It’s a posh place, Edinburgh’s Queen’s Hall. A proper little theatre, with stalls and a balcony, and the floor space laid out with cabaret tables. With candles!
The stage tonight is almost empty – a mic stand, a couple of chairs and an electric piano. A few little monitors. No stacks of Marshall cabs. No pyros. For tonight is not a rock’n’roll night.
Tonight, within the Festival but not, I think, part of it, we have a couple of guests from the West coast, former Delgado Emma Pollock and the amazing RM Hubbert (hereafter referred to as ‘Hubby’).
Ms Pollock opens the show, and she’s feeling mischievous tonight. Maybe it’s the spirit of the Fringe. She gives us a mix of her own solo material and older Delgados songs (I think. To be honest, I’m not a Delgados expert...) re-arranged for acoustic guitar and piano, several never before played live. A couple of false starts are impishly described as entirely deliberate, ‘performance art’ pieces for the Festival. We all believe her. Of course we do.
But we don’t mind, because it’s all gorgeous stuff. She sings stories of life, love and loss, sometimes cheery, sometimes sombre, always lovely. Her voice is warm, smoky and soulful. Her pal Graham Whose-surname-I-can’t-remember-because-my-pencil-broke accompanies her on piano and occasional second guitar, and she is briefly joined for some mock-bitchy banter and a rendition of ‘Monster in the Pack’ by our headliner tonight, Hubby.
There’s a brief wait for a quick stage tidy-up – shift the piano, move the chair, adjust the mics – and then it’s Hubby time. Those of you who know him will know what to expect. He walks on, says nothing, sits down and plays. A gentle, mournful wordless ballad. In his own words, a ‘wistful, flamenco-inspired acoustic song’.
Hubby is a story teller as much as he is a musician. He will tell us stories of loss, depression and death, and will make us laugh. He says he will play a sad song and a happy song, sad song, happy song, and immediately breaks his rule with a heartbreaking version of ‘The False Bride’, an old Scottish folk song he started performing when his ex-wife left him, years ago. It hurts to listen, but it’s perfect.
He will tell us of his terrible chronic depression, and how he uses his public performance as a kind of therapy. He will tell us how he learned to talk to his loved ones about his depression. He will tell us how he writes music for loved ones who have died, not in a morbid way, but just to remind himself to remember them, and dedicates ‘For Joe’, originally about his ex father-in-law, to a man, a close friend very recently passed away, who gave him his first job in the music industry.
It may seem that this is a gloomy gig, all misery and woe, but it’s really not. Hubby tells his stories with a self-effacing Glasgow humour which lightens the mood. And not all of his stories are of bleak things. He will tell us of his boy, ‘D’, his constant companion of ten years, and how, on his first day, Hubby could hold him in a single hand, and on the second day, he stood on him. He will combine this story with an unusual pitch for merch sales – records and other shit available in the bar area after the show.
He will tell how he has only ever written three love songs, and how they usually end badly, leaving us with the image of a dead Hubby lying on the bathroom floor with a.... no, I think I’ll leave that one there.
And he will tell of his move from Glasgow to Troon, how he ended up living next door to the only night club in the area and how he discovered the formula for the local cocktail of choice, Buckstasy.
He will leave us in no doubt as to his position on the Independence referendum.
And he will swear a lot, but we Edinburghers will forgive him for that. After all, he’s from Glasgow.
All of these stories, the happy/funny ones and the sad/funny ones, are interspersed with his wonderful songs, mostly instrumental, often deeply moving. He will sometimes play with his eyes closed, cheek laid on his guitar as if on the head of a lover or a child. His playing isn’t flawless – he will wince at the occasional dropped note – but it is damn’ near perfect. And when he is joined by Ms Pollock for their version of the 15th century Italian folk song ‘Mo Ve’la Bella Mia Da Muntagna’, it’s simply stunning.
Hubby says “Thank”, and heads off, to return almost immediately to pick up the water bottle he has ‘forgotten’. The audience calls out for more. “Are you fuckin’ trying to tell me whit to do?”, he demands, with mock Weegie aggro, belied by an obvious grin. He sits down again and leaves us with two last songs. A song of hope – Daniel Johnson’s ‘True Love Will Find You In The End’ - and a song of, I think, escape – ‘Car Song’, written with, and for the voice of, Aiden Moffat. Hubby carries it off beautifully all on his own tonight.
And there you go. It’s done. It hasn’t always been an easy listen, but it’s been a joy. Joy and pain and humour. I’ve seen Hubby before when he has been barely able to function, losing his battle with depression –although always able to play beautifully – but tonight he was on top form.
Hubby’s out and about in the next couple of months, here at home in Scotland, and away in England and Eire. If you can make it along to one of his gigs I urge you to do so. He needs you. Go be his therapist for an evening. He’s a lovely man. Listen to his stories. Listen to his music. You will be rewarded, and he might be able to fight off his illness for another day.
Note: For who is interested to read more about music and depression, please have a look at our musical therapy section, which you can find here.
