Mick Flannery

Olympia Theatre, Dublin

The big guns are out here for Mick Flannery, the Cork singer-songwriter and stonemason who has been chipping away at the music game for more than 10 years. For the past five, he has been distributed by EMI Ireland, which has overseen three albums: 2007’s Evening Train, 2008’s White Lies, and just released Red to Blue.

It looks like major label dedication and support (welcome assistance in these days of instant returns) is about to pay off, as seated around me at this sold-out concert are affiliated EMI personnel and venue promoters from Germany, eager to see what all the fuss is about and whether said fuss can be transferred to their own territory.

And so here we have what could be the end of Flannery’s painstaking toiling in Ireland and the start of substantial labour-intensive but commercially beneficial work elsewhere (it is a music industry given that if you secure German fan-base loyalty, you have a career there for as long as you want it).

There are no major issues to report that could snooker Flannery’s progress – and the two most notable flaws are fixable. The first is, perhaps, a result of the night that’s in it. With a standard band set-up enhanced by a horn section and members of the Vanbrugh String Quartet, Flannery is spoiled for choice, which in turn makes some of the material – particularly the heavy-handed rock tunes – struggle for breath. The second is Flannery’s baffling charisma-free performance, which – the sheepish admission of a stubborn cold notwithstanding – makes you wonder how on earth he’ll charm European audiences all the way from Howth to Hamburg.

What counts more, of course, is the material, and here Flannery wins on most counts. Unusually (and thankfully) for an Irish singer-songwriter, saccharine is a missing ingredient from his songs. The slower kind (traditionally the most swoonsome in a songwriter’s heart-shaped box) pulse with the sly lyrical wit of Elvis Costello.

The melodies, meanwhile, reference a little bit of early Tom Waits here, a little bit of latter-day Rufus Wainwright there, and a distinctive element of Flannery’s weaves its way in between. Europe awaits. High hopes confirmed.