Christy Moore...

Strange that a man with more than 40years as a performer can still be shy and nervous anywhere, let alone on stage.

Christy Moore played the Royal Festival Hall last night with Declan Sinnott in support of new album Listen. He came on without a word or even a glance and started with a quiet lullaby of a song I didn't recognise. Almost sheepishly - like a piano-man in a bar, aware he's required to play but not wanting to intrude on the conversation.

I think his reticence is twofold; on the one hand he's a naturally humble, unassuming, sensitive soul, while on the other hand the music is delicate, intricate, even naked. As such he needs to start slowly giving it 4 or 5 songs to feel comfortable and to gauge the (inevitably adoring) audience. At one point last night he stopped between songs, asked whether we were having fun and then ( "Deccy and me are having a whale of a time up here" )- signalled his satisfaction that everything was ok and there was nothing to worry about. How could anyone not love this man (ok, perhaps anyone except a brash impatient teenager who's blithely unaware he's yet to learn).

So he sang lullabies, ditties, and airs, jaunty fictional satires and reinvented rock songs, and mixed it all with hilarious anecdotes about friends and mishaps (explaining why they didn't go off stage before accepting the encore - because they'd done that the previous night and gotten lost backstage! instead they ambled around in a circle on stage and then went straight back to their seats). It's always seemed like a gauche cliche before, but the two hour show flew by to such an extent I thought when they finished it was merely half time.

The highlight for me was the fantastically ancient "The Well Below the Valley", which he credited hearing and learning from John Reilly, and played unaccompanied except for a driving, pulsing primitive bodhran. And new song "Listen", an evocative lullaby which promises good things from the new album (£14 in the foyer... umm... no thanks, I'll try Amazon).

He played all the famous songs, "Beeswing", "Two Swans", "North and South"... including a particularly quiet, haunting "Ride On" (the curse of the hit strikes again) which the audience had long been clamouring for.

It wasn't really what I was expecting. Having previously only heard the records, mainly live records, I was expecting him to be commanding and assured. The contrast with the smooth arrogance of Richard Thompson is total. Both have a life-defining love of traditional music and, though Thompson is perhaps more of a voyager, Moore is a lot more likeable and generous spirit. Rather than playing a fairly well established repetoire I expected him to wander widely wherever the mood took him. Instead, he played most of the same tracks as the famous Live at Point 2006 album ... but mixed in a number of extremely delicate, inventive songs both old and new ... often so intimate it was almost embarassing to be eavesdropping. Whereas Morrison became transported and transcendent, once warmed up and relaxed Moore remained connected to his audience throughout, encouraging clapping and singing along, and dishing out witty jibes with the assured timing of a professional stand-up.

Of the many reasons to love him, another is the way he continually credited friends and peers with the writing and teaching of songs. "Chicago" from his brother Kevin Barry Moore (Luka Bloom to the rest of us). "The Ballad of Hattie Carroll" - Dylan (with an anecdote of Moore and Sinnott watching him from the wings, starstruck, at Glastonbury), and "The Magdalene Laundry" from Joni Mitchell... and obviously he's equally likely to natter about friends from back home as the famous people he's encountered. John Reilly, Ewan Macoll, Christy Hennessey, Richard Thompson...

My only technical point (a it's rare, minor feat in itself that he caught my attention to such an extent that I forgot about the technical) - I found captivating and clever his musical choice of Sinnott on electric guitar rather than a more predictable fiddle, say, or mandolin, or banjo. Even though the instrument performs the same function - musical counterpoint, highlighting, and improvisation, I think the incongruousness of the electric guitar playing traditional music catches and holds one's conscious attention more directly. In a subtle way, I think this means that your brain doesn't switch over to the auto-pilot that can occur where traditional songs and structures mechanically progress to their traditional conclusion. Even a song as sophisticated as "Ride On" is unavoidably soporific simply by it's familiar repetition, however framed and interspersed with a raw, shimmering electric guitar - you're a little less sure of what will happen next and this keeps you listening, making the experience more visceral.

Unqualified credit goes to "Deccy", not only for his sensitive, intelligent, entertaining playing, but also for his moral support and companionship given to one of the biggest-hearted and yet most-fragile, men alive.

