Vicar Street
A bemused David Kitt is playing to one of the biggest indoor audiences of his solo career. As he acknowledges towards the end of this gig (which is the occasion of the 10th anniversary of his most successful record,
The Big Romance
), it’s a major, if salutary surprise. Another surprise? His most recent solo album, 2009’s
Nightsaver,
sold less than 1,000 copies, and so, in what is either an act of artistic generosity or a reflective fit of pique, he’s giving away a copy of the album to every member of the audience.
It’s difficult to blame Kitt if he feels just a teensy bit hard done by, but equally it’s nigh on impossible to be too sympathetic: anyone who sticks their head above the parapet knows only too well that it’s a mean, harsh world out there, and as Johnny Cash’s words of advice to a boy named Sue go you have to get tough or die. So it’s good to report that Kitt easily one of the better singer-songwriters that emerged during the fertile period of the Irish music scene in the late 90s has grown an extra layer of skin.
Yet what an album
The Big Romance
is: a painterly, deft song suite about slowly but surely falling in love, underpinned by a musical backdrop of gently loping tunes, beats and airy melodies. It’s over in less than 60 minutes, and so, birthday noted, Kitt carries the gig into rockier territory. It ends with a squall of bashed-out, freak-out, groove-driven noise and Kitt hand-clapping the audience. It would seem on the basis of tonight’s gig, celebrating
The Big Romance
is something he can now put behind him while simultaneously proving that he has more weapons in his arsenal than they would have imagined. The start of something bigger, perhaps? I wouldn’t bet against it.
