“I wrote this one when the whole Recession thing was kicking in,” says IAN SMITH as he tunes up. “The economy was falling apart, yet it didn't affect me 'cos I didn't have any money anyway.” He then quietly knocks us out with a song called 'Runaway Train' which makes more sense in three and a half minutes than six months worth of reading so-called financial analysts in the daily paper.
But then it's that kind of night. A night where two guys get up, armed merely with acoustic guitars and the truth as they see it and proceed to turn a low-key Tuesday folk club soiree into something very special indeed. IAN SMITH, it seems, has got the gig primarily because he's driving Otis Gibbs around the Irish highways and byways, but he's well worth arriving early for. He's clearly been around the block a good few times and is under no illusions about the nature of that all-elusive fame and fortune (“I think I've got one CD left...don't all rush now,” he quips at one point), yet for all his good-natured, self-deprecatory banter, this Donegal-based performer deserves to be heard.
If memory serves, he plays seven songs and they're all of a high standard. 'Restless Heart' proves he can pen a would-be radio hit if he puts his mind to it. 'Last Call' reveals an impressive finger-picking style which brings the likes of Bert Jansch springing naturally to mind, while the harrowing 'Pablo's Eyes' – based upon the plight of homeless children in South America – displays an ability to meld Political awareness with a melodic sensibility that Billy Bragg would be proud of. He signs off all too soon with a heart render called 'The Sky Blue Door' which is worth the price of admission alone. Ian Smith may have no expectations, but he shouldn't hide his light under a bushel either. This reviewer, for one, intends to check him out in more detail.
Smith's unassuming dryness may suggest he doesn't want to stand out from the pack, but you'd struggle NOT to pick OTIS GIBBS out from the crowd. Sporting tattoos, thick glasses, an ever-present trucker's cap and an enormous, straggly beard, he's a mountain of a man who dwarfs his acoustic guitar and sings with an imposing, firewater rasp that's instantly recognisable.
He's trawling through Europe on the back of one of the year's finest Americana-related albums, 'Grandpa Walked A Picketline' but even without the fine players peopling the LP'S recording (I'm talking the likes of Don Dixon and Al Perkins here), he's a formidable live presence. With devices such as singing off-mike, throwing exaggerated Rock'n'Roll shapes and leading the small, but devoted crowd in unlikely sing-alongs (“hopin' that the van don't break!” ain't exactly yer average chorus line, is it?) this Indiana native puts an especially individualistic twist on the intimate singer/ songwriter gig.
|
It helps that he's a natural raconteur, of course. For example, a charged version of one of the new album's key tracks, 'Caroline' is presaged by a hilarious anecdote about being mistaken for a homeless American by a German TV crew in Frankfurt. However, all the (as he puts it) “manufactured enthusiasm” wouldn't be worth shit if he hadn't a whole host of great songs to fall back on. And boy does he have those songs.
Some of 'em hi-jack swampy country-blues (a dangerous 'Preacher Steve' is a memorable portrait of a snake oil-selling minister), while others like 'Everyday People' are Stones-y stompers dealing with hard times for (largely) honest men and women struggling to keep it together and make sense of an increasingly precarious modern world. Gibbs paints dark, but acutely accurate portraits of those who have fallen through the cracks of supposedly civilised existence and at his best (such as on the stark, but magnificent 'Long Black Thunder') he is most certainly a force to be reckoned with.
He treats us to a generously long set and by the time he's wrapped it up we've been treated to everything from a dip into the Hank Williams' song book to a fantastic song of love and pining set in Prague ('On The Charles Bridge') and the curfew has long been exceeded, to the delight of all present. Like Jefferson Pepper and the vastly under-rated Perry Keyes, Otis Gibbs is an erudite champion of those who've been brushed aside in the name of greed. He may come from an old-fashioned Protest-singin' background and he'll probably never make the NME'S Cool List, but he's totally relevant right now. If you still give a damn, get out there and see him.
(www.otisgibbs.com)
|