I feel somehow.. honoured.. to have had the privilege to see two of Ireland's world class, historic and great musicians within a few months - Morrison, and Moore. They won't live forever, but I wish they could.

Don McGlashan... master craftsman.

I once saw the Chen Kaige film The 1000th String, about a blind old itinerant musician and his wayward young pupil in deepest rural china. It's a gorgeous movie with spectacular backdrop footage of the desert wilderness of some unknown Chinese province (although not for those with a short attention span - it was excruciatingly slow). What struck me at the time and remains with me still was the lifestyle of the pair - they would travel from village to village, staying just a few days, and in return for food and shelter they would play for the whole village. They'd play traditional folk songs, current pop songs, abstract spiritual meditations... with the villagers, entertainment-starved by their geographical remoteness, drinking in every note.

This is the way music, real music, used to be... back before the gramophone and before satellites, before Presley, before Michael Jackson and stadium tours and Billboard charts, before MTV. For the entire human race, for thousands of years, a musician was a guy who came to your village and played tunes on whatever instrument he could carry. He'd try and play songs you liked, but mostly you liked any and every song because there wasn't much choice.

Anyway my point is that music was once, and for some still is, a vocation. It's both a life-long work of art and a livelihood. It's a craft, and, like any other craft it takes years of discipline, and dedication, and love to learn the craftsmanship.

I would contend that the great artists of the twentieth century were Picasso and Dylan; they changed the way whole cultures view the world, and produced multiple bodies of work the scope of which we're only beginning to understand. Don McGlashan is no 'great' artist. He's not revolutionary, he does not speak to or for the age we live in. He's a folk artist both in subject and ambition. He's also an expert craftsman, a master in his chosen art form.

His artistic signature, evident to even first-time listeners, is his adept and liberal use of metaphor. This is so obvious it needs no elaboration, except to say that it is in all probability simply a natural talent. The hard-won mastery, the sweat and tears and blood and hunger part, is in his eloquence, in the balance and natural pace of his lyrics, and in his effortless shifting amongst a wide range of song styles. Like the folk artists of old, he (makes it seem as though he) can make a song from anything, and can perform it using any instrument to hand. The mastery is in the lightness of touch - you can't see the brush strokes.

A brief and probably inaccurate musical-biography. He began with the student art-rock band Blam Blam Blam. They wrote quirky and blackly satirical, post-punk/new romantic songs about social and sexual politics in 80's New Zealand. This was followed by the equally satirical musical theatre-cum-sitcom The Front Lawn. As reported to the folks back home in New Zealand, this was an international hit. I've no idea whether this is indeed true, but their two albums Songs from the Front Lawn, and More Songs from... remain dear in my heart (note: this is the heritage behind Flight of the Conchords).
In 1992 The Mutton Birds emerged, spearheaded by McGlashan though practically a supergroup in NZ terms; a traditional rock 4 piece producing irresistibly catchy, witty pop-rock songs with the occasional darker edge. In a decade they released 4 studio albums - unfortunately each was somewhat less commercially successful than the last.

Finally, McGlashan turned solo with 1996's Warm Hand, and just a few weeks ago his latest Marvellous Year.
His work as a solo artist is in truth very similar to the Mutton Birds in style and sound, though generally a little quieter and more intimate as one might expect. I haven't had a lot of time yet with Marvellous Year, but already I think it's the finest album of his long career. It's varied, engaging, warm and often joyful - he's clearly having the time of his life both personally and artistically, it's almost faultless. My minor quibbles are stylistic, I prefer albums which are consistent in style (which is why I struggle with much American r'n'b) so I find the last three tracks a bit too tangential. The title track though is possibly the best song I've heard this year so far.

A characteristic of McGlashan's material is that while the albums are strong and consistent and can be listened to in entirety, you'll find that each time you hear a particular song, it will grow in depth; each listen uncovers a smart phrase you hadn't noticed, or a quiet trill on his (famous) euphonium, a confident guitar lick or an exquisitely timed pause. His characters come vividly to life, and you'll find yourself randomly humming one of the choruses months later.

Highly recommended music from a lesser-known master.

Available at smokecds.com