Kirsten Adamson – Kitchen Garden Cafe, Birmingham – 9th April 2024

Magic in the air; awesome appalachabilly from 2nd gen music royalty

Having caught Kirsten at Celtic Connections, in (slightly) stripped back support mode, the opportunity to capture her once more, in a headline set, proved too good to miss. Returning to Birmingham and to a favourite venue, hers, volunteered from the stage, and, no contest, mine, added to the attractiveness offered. And this time she had brought her band with her, the Tanagers. (Tanagers? The bird family Thraupidae, in the order Passeriformes, it seems, and noted for the brilliancy of their plumage. You’re welcome.)

To be fair, all four Tanagers had been with her in Glasgow, but we’ll get to that. Regardless, it was her and her alone that shuffled to the stage area, somewhat more crowded than often, given the amount of kit on array. Immediately asking who had been in this room the last time, around a year ago, the answer revealed a healthy proportion, sufficient for her to then also enquire who already had the album. Again, a fair number of hands went up, so, good – a partisan audience. You could see her filing that thought, alongside her nervous chuckle that the merch table held a whole lot more than just that disc. And that, anyway, she would be doing a whole lot of new.

Indeed, underlining that point, opening song, with just her voice and battered guitar, was new and more; this was it’s maiden voyage! Valleys And Pines, the song, was perfect, a road song teeming with regret, lovers becoming strangers on a journey, one at the wheel, silently staring ahead, the other wiping back a tear. All set, of course, in the valleys and pines of her native Scotland. The newness was confirmed by the hastily handwritten lyrics on the floor before her. Relaxing palpably with the reception, she then brought on Jon MacKenzie and his electric guitar. The combination of her acoustic and vocals, with his intuitive and adept ripples of gentle amplification is a wondrous match, their dual play almost symbiotic. Another new song, again with an offered back story, that of her Grandpa’s accordion, rediscovered shortly after his death, made for a very poignant rendition. This also demonstrated the value of her strength, or is it weakness, a Dolly Partonesque wobble in her higher notes. Many love her because of it, and, if I err on the same but despite it, tonight, well it was just lovely.

I could see the rest of the band hovering, this being the time for Richard Anderson to slot his quiff behind his mahoosive stand-up bass, and a behatted Scott Forsyth to squeeze behind a, by necessity of space, a fairly rudimentary drum kit. Or, more pertinently, a standard rockabilly rhythm section, the two looking also the part. The four launched into, yes, another new one, Adamson telling us how she had duped her mother into writing the verses. Sweet Summer Rain was even Dollier, but, you know, suddenly that mattered no more and was a distinct positive. Forsyth’s brushes and Anderson’s sturdy thwang of bass gave both heft and colour.

A muddle in the running order gave some confusion and much mirth, as the band capered through the, shall we call it, appalachabilly of Let Me Live and the slow country tinged walking blues of My Life. MacKenzie was adding peerless ripples of his guitar, belying his presence as one of the more in-demand players on the Caledonian circuit. Adamson continued to sing like a dream, brief snippets of other influences into mind. Elements of Linda Ronstadt and Sandy Denny in the Same song? Check. Nanci Griffith? Yes, her too.

Stitches, a song from her pre-solo career band, The Gillyflowers, came next, which drew further into the spotlight the vocal role of the Tanagers, this song awash with 4 part harmony, and a reminder of the uncanny upper range possessed by Anderson. The close to the first set saw a revert to duo mode, with MacKenzie now handling a shiny black mandolin. The audience were now invoked to add their voices, for the infectious The Heart, with a necessary insistence that the all important mm-huh be a central part of the chorale.

After a break in which she cheerfully manned the merch, meeting and greeting those who hadn’t yet bought Landing Place, her most recent album, from last year, or those who just wanted a chat and selfie. On the return, Forsyth was now toting an acoustic guitar, much as he had for the duration at Oran Mòr, demonstrating that his picking is as fluid and fast as his drumming is steady and sure. How galling to be as gifted in such opposite roles. This was Litle Bird and it launched the second half with a bounce. The arduous journey back to his kit complete, Slow Train then conjured just that up, with chuff chuff brushes, and Sons of the Pioneers twang issuing forth from the rest.

On a high, older songs were now offered, the janglefest of River Someday ahead the dauntingly honest gauntness of Without Warning. Realising the expectation and the impact, it was only now that Adamson brought up the unsaid presence in the room, that of her father, the late Stuart . Possibly her best song, or certainly the most potent, My Father’s Songs had been held back, and, by golly, it is a belter. Even if you knew that already, live she once more drew an even greater bandwidth of emotion into this tremendous song. Her eyes were not the only ones to be moist. How to top that? Only one song could fulfill that role, and it did, her version of her Dad’s signature, In A Big Country, moistening again those eyes, the audience unable to not add their voices.

We knew that was the end, but we also knew that, ha, should there be any demand, they would stay where they were, and do another, which they did. Again with Forsyth back on guitar, a moving Live Love Cry sealed the end to a wonderful evening, all feeling they had done a little of each.

Kirsten Adamson online: Website / Facebook / X (formerly Twitter) / Instagram

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