It has been a glorious sunny day in Glasgow, the warmest of the year so far. My pal and I are heading to a rock gig by a singer I'm not that familiar with. Her records sound great, though. As a vocalist, she has a great set of pipes on her.
As we arrive at Stereo, descending the stone steps and passing the merchandise stall where the staff member checks the tickets and uses a marker to put a cross on the back of one of our hands, I note how grim the venue appears. Dimly lit, the walls have peeling plaster or bare brickwork, and the floor is sticky as hell. Still, this kind of dive is the rockbed of live music. We buy some drinks, then squeak our way to the front.
By the time the support act takes the stage, the term 'crowd' is a misnomer: there are five of us at the front, all old men, with maybe a score more around the room. What local lass Roisin McCarney delivers is not what we are expecting. Dressed in red tartan pantaloons with a black cummerbund, a half-shirt and plastic tie combo that exposes her midriff, and wearing massive golden loop earrings which push through her blonde bangs, this songstress performs high-energy pop music to a backing track, pulling out all her best dance moves as if she's at a sexually charged spin class. Not the rock 'n' roll blues that we are expecting. I wonder if I've stumbled into the wrong hall, arriving at an open audition for 7th Heaven (other strip joints are available). That would explain the sticky floor.
To her credit, though, Roisin delivers an energetic performance, never losing confidence, despite the audience's lack of response. I felt uncomfortable, standing so close to the stage, unsure of where to look, feeling like a dirty old man as she gyrated in front of me. When she followed through on her threat to come down into the audience, I wanted to die of embarrassment. Fortunately, she remained in the middle, so death by shyness didn't occur.
She performed one song without a backing track, which showcased her vocal capabilities and acoustic guitar playing skills. More of that would have been welcome and appropriate.
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| The only photo that's not a blur during her backing track set |
I'd never heard of Sari Schorr prior to the announcement of this gig (she's also playing Maid of Stone later this year). An American singer of rock blues in the style of Janis Joplin, she performs with a trio of talented musicians. Due to the support pole on the left of the stage, the bassist had to perform on the rear tier of the stage beside the drummer, leaving Sari and her guitarist at the front.
The longer the show went on, the more I tired of listening. Sari has a tremendous vocal range and a pleasant demeanour, but I grew to dislike the way she favoured hitting the notes rather than singing the lyrics, a style perhaps adopted over the years on the road. In a larger venue, this would have been less noticeable; however, up close, it sounded lazy. The drums were also too loud, imbalancing the performance.
Towards the end, having played lots of new, unreleased material, Sari gave us choices over what we'd like to hear next, under the pretext that they were short of time due to the curfew. That struck me as unprofessional. Granted, they sometimes ended up playing both choices, but come on, you time your show to include all your memorable material. You don't stiff the audience by cutting out the good stuff in favour of new songs.
My disappointment was compounded when I filmed the final song, only to accidentally stop recording halfway while trying to zoom in on the guitarist during his solo. Even the camera thought I should give up on this show.
There is no setlist available because even the database website I use didn't register this date of the tour. It's somewhat disheartening that the most memorable aspect of the gig was the support act, but for all the wrong reasons.
It's good to support live music and music venues (even if they don't always wash their floor). Not every show can be a winner, though.
Ticket Price £28, though Bob only took £25.
