REVIEWS

Irish Timescritics review the latest from the world of the Arts

Analog

Grand Canal Square,

Dublin

You might not be surprised by the prospect of seeing Shane MacGowan roaring his way through a raucous pirate song, throwing cans of Guinness into the audience, knocking over stands and choking himself with a microphone cable. But it was certainly surprising to see him do all this while accompanied onstage by legendary musician Lou Reed and Hollywood actor Tim Robbins.

Such unlikely groupings characterised Hall Willner's Rogue's Gallery, a night of pirate ballads and sea shanties that opened the Analog festival. Imaginative, incongruous pairings characterised the weekend-long docklands-based festival as a whole, which has greatly expanded in scope and ambition this year after its inaugural outing in 2007.

Willner assembled a motley crew of some 30 performers in an ambitious attempt to get through 37 - often barely rehearsed - songs in just under three hours. Joining MacGowan, Reed and Robbins were Guggi, Gavin Friday and Dave-iD Busaras of the Virgin Prunes, steel guitarist Baby Gramps, folk legend Norma Waterson and younger talents Neil Hannon, White Magic, Teddy Thompson and the Unthank sisters, among others.

While the evening was at times slightly chaotic, the pirate theme gave the performers licence to take a casual, rough-around-the-edges approach. There were occasional moments of self-indulgence, in particular a posturing rendition of Bully in the Alley by Friday, Guggi and Busaras. A rather solemn Reed evoked widespread adulation and Robbins was in his element playing the role of roguish singer, but some of the other performers provided the real highlights, such as a melancholic version of Shallow Brown by Waterson, and Rachel and Becky Unthank's moving Lowlands Away.

Unlikely groupings continued on Saturday, with the mainstage gig contrasting experimental rockers Liars, Danish collective Efterklang and pioneering Chicago "post-rock" band Tortoise. Liars made the most of a short, early slot, although they were really only getting into their stride when it was time for them to leave the stage. Eight-piece multi-instrumentalists Efterklang, bedecked in white shirts, jodhpurs and satin capes, played an exuberant, opulent set that provided an unusual transition to Tortoise's blistering blend of instrumental funk, jazz and krautrock - the undoubted highpoint of the weekend.

The sun came out for Sunday afternoon's free mainstage concert, which started with a rather bland offering from Vinicius Cantuária and his band, followed by a frenetically bravura set of crowd-pleasing gypsy songs by Romanian superstars Taraf de Haïdouks.

The festival ended on a more low-key note, with the last in a series of intimate concerts that took place alongside the mainstage events. As the world premiere of a specially-commissioned spoken-word collaboration between novelist Jonathan Coe and the High Llamas, this final event encapsulated the progressive feel of Analog as a whole.

Three actors stood centre-stage, with the band behind them, and recounted a poignant tale of lost love interwoven with High Llamas songs. While the characters and story were slightly underdeveloped, this literary-musical melange was pleasantly refreshing, and Analog is to be commended for providing a platform for such intriguing experimentation. EIMEAR McKEITH

Better Late

Galway Arts Festival

Town Hall Theatre

Adultery, divorce, aging, death - the basic ingredients of Larry Gelbert and Craig Wright's co-written play for Chicago's Northlight Theatre hardly pave the way towards light comedy. But while it sometimes grazes the thorny matters of betrayal, fractured families and lingering guilt, BJ Jones's production is stridently played for laughs.

In a play about separation and the baggage of past relationships, this demands a little infidelity of its own. Although Better Late is anxious to appear content with the stage, all smiles and warm gestures, the spark in the relationship seems to be going out, its affections pinned elsewhere. My guess is that if a handsome TV executive flashed them a green light, we'd be out on our ear.

The premise, established with credit-sequence speed, couldn't feel more like a sit-com. When Julian (John Kishline, replacing Mike Nussbaum) suffers a stroke, his ex-wife Nora (the impossibly glamorous Linda Kimbrough) convinces her sardonic, composer husband Lee (John Mahoney) to take him into their home while he recuperates. Cue jealous sparring, unresolved romantic tensions, bits where people confess, learn or otherwise "grow", all meted out along the set-up, joke, set-up, joke structure familiar from an infinity of quiet evenings in.

Gelbart and Wright, writers well versed in the theatre, but whose greatest successes came from the screen, largely employ a Burbank narrative shorthand for this LA-based tale. Exposition and dialogues are rationed out among several car rides, in which no one looks especially comfortable having to mime a steering wheel. Nervous tics are offered instead of characterisation (poor Steve Kelly must twitch and splutter his way through the role of Billy, Nora's son). And far too often meaningful emotional response is traded for that sit-com staple, sass.

Put yourself in Julian's place, Lee is told. "He's putting himself in my place!" How long has Billy's wife been having an affair with their contractor? "Months! He's a contractor!" Zingers accompanied with arm-flailing enforcement, the lines may work, but that pesky third dimension of a stage makes their speakers seem shallow. Mahoney, who recognises the Spencer Tracy/Walter Matthau archetype of his part and wisely underplays his more sour lines, comes off much better. "The man is a walking sneak preview of death!" he exclaims. "The chill of the grave rolls off him in waves." When its joke crescendos draw whoops and applause from the stalls (Better Late is staged in front of a live studio audience), any darker pivots in the script tend to become submerged. Nora's complicity in her two-year affair, for instance, is presented as little more than wistful remembrance; her absolution from a silent, suffering Julian comes off as pat wish-fulfilment.

Likewise, Lee's mounting bitterness and serial infidelity are shied away from. A populist entertainment, its varnished resolution arrives late, but as for any more compelling emotional truths? Never. PETER CRAWLEY

Until Saturday

Farrell, Tinney

NCH John Field Room

Bach Sonata in B minor BWV1030; Schubert Variations on Trockne Blumen; Henri Dutilleux Sonatine; Franck Sonata in A.

Flautist Sinéad Farrell, who was earlier this year appointed sub- principal flute with the RTÉ National Symphony Orchestra, chose a solid programme for her NCH John Field Room recital.

Her playing of it, however, was altogether unusual. She played with a clear tone and very light vibrato, and throughout the evening she showed an extraordinary fondness for and a great skill in very soft playing.

This made for some pretty unorthodox effects, at times not unlike a conversationalist who a lot of the time keeps their voice just above the threshold of hearing.

Her handling of Bach's Sonata in B minor came across as technically sure but musically diffident. There was a similar reserve on show through stretches of Schubert's Trockne Blumen Variations. But when the going got tough - and Schubert does get pretty demanding in terms of sheer velocity - her playing became thoroughly engaging.

The uneven rhythmic gait that opens the Sonatine by Henri Dutilleux (an early work, written as a conservatoire test piece in 1943) took a while to settle down, and, again, it was when the music turned to attention-seeking flourishes that Farrell's playing sounded best.

Franck's Violin Sonata in A, popularised on the flute by James Galway, rarely sounds entirely convincing on that instrument.

Farrell's account had the benefit of a most accommodating contribution of the heavyweight piano part from Hugh Tinney (who impressed in everything save a routine account of the Bach) but didn't quite make the grade. A greater sense of assertiveness, of ownership, is really needed in music as full-bloodedly romantic as this. MICHAEL DERVAN