“I should’ve brought my glasses, I can’t see a bloody thing”. Bernard Butler, possibly the world’s most relatable guitar God, stands resolute despite the heavy onset of middle aged myopia for this intimate solo date in support of Good Grief, his first single-handed record in 25 years.
Still splendid in double denim, shouldering his trademark cherry red Gibson and peering beneath the thickest of fringes, Butler faithfully recreates the intimacy of this new collection of songs with a triumvirate of guitars and an armful of anecdotes. The gentle, acoustic ‘Camber Sands’ and the plaintive ‘London Snow’ are indicative of the introspective nature of the evening and though his voice might err towards the “rawk” end of the spectrum for some tastes, the honesty of his performance is heartwarming.
Flexing tracks from the new album alongside an impressive jaunt through the many highlights of his back catalogue, it’s easy to forget just how many celebrated partnerships he has been involved in over the years. From the iconic collaboration with David McAlmont, to 2022’s heralded team up with Jessie Buckley – both ‘Shallow The Water’ and ’20 Years A-Growing’ are covered here – Butler has had a hand in so much good music. He may be the last word in fretboard gymnastics but ranking high up in guitar bros’ lists of greatest six-stringers sells him distinctly short.
‘Yes’ is given the deconstruction treatment – almost to the point of unfamiliarity, strangely lending new weight to the song’s searing lyric. The proximity of the venue’s kitchen to the stage has Butler flinging out the licks amid the faint waft of haggis bonbons; I challenge you to imagine a more incongruous yet appetite-pleasing multisensory moment.
The vagaries of touring again are certainly not lost on him, either. Tales of the road convivially fill the gaps between songs, recounting the amusement of continually not being recognised in a Stoke-on-Trent Travelodge (just off the M6).
With a flourish of the pickup selector and gazing upward, his vision briefly clears to notice the Ballroom’s ceiling – “There’s a giant disco ball! Turn it on!” – instantly bathing the confessional set-closer ‘Not Alone’ in a swirl of shimmering light. A song of redemption for a reluctant rock star finally comfortable in his own skin.
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