To some listeners, the notion of warmth being attached to this group's music may seem positively alien. Those thoughts aren't without reason. While their first two records rarely looked on the bright side of life, new LP No One Can Ever Know strikes whole new levels of moroseness, trading post-rock infused indie soundscapes for a biting and almost industrial post-punk punch. There is, however, one constant source of salvation, namely Graham's gratuitous, impenetrable Scottish drawl; a magnificent and integral garment which grants his band its identity and seamlessly knits together those two distinctly different styles. Amid themes of dysfunctional relationships and shrouded secrecy, each and every dropped vowel, rolled R and elongated 'you' provides a small but effective crumb of comfort, a type which my own thick Geordie dialect can't even begin to match.
Formidable asset though that is, The Twilight Sad are far from a one man show. Graham's voice might be cast firmly at the forefront of their recorded guise, but tonight's excellence owed just as much to the masterful command of noise from solitary guitarist Andy MacFarlane. Emitting a racket staggering in both scope and power, the bald axeman's contributions acted almost like a disorderly lynchpin, ripping incessantly through the suffering amps whilst simultaneously swamping their material in the swathing sonic din around which it's based.
In terms of individual songs, each of the band's three records provided its own highlight. The classics 'Cold Days From the Birdhouse' and 'That Summer, At Home I Had Become The Invisible Boy' were received with predictable elation, but it was the slightly less revered 'And She Would Darken The Memory' which resonated the strongest from debut album Fourteen Autumns And Fifteen Winters. Forget The Night Ahead on the other hand sported a far more predictable leading light in its soaring single 'I Became A Prostitute,' while the menacing bass-driven onslaught of 'Dead City' rendered it the pick of the new tracks. They even found time to squeeze in rarely-aired b-side 'Watching That Chair Painted Yellow,' and although not so familiar it, like every other moment of ear-splitting glory, was simply impossible to fault.
As if that wasn't enough, they also had the courtesy to invite a pair of fabulous support acts. Local boys The Prison Library did a fine job in heating the room with a solid and sprightly rock set, but it was another Glasgow resident, RM Hubbert who took its breath away. Softly spoken and staggeringly open, the seclusive songwriter's acoustic and mostly instrumental compositions left punters besides themselves with awe, and in some cases determinedly resisting the onrush of tears. It was, in his own words, a case of "easing into the misery," but as the stories behind his songs became more and more heartbreaking the applause which greeted them only grew louder. The queue at the merch stall following his departure told its own story, and on a night which never looked likely to disappoint this lone ranger proved worth the price of admission alone.
Setlist
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The Twilight Sad:
Official website
RM Hubbert:
Official website
The Prison Library:
Official website
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