LIVE MUSIC REVIEW: Joan As Police Woman

This article is copyright of The Scotsman and used with their permission for this purpose only.

Joan As Police Woman

Saint Luke’s, Glasgow

****

The American singer-songwriter Joan Wasser, aka Joan as Police Woman, is a gifted multi-instrumentalist who over the years has collaborated with the likes of Antony and the Johnsons, Lou Reed, Rufus Wainwright and even Elton John.

But her solo work is where Wasser really shines, as evinced by this intimate and often spellbinding performance.

Accompanied on Saint Luke’s smallish stage by guitarist Will Graefe and drummer Jeremy Gustin, an unflashy pair of bona fide virtuosos who are entirely in simpatico with their benign leader’s singular vision, Wasser alternated between keyboards and guitar while running the gamut from slinky yacht rock-adjacent art-pop (The Dream and Full-Time Heist, both taken from her latest album Lemons, Limes and Orchids) to groove-driven jazz-rock (Long for Ruin, during which Graefe peeled off a supremely nimble Robbie Krieger-esque solo) and the rustic English folk-style ballad Started Off Free.

The undoubted highlight, however, was the new album’s title track, a captivating song-poem held aloft by church hall piano, warm waves of undulating guitar feedback, and gently rolling cymbal crashes. A beautiful piece, it received a thoroughly deserved mid-show ovation.

This was only the third night of the trio’s European tour, and Wasser was clearly delighted with how they sounded. “I think the musicians I play with are too good,” she smiled at one point, “because I get so emotional I can hardly sing.”

She needn’t have worried. Wasser is blessed with a rich, resonant, supple voice. Her impressive range swoops effortlessly from a full-bodied croon to a strong, flawless falsetto, but she never showboats. Cliché be damned, she sings from the heart.

The only mild bum note was an unnecessary fifteen minute interval which rather spoiled the flow of an otherwise perfectly structured set.

LIVE MUSIC REVIEW: Nathan Evans & Saint Phnx

This article is copyright of The Scotsman and used with their permission for this purpose only.

Nathan Evans & Saint Phnx

SWG3, Glasgow

***

Nathan Evans, a postal worker and budding singer-songwriter from Airdrie, became a worldwide viral sensation in 2020 when he released a TikTok video of him performing the traditional New Zealand sea shanty Wellerman.

Many theories have been posited as to why this happened, chief among them being that its earthy spume-flecked romanticism chimed with millions of people looking for an escape from the restrictions and uncertainty of lockdown. And that’s probably true, but I personally think it became a ‘novelty hit’ because it was catchy, charming and good.

That’s Evans’ slim oeuvre in a nutshell. Now a full-time professional musician, he writes unpretentious, steadfastly sincere and accessible singalong songs in the country/folk-pop vein which strike a chord with listeners who don’t want anything more than that. Sometimes you don’t really need anything more than that.

This sold-out gig, during which Evans performed alongside Scottish sibling duo Saint Phnx, was a celebratory affair - the summation so far of a feel-good grassroots success story.

Our personable underdog hero grabbed the moment for all it was worth, at one point stepping down from the stage to sing a commendably personal song about anxiety and depression from a spot in the middle of the crowd.

Is Evans a major talent? Nope, but at his best he knows how to write simple, effective Caledonian hoedown numbers. Highland Girl, for instance, has a sweetly daft and corny "la-de-deedly-la-de-da" chorus hook. This canny lad knows what he's doing.

An encore version of John Denver's Take Me Home, Country Roads was a cheerful acknowledgement of his benign modus operandi. It's the populist blueprint for pretty much everything he's written to date.

He may well be on his way to becoming some kind of national treasure.

BOOK REVIEW: Street-Level Superstar: A Year with Lawrence, by Will Hodgkinson

This review was originally published in The Big Issue in September 2024.

Street-Level Superstar: A Year with Lawrence, Will Hodgkinson, out now, Nine Eight Books, £16.49

The mononymous Lawrence is the very definition of a cult musician. He first rose to underground fame in the ‘80s as the enigmatic leader of delicate indie art-poppers Felt, before setting off on an unparalleled glam/novelty pop odyssey with Denim, Go Kart Mozart and Mozart Estate.

A talented artist with a singular vision, his dreams of stardom have been constantly thwarted by a complex combination of bad luck, stubborn self-sabotage and the inescapable fact that Lawrence – great though he is – is just too ‘weird’ for mainstream consumption. He’d doubtless disagree, but the masses don’t deserve him.

Music journalist Will Hodgkinson’s highly entertaining account of Lawrence’s unusual life and career is so much more than a mere rock biography. It’s a fascinating, funny and occasionally sad character study written with tremendous affection and empathy, an insightful tribute to a sometimes selfish and exasperating eccentric who nevertheless remains strangely lovable.

Hodkinson’s year with Lawrence involves them wandering around various London boroughs, liminal spaces and unlovely suburbs – in essence, a topographic journey around Lawrence’s mind.

He’s always imposed a strict set of rules upon his life and art – which are basically the same thing – but it’s still surprising to learn that he’s never bothered with the internet and doesn’t have a bank card. His only concession to modernity is a very old, basic Nokia mobile phone. He purposefully makes life difficult for himself.

He’s also been celibate for over twenty years, having eventually realised that he’s incapable of having a conventional romantic relationship (interviews with two of his ex-girlfriends confirm this; he sounds impossible, an absolute nightmare).

An emaciated figure who never seems to eat anything apart from his favourite brand of Poundland liquorice, Lawrence is aware that most people assume he’s a homeless drug addict. And for a while he actually was. But he never feels sorry for himself, he’s not bitter.

That resilience is key to the book’s appeal. Lawrence doesn’t come across as pitiable, he’s a deadpan funny and intelligent man who has chosen to exist on his own uncompromising terms – although, as Hodgkinson notes with typical acuity, maybe he didn’t really have a choice in that matter.

Either way, I suspect Lawrence is secretly pleased with this touching monument to his contrarian legacy. You'll worry for him, though.