The Bitter End is a depressing name for a Sunday-night soirée, but the mood was upbeat as Dublin's chilled-out set crowded into the Sugar Club for this monthly musical shindig.
David Kitt
The Sugar Club, Dublin
The idea is simple: get a bunch of up-and-coming artists to play 30-minute acoustic sets in front of a select audience, make sure they throw in a few cover versions, then sit back and watch the vibes flow.
This month's headliner was the Dubliner David Kitt, and the 100 or so tickets were snapped up in 20 minutes flat.
Our compere was the cheeky Clint Velour, who pitched in with a couple of parody songs, Slit Your Wrists (dedicated to Radiohead) and the self-explanatory Boybands Are C***s.
First up were Jessie and Layla, a folksy duo who were a bit too country-gentle for my tastes, followed by the jazz singer Maria Tecce, whose stylised scat made me want to scoot for the bar. The Dublin band The Ultra Montanes played my kind of music, however, including Velvet Underground's Femme Fatale, The Rolling Stones' Dead Flowers and Silver Jews' Heir Of Sorrows.
Kitt came onstage alone with an acoustic guitar, and began with a gently gliding rendition of Prince's When Doves Cry. "I don't think anyone should play for an hour and a half with just an acoustic guitar unless they have great lyrics," he told the crowd before launching into a half-hour set of his own superb late-night lyrical musings, including You Know What I Want To Know, Step Outside In The Morning Light and a new song, possibly titled Until Dawn. Along the way, he was joined by two drummers, Kieran and Connolly, a trumpet player called Brian and keyboard player Paul Smyth.
To clinch the acoustic vibe, Kitt unplugged his guitar, stepped away from the mic and performed his final song in quiet, confident style.
Kevin Courtney
HEM
Whelans, Dublin
IT'S a cliché, but it's still a mystery why people pay good money to see a band, then spend the gig talking loudly. It's particularly galling when the band in question play sparse, elegant music that has to be heard properly to be fully appreciated, but even down in the pit of Whelans it was virtually impossible to shut out the noise.
New York's HEM rose above it, however - just about. Pieced together from a couple of studio engineers with an ambitious level of Americana, and including one of the vocal finds of the past 10 years, HEM are that most unusual of cult bands.
They employ a knowing sense of classic US pop music, a sure-footed approach to orchestral arrangements, a song tradition steeped in folk and a lo-fi stance that acts as a perfect accessory to New York's status as music's Next Big Thingville.
Enhanced by extra musicians (Heather Zimmerman on violin, Mark Brotter on drums and Catherine Popper on bass), Dan Messé (piano), Steve Curtis (mandolin), Gary Maurer (guitars) and Sally Ellyson (vocals) weave as good a spell as they can, considering their obvious onstage jitters, monitor problems and audience hum.
Songs are mostly from their quietly dazzling debut album, Rabbit Songs: Lazy Eye, When I Was Drinking, Sailor, All That I'm Good For, Half Acre - songs, largely written by Messé, that blend the tragically mournful with the life-affirming certainty of great art.
Tony Clayton-Lea
