It’s a fact…

I had no intention of doing anything to do with music while I was away. That included listening to music. I certainly didn’t want to drive for an hour in the dark, to hear somebody I’d never heard of.

J.J Gilmour; as it happened turned out to be the most amazing songwriter, singer and performer I’ve heard in a long time.

But, I didn’t know that at the time. My good friend, Sue, and her husband David, had been kind enough to buy us some tickets to see the aforementioned artist.

So, we found ourselves in a place, just outside Portree, capitol of the Isle of Skye . The venue was a place called Arse; at least, that’s what I first thought when I was told about it. Apparently it’s called Aros and I thought it didn’t bode well, but what the hell. The tickets were free.

We sat in the foyer of the venue, while J.J. went through a sound check. Those who had assembled for the gig were sitting quietly, sipping tonic water, wine and the odd beer. At this point I was more interested in them, than I was in the artist. They looked like they’d turned up for a reiki session. I was worried in case it got a bit rowdy and a meditation broke out. I often think you can tell an artist by his audience, and I was sure it was going to bore the pants off me.

I took my beer and cigarettes outside. I felt like I was lowering the vibration of the place. Beside, I didn’t want to hear the guy going through his set. That would mean I’d have to listen to it twice; God forbid. What are we supposed to do when we get inside the hall? Do we clap or chant ‘Aum?’ Somewhat disgruntled, as I walked out I noticed there were no bouncers there. If there had have been they probably would have just given you a neck rub and showed you some pictures of the kids.

The wait for J.J was mercifully short. We trooped into the small hall and took our seats. The seats were a bit small. If there was a fire, I thought I’d be lucky to make it out the door as my buttocks were so firmly wedged in the seat, I’d have to run dragging it behind me. It took a few moments for everybody to find their seats. Even though it was only half full, due to the gig being arranged at such short notice, people made sure to get the seat that had their ticket number on it; very well behaved; too well behaved somehow; too perfect. I had the feeling I was sitting in the middle of ‘The Stepford Audience’.

Still, at least it was warm. I noticed an accordion on stage. I believe in some parts of Sweden, playing the accordion is considered an extreme sport for nudists; but enough of that, because when J. J. walked out on stage, I instantly liked him. On stage, he looked to be bigger than he is off stage. Something about the man’s presence filled the space. Even though he was quite self-effacing, even when introducing Phillip King, who would be accompanying him on the keyboard and the nipple tweaker, the attention could but stay on this personable young man with the dark, unruly hair; his Gaelic roots, so to speak.

‘Smile’.

The first song.

It wrapped itself warmly around his clear, soulful voice as he strummed and sang his heart out.

Beautiful.

This wasn’t a performance of a man struggling to fill a venue, this was the performance of a man who could sing in the desert, and people would come, if they knew about it. Somehow, the fact that the venue was half full, half empty, made it seem as if we had discovered something precious hidden away in the cleft of a sun baked rock. It remained our secret, for that one, cold, October evening.

A succession of songs opened up the life of this man to a bunch of strangers. Such songwriting is alchemical when it is the performer’s own life unfolding before you; the depth of loss, echoes your own; the joy that wells up taps your own; and while he sings the audience and singer have opened a vein somewhere deep inside and their lives are somehow intertwined.

That was the gift of this man as he sung.

He spoke, between songs, lifting the mood and engaging the audience; his delivery was not the slick, music hall script of a performer who has done this for years, but a performer who has nothing to lose by reaching out to an audience, because he has already bared his soul to them.

Don’t get me wrong, he made the audience laugh; he could clown about like he was just one of the guys, but the point is this; when he sang, the clown’s mask slipped and there we were again; pressed against the warm window, looking into this man’s past; a witness to a life lived with sorrow, and joy, and every tremor in between.

After the gig, I waited in the foyer for J.J Gilmour to come out. The transformation between the huge, charismatic presence on stage, and the quiet, unassuming young man who shyly walked out of the dressing room was quite something to behold. He walked past people, without them recognising him as they waited for him to sign the CDs they held, pens gripped and quietly eager.

And this, I say, as a man who didn’t want to go and see J.J Gilmour. This quiet man holds a genie in his heart, and when he steps onto a stage, and sings, the bottle is opened, and you feel the alchemy all around him as the fruit of this charismatic performer’s vine tumbles into the hollow of your glass; if you would but listen…

J.J Gilmour.

I drink to your health, your happiness, and your success.

Geetan
October 2005

The picture is courtesy of the J.J. Gilmour Website which you can find by clicking HERE

There are also some great audio clips of him singing and I have to say, you couldn't hope to meet a nicer guy