Towards the end of Declan McKenna’s snappy, enjoyable 90-minute set at the Edinburgh International Festival, something quite powerful occurs. The English singer-songwriter returns alone to the stage for the encore and proceeds to play a version of ABBA’s ‘Slipping Through My Fingers’ with only his electric guitar as accompaniment.
It becomes a strange, emotionally layered moment. A young musician singing from the perspective of a parent ruefully reflecting on their child growing up, away and beyond reach; a predominantly teenage crowd singing those words back to him; and the older members of the audience, many attending with their own kids, staring blurrily into the middle distance.
The first song is called ‘Bongo Monologue’ and lives up – or down – to its title
It’s odd, but it makes a kind of sense. At the somewhat stodgy all-seated Playhouse, the massed ranks of youths rise to their feet the instant McKenna and his four-piece band walk onstage and remain upright for the entire set. The Circle was literally bouncing. In many ways, like thousands of good-looking young folk before him, McKenna is first and foremost a conduit for the eternal pop mission statement: unfiltered adolescent self-expression.
Yet he is also a modern-day indie star with pan-generational appeal. His earlier material reflects an obvious love of Bowie, Dylan, Talking Heads and, yes, ABBA. The poppier end of the spectrum at his Edinburgh gig – ‘Brazil’, ‘The Kids Don’t Wanna Come Home’, ‘Make Me Your Queen’, ‘Why Do You Feel So Down’ – defaults to lithe, rhythmic pop with a vaguely tropical lilt. Fun and frenetic, direct and only a little gauche.
His third album, What Happened to the Beach?, released in February, is a different affair. It skews towards the kind of guitar-heavy psychedelic terrain familiar to fans of Tame Impala, Unknown Mortal Orchestra and Django Django.
His guitarist battles gamely with technical issues for most of the evening – and little wonder. I’ve rarely seen so many pedals, pads and gizmos laid out on stage, but this is technology with a focus. The music feels human. The sound is uncluttered but rich, punctuated by arresting sonic swirls and embellishments.
The title track of the new album is knotty quasi-prog rock. ‘Beautiful Faces’ is driven by the kind of growling Rottweiler guitar riff Cream would have relished sinking their teeth into during their heyday. Some of the synth rolls are straight from the Emerson, Lake & Palmer playbook. ‘Mystery Planet’, ‘Breath of Light’ and ‘Mezzanine’ are sonically intricate without eschewing McKenna’s prevailing interest in melody and rhythm. His voice is generally laconic, but occasionally rises to a scream. He jumps from a mean distorted guitar solo to a pretty piano ballad without breaking stride.
Performing against a backdrop which has the appealing whiff about it of a school play set made of papier-mâché – are they icebergs? The Alps? – McKenna is a low key yet compelling presence throughout. He writhes on his back, pummelling his guitar, lurches as though punch-drunk and, on two occasions, is moved to jump off stage and run around the aisles like a mad thing.
A tiny figure, wearing trousers which terminate their journey south several inches above his ankles, he possesses an urchin charisma which, interestingly, dissolves utterly on the few occasions when he directly addresses the audience. Mark it down as another old school trait: the desire to let the music speak for itself. It duly does, at times still rather hesitantly, but at others rather impressively.
The previous night, performing across town at the Usher Hall, corrupted classicist Chilly Gonzales also indulged in hands-on audience participation by ending his show running through the hall, dispensing high-fives in the manner of an over-stimulated toddler or deranged evangelical preacher.
Gonzales – AKA Jason Beck – is a Canadian concert pianist who has spent decades subverting the very idea of being such a thing. He appears for his Edinburgh International Festival show clad in a bathrobe. The first song is called ‘Bongo Monologue’ and lives up – or down – to its title.
Accompanied by a highly attuned trio on drums, bass and violin, Gonzales roamed across a dizzyingly eclectic career. He’s a post-rave Chopin; Satie by way of Drake. As well as previewing material from the forthcoming album GONZO, he conjured up waves of propulsive piano playing, which was particularly effective when pounded in the lower register, and improvised minimalistic ripples that evoked Studio Ghibli soundtrack music.
There was time for some rap, a little poetry, a Daft Punk tune (‘Within’, which he co-wrote) and a takedown of Richard Wagner, which included a swing at Kanye West while exploring the nuances of cancel culture.
All in all, it was just about the most fun you can have with a piano while keeping your bathrobe on.
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