Narc. Magazine Online
Reliably informed
Mark Grainger witnesses a formidable and visceral performance from the much-loved Scottish band
Image by Iam Burn
It’s been seven years since The Twilight Sad came to Newcastle (four since they were in the region at all for a show at Stockton’s Georgian Theatre), and since then they’ve undergone a kind of metamorphosis.
The most obvious sign was a parting of the ways that saw the band stripped back to its core two-piece of vocalist/lyricist James Graham and guitarist/songwriter Andy MacFarlane, but it’s the album they birthed since, It’s The Long Goodbye, and its subject matter that seems to have ushered in the real change.
A brutally barefaced and clear-eyed confrontation with his mother’s Alzheimer’s, ITLG doesn’t just form the backbone of the setlist at the Boiler Shop, its naked vulnerability frankly towers over proceedings with nine of the album’s ten tracks weaving through the set. In fact, the album’s contributions are so visceral that they make songs from band’s formidable back catalogue seem sheepish by comparison when they do appear.
It’s the inverse of the traditional gig experience; the new material hits hardest, while the standards and familiar tracks almost feel like they’re holding space. When those songs are of the quality of VTr, Last January and There’s A Girl In The Corner, it’s quite startling.
The big exception is a return to the beginning, with debut album opener Cold Days From The Birdhouse and standout track And She Would Darken The Memory bursting through the shadowy backlighting for a moment of bone-crunching catharsis.
MacFarlane does his thing way back in the gloom of the stage, joined by Mogwai alum Cat Myers, and ex-Primal Scream bassist Simone Butler. Graham is impossible to look away from, though. Seemingly drawn to the centre of attention and away from the light of scrutiny in equal measure, he’s like a prowling beast having a panic attack. When he unleashes his voice, it cuts through everything. When he speaks, it’s halting, and mostly grateful to people who he seems surprised to learn still care enough to come out and see his band.
He ends the show scraping the floor, clinging to the mic stand for dear life. It’s hard to say for sure if it’s a moment of stagecraft or unfiltered, sweat-soaked and tear-stained honesty, but you should always expect the latter from The Twilight Sad.
