Filing up the stairs into the Ding Dong Lounge on a Monday night isn’t quite the norm. But this was no normal night. Dark lord, Mr. Mark Lanegan was in town.
While the room’s entrants gathered pace, half of local outfit I, a Man took to the stage. Frontman Dan Moss is backed ably by Ash Hunter on guitar, their melancholic warmers settled the mood drawing from their two strong EP releases.
Moss’ unaffected tones brought glowing moments of Talk Talk into the frame while Hunter wheeled away while at his side, swirling textured sounds across each song.
A cracking cover of Television’s “Elevation” was squeezed in to many a clap before fading in and out with the really crisp “Sometimes”. As a duo or a whole there are few bounds to I, a Man’s appeal. Having been pulled out of the studio bunker for the show, a forthcoming album will be surely strong.
Having been ushered stageward by the duo, cheeky Monday pints were guzzled between acts and stood still in anticipation of an entrance. We were kept waiting.
Not for that long, but long enough. Alas, under a cover of a red-lit haze, a side door flapped open and Lanegan stalked onto the stage. Accompanied on guitar only, there were no hellos, no fancy stuff.
Stood at his microphone, Lanegan transformed from a hunched, dreary figure to a towering, grim faced orator, grasping at the stand with his whitened, tattooed knuckles.
Seamless from song to song but for a moment taken for Lanegan’s impulsive twitch to be seen to with a swift roll of the shoulder, the exposure was pure and just.
Rollicking through the matchless “Gravedigger’s Song” from 2011’s Blues Funeral; the attentive, softened growls were open and assured.
The occasional half turn from Lanegan, to allow his companion some light, tellingly gave way to his own impulsive fretwork along the microphone stand.
Onward with no fuss, 1999’s “On Jesus’ Program”, and there would be no warning and no queue to exit. Lanegan was done, so told his unflustered grunt as he laboured off stage to recoup. Traditional, yes. Pointless, yes too.
The game of hide and seek is best suited to a raucous, gape-mouthed crowd of panting punters, rather than this respectfully eager mass.
Regardless, with little bating the duo reappeared and lashed into a precious stand of Screaming Trees numbers. “Bed Of Roses” hit sweetly while Lanegan leered to the side to drip sweat from his hair before the haunting “Bombed” gave rise to the calm but menaced sigh amid the slow plucked chords.
Momentum had been unused throughout the set. There was no need in such an environment where minimalist interplay was on show, blemished for interest and intrigue. A skilled creator as much as an interpreter, the art of delivery is something that few others can stand shoulder to shoulder when put beside Lanegan.
However, the roof heaved as the singer’s gravel worn larynx coupled with the bright, jangly melody of his Screaming Trees standout “Halo of Ashes”. The weathered rocker reared taller again as the Seattle spawned psychedelia closed stronger than anyone could have held out for.
