Co. Down landscape Warwick knows so well. Perhaps inevitably, he closes with the rousing sing-along of 'The Arms of Belfast Town' (c'mon Buckfast, you know you need to sponsor this man!) which can raise a roof at a hundred paces even when devoid of the bodhrans and tin whistles adorning it on record.
Sure, acoustic gigs are ten a penny these days and it's de rigeur for reconstructed rockers to make their 'sensitive' solo record. Ricky Warwick, though, is a true exception to that rule, making a small, lonely stage totally his own and transporting his audience for what this reviewer is amazed to discover has been the best part of an hour and a half. Whether raw and poignant or anthemic and heart-warming, he's the real, resonant singer/ songwriter deal. Make a night of it when he comes to your town.
(www.rickywarwick.com)
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