David Belcher keeps company
with the people who think they
matter and savours a hip mix of
movie night and rock gig
FREE bourbon! A celebrity throng elbowed themselves loudly into the
Glasgow Film Theatre's bar. The famous; the semi-famous; the
not-even-famous-for-15-seconds. Rock babes of every gender. Nightclub
auteurs. Dreadlocked conceptual artists. Embittered journos griping to
each other about whose name rates a credit in Victor Bockris's hip new
Lou Reed biography and whose doesn't: mine certainly does -- doesn't
yours?
My dears, had a bomb dropped on Rose Street on Wednesday night, I
swear that the plain people of Glasgow would have instantly swarmed out
and formed a human barricade in order to deny access to all rescue
agencies.
As well as being there to be seen being there, we were there to
experience Cheap Flights, of course. Paul Quinn and the Independent
Group playing. Extracts from Midnight Cowboy, The Loveless and Taxi
Driver being screened behind them.
A girl in tacky red satin hot-pants wandered around, a 3-D homage to
Jodie Foster's big league film debut as an underage hooker. Harley
Davidson motorcycles shone and bulged in the foyer. Rotating
glitterballs hung above us, spattering starlight. All part of a Postcard
mixed-media happening, conceptualised by Postcard supremo Alan Horne.
We framed our expectations with brittle, desultory epigrams. Were we
in at the death of post-modernism or the birth of most-modernism? The
GFT stairs were strewn with dollar bills -- symbolic of what,
counterfeit or real? And if the latter, would anyone risk their cred by
trousering a handful? Were we meant to? Was that the point? What was the
point? Maybe the point was that there was no point . . .
We took our seats in the cinema to a soundtrack encompassing the
Ronettes, vintage soul, bursts of movie dialogue, seventies reggae, and
Ennio Morricone. Clouds of dry ice rolled out from the stage. Our rules
of engagement had become similarly fogged.
Was this a rock gig or a night at the flicks? What were we supposed to
do? What to think? How to act? Where's me chuffin' popcorn? Sit back and
watch; keep an on eye on your responses. Yet in monitoring one's
responses, does one thus deny their emotional validity? Are we the sum
of our limitations? Equally importantly, had Del Amitri's Justin Currie
really dyed his hair blonde again, and how long would the free bar stay
open?
Luis Bunuel's venerated Un Chien Andalou flickered on to the screen, a
macabre dreamscape co-authored in 1928 by Salvador Dali. Surreal and
satirical. Sliced eyeballs; dismembered hands; two pianos with priests
and dead horses attached. Scattered applause when it ended.
Stage-front, Jodie Foster assumed a recumbent adorational posture. Out
came the band: James Kirk, Campbell Owens, Andy Alston, Skip Reid, Mick
Slaven. Seasoned Postcard hands. And shyly slipping in through a side
door, Paul Quinn.
Paul's tumbling quiff appeared exquisitely tortured, his darting hands
failing to keep it in check. His mobile mouth inspired erotic awe. More
cogently, on Wednesday night his voice was incredible, at once languid
and on the edge. An adult voice, shot through with woe. Paradoxically,
this vocal quality is underlined by the gamine nature of Quinn's
on-stage demeanour.
When he wasn't hunkering down for a rest, glancing up over his
shoulder at what was on the screen behind him, or rummaging absently
through his pockets, he'd be exchanging shy smiles with Jodie Foster.
Some of the songs from his forthcoming album, Will I Ever Be Inside of
You, muddy themselves into a moody sameness that is inadvertently
highlighted by Paul's plangent readings of two stronger songs:
Superstar, as first syrupily warbled by the ghastly Carpenters, and
Dorothy Moore's Misty Blue.
But it must be said that the LP's title track is an impossibly creamy,
swoony triumph. Paul's performance of it, with contrapuntal assistance
from the leather-clad Jane-Marie O'Brien, hot-foot from Scottish Opera,
put the evening into perspective. Despite the looming monochrome
presence of Marlon Brando in The Wild One, and despite the
multi-coloured swirls of dry ice, all that really mattered was Paul
Quinn's voice.
Even when he was only using it to cornily-magnificent effect during
his duet with Ms O'Brien on George McCrae's disco anthem It's Been So
Long.
Why are you making commenting on The Herald only available to subscribers?
It should have been a safe space for informed debate, somewhere for readers to discuss issues around the biggest stories of the day, but all too often the below the line comments on most websites have become bogged down by off-topic discussions and abuse.
heraldscotland.com is tackling this problem by allowing only subscribers to comment.
We are doing this to improve the experience for our loyal readers and we believe it will reduce the ability of trolls and troublemakers, who occasionally find their way onto our site, to abuse our journalists and readers. We also hope it will help the comments section fulfil its promise as a part of Scotland's conversation with itself.
We are lucky at The Herald. We are read by an informed, educated readership who can add their knowledge and insights to our stories.
That is invaluable.
We are making the subscriber-only change to support our valued readers, who tell us they don't want the site cluttered up with irrelevant comments, untruths and abuse.
In the past, the journalist’s job was to collect and distribute information to the audience. Technology means that readers can shape a discussion. We look forward to hearing from you on heraldscotland.com
Comments & Moderation
Readers’ comments: You are personally liable for the content of any comments you upload to this website, so please act responsibly. We do not pre-moderate or monitor readers’ comments appearing on our websites, but we do post-moderate in response to complaints we receive or otherwise when a potential problem comes to our attention. You can make a complaint by using the ‘report this post’ link . We may then apply our discretion under the user terms to amend or delete comments.
Post moderation is undertaken full-time 9am-6pm on weekdays, and on a part-time basis outwith those hours.
Read the rules hereComments are closed on this article