James Yorkston Manchester Deaf Institute May 23rd 2012

I once got a random text from a friend stating ‘Moving up Country – a classic from beginning to End’.  He was right.  Tonight James Yorkston is performing this 2002 album from beginning to end.

Bright evening May light shines through the venue’s dormer windows.  To attend a indoor gig in broad light feels unusual, let alone one whose person’s music conjures up sessions on a wind lashed night in a rural outpost pub. Other dates on this tour have been played with the album’s original band, the Athletes, but tonight is a stripped down affair.  James and his support, Seamus, stayed in the same B & Bs and take turns behind the merchandise stall.

I rued it a little when I read that James was without the Athletes, his former backing band.  The album opens with a wistful tune great as a stand alone acoustic number but there is a point, track two, where the band’s arrangements move in,  lifting things. Come that point, tonight, the harmonica gets an airing; other times there’s a little foot propelled percussion all brushing the tunes along with modest embellishments.

 Always a personable and good humoured stage presence, James is on a high with some hearteningly positive family news and an announcement of a new LP in August. In the same buoyant spirits he revealed that he cocked a snook at a mouthy Adey Beecroft type on the train journey by catching him with the tip of his guitar.  It was accidental but something that would have merited a round of applause if it also took place, in front of an audience.

My music is not always up to the minute but, if I like something by an act I try to follow their output.  Watching them live, I like to have a certain amount of familiarity with the songs. This playing of a one such LP from beginning to end is better still. We hear all of Moving up Country in its warm resonance.  Instead of taking a bow and going away until encore time, we hear a more recent and some new songs. One of which is a reflective number, referring to a time when he felt a more  unkempt look made him a magnet for those marginalised and fallen on difficult time.  As dusk descends, throwing the stage into focus, I have to depart, missing the last of the tunes, including a version of ‘Ace of Spades’ as I sought to catch the last train home.