The Richard Thompson Band
Royal Concert Hall, Glasgow
25/01/2011

Having curated last year’s Meltdown Festival and, more recently, found himself in line to receive an OBE, Richard Thompson’s critical stock has never been higher on these shores. If it seems a little strange that Britain should make such a point of clinging to a dour, commercially unsuccessful, beret-wearing expatriate, then it’s because, as ‘Whispering’ Bob Harris points out in his introduction, he really is one of the best songwriters and guitarists the country has ever produced.

The first half of tonight’s set is intended to showcase Thompson’s latest album, ‘Dream Attic’, itself a live recording of all-new material. Performed in sequence, with only two songs omitted, the Fairport Convention founder is clearly confident in the record’s ability to hold its own alongside a revered back catalogue. Opener ‘The Money Shuffle’, an attack on present day bankers (“if you’ll just bend over a little/I think you’ll feel my financial muscle”), is as acerbic a character assassination as he has ever written. The following ‘Among The Gorse, Among The Grey’ and ‘Haul Me Up’, meanwhile, are fit to rank amongst his best work, the latter’s impotent desperation providing the perfect counterpoint to the youthful optimism expressed in the former. There is much to admire in the remainder of the new material, its atmospheric nature benefiting from live performance.

Though rooted to the spot for most of the show, Thompson exudes an extremely focused energy. His vocals are harsh and passionate, while the dexterity with which he navigates his fretboard is genuinely astonishing. Thrilling as his obvious technical expertise is, Thompson’s real gift is for never once allowing a solo to seem indulgent or masturbatory. Indeed, every note of the intense, extended improvisation that emerges from ‘Can’t Win’ appears integral to the composition as a whole. Backed by a four-piece band featuring longtime collaborators Michael Jerome and Pete Zorn, Thompson’s second set of ‘hits’ indicates little in the way of spontaneity. All the same, no-one can deny the muscular sense of purpose with which the group launch into live staples such as ‘Tear Stained Letter’ and ‘Wall Of Death’. Thompson has reached a point in his career at which he could complacently bask in accolades, yet seems incapable of shifting into autopilot, even after over four decades of restless artistry.

Lewis Porteous