Dauphin

Tonight was one of those great nights for local music. I am running late for a gig at the Wee Red Bar, but the sky is a lush unmissable pearlescent colour, and I can’t stop gazing at the linings of the clouds as they catch fire in the autumn sunset. I’m more or less perfectly on time; Lost Telegrams kick off their set as I’m handing the barman my £2, and there are people still milling in from last minute cigarettes while I sup my Corona in the crowd.

Whilst the general style isn’t necessarily ‘so-alternative-its-painful’, the lead singer’s brilliant voice, coupled with the unassuming way they flaunt their talent, grabs my attention and binds it to the mast of this musical ship. They’re a great little band, making an indelible mark on the evening with big vocals and melodies to match; I keep searching for a comparison (Eagleowl? Douglas Firs, perhaps?) but I can’t find it in my own head. But it convinces me to buy their EP; a delightfully packaged CD wrapped in brown paper and string (like all good presents), and at the time of writing I’m still yet to slot it into the laptop’s disk drive.

The Douglas Firs, of whom I am a large fan and have now seen four times, are reliably excellent. They play tracks I haven’t heard before, a couple from the 2011 album Happy As A Windless Flag like The Shadow Line, a Grande Batterie of guitar and percussion that shakes the audience then leads them into musical salvation and is one of my favourites. Although Neil Insch – who previously has been pretty shy when I’ve been to their gigs – is candid, even chatty with the front of the crowd, you can hear other people trying to talk above the music and so the band loosen some screws and unleash sonic retribution on the inconsiderate.

The surprise of the evening for me, though, is French Wives’ set. I had only heard of DF and Star Wheel Press before heading along tonight, so I do not know when to expect; French Wives defy expectation. Gorgeous harmonies, cruise-missile lyrics and ace riffs go into the mix for this math-rock, indie rock/pop group who admit “this is their biggest gig to date”. They’re from Glasgow and are still at university, and only look a few months older than myself – just one of those wonderful things you find about gigs round the corner.

Finally, Star Wheel Press. I’ve been admiring their artwork for quite some time now but tonight is my first proper listen. Classic rock and blues with fun, biting lyricisms from the besuited Northern Irish singer give them a distinctiveness most bands would commit murder for, but even with such a trademark they play with the audience, finding common ground over shared lollipops and harmonicas.

I always enjoy gigs more when I don’t know quite what to expect.