I’m like a dog with a bone, but I cannot abide the QMU as a gig venue. It’s too wide and shallow. The metal spine/seats in the middle cut in half what little space there is. The main bar bleeds into the crowd so there’s almost always a queue snaking its way into the best standing spots. The seats upstairs are a genuine deathtrap with the lack of floor lights. I could go on, and it isn’t helped this evening by a mysterious problem with the gas for the beer taps that means the confused staff are left in a flap and the grumbly punters are getting louder and louder…Anyway, I’m only presenting this bitter rant to say that in spite of the numerous barriers to a good time, Bonnie “Prince” Billy (Will Oldham) and his carefully assembled band put on a hell of a show, the main man never less than compelling throughout.

Things start fairly low key, and even a little melancholy, with a cover of Silver Jews’ ‘A Little Kindness’, just Oldham and supporting electric guitarist/oboist Thomas Deakin. The first oboe appearance during a cover of Palace Music’s ‘New Partner’ feels jarring after a couple songs of intricate guitar, but once openers Nuala Kennedy (flute, vocals) and Eamon O’Leary (bouzouki) return shortly after, the whole ensemble starts to fall into place. The brilliant Alex Neilson (Trembling Bells, Jandek, Richard Youngs etc. etc.) rounds things out with his feather-lite percussion.

Oldham is on chirpy form all night, expressing heartfelt affection for Scotland and mixing up dour confessionals like ‘I See a Darkness’ with jaunty melodies like ‘Queen of Sorrows’ with the ease of someone thirty-plus years into a career. He pays tribute to Birnam, a place he’s evidently familiar with having supped a little brandy there in the past, with ‘Trees of Hell’ and ‘Willow, Pine and Oak’. The arrangements are a bit different tonight given the unusual lineup, but the presence and authority of Oldham’s voice tends to keep the songs together.

Kennedy’s backing vocals, lovely as they are, sometimes feel a little shoehorned into the songs, like on ‘Willow’, but sometimes they’re the perfect fit. This is the case on ‘Crazy Blue Bells’, which soars magnificently as the vocals rise during the chorus. We’re also treated to a new song, ‘That’s How We Make It Our Home’ [sic?], the group vocals emphasising the communal joy which continues through Kennedy and O’Leary’s ‘Liffeyside’.

The whole set has the feeling of a fireside jam in a cosy pub, of old friends reunited to blast through a few old favourites with the easy camaraderie that comes with decades of experience, even if you aren’t playing together week in week out. ‘Good Morning, Popocatépetl’ closes the evening on a delicate, emotional note, the hushed crowd in awe of the quiet power that this performance has exemplified.