11 November 2010
by Adrian Arratoon
There have been fewer more heartening things in music this year than the return and resurgence of singer John Grant.
The Czars, his previous band, were lauded critically but, almost inevitably, failed to find favour outside of a small coterie of admirers. Five years ago, at one of the final shows before his previous group fell apart, at the Lyric Theatre, Hammersmith, Grant came on stage to a three-quarter-full house. “I want to thank you all for not going to see Beck tonight,” he deadpanned, as the latter was playing to sell-out crowds at the Apollo up the road. But in the joke lay the bitter reality of singing your heart out to a non-appreciative world.
Here was someone whose gorgeous baritone could surely make aeroplanes fall from the skies, make the leaves fall from the trees, and make you believe that if you had his voice, if only for a few hours, your life would be much, much better.
But crippled with self-doubt, drug addiction and a legacy of growing up gay in a hostile America, Grant all but disappeared as a musical force for a few years, save the odd guest appearance with the likes of Piano Magic.
Fast-forward to the present, and his date at the Purcell Room on London’s South Bank, has been upgraded to the altogether more impressive QEH. It’s practically a sell-out. And the wave of love that hits him from the audience is palpable. Buoyed by the support of labelmates Midlake playing on Queen of Denmark, his revelatory, cathartic album of this year, the John Grant of 2010 seems a much more confident man. With only a violinist, Fiona Brice, and Midlake keyboardist Jesse Chandler playing with him, theshwo would be carried by Grant’s new-found brio and, damn it, showmanship. We’re not talking Sammy Davis Junior but today’s John Grant knows how to engage an audience.
Introducing Where Dreams Go To Die, he quips: “This is dedicated to the Travelodge in King’s Cross.” Most of the songs, the majority of which are culled from the album, are preceded by amusing introductions. For JC Hates Faggots, he talks about having been asked to make a video for an organisation that tells youngsters that things will get better when they grow up. But he’s been putting it off: “It does get better, but not much.”
But all this would be nothing were the music, and his voice, not so simply stunning. Stripped down from the record’s layers, these songs fly, and his voice, an amazing deep velvet baritone, makes tears form. Caramel is near unbearable in its gentle force, Chicken Bones transcends the tale of a Thanksgiving from Hell that precedes it. And, finally there’s an encore from heaven; The Czars classic Paint the Moon and their cover of Connie Francis’s Where the Boys Are, backed tentatively by guests The Smoke Fairies, are concrete proof that here is an artist whose return from obscurity means that there is hope for us all, that good things do happen.
A triumph. Nothing less.
John Grant will be returning to the UK for an extensive tour in 2011.
For details, please see here.
