Strathclyde Suite, Glasgow Royal Concert Hall, 27 January 2008

Chris Stout Quintet

IF THERE’S one thing you can guarantee from a Chris Stout gig, it’s energy. Longer lasting than a Duracell Bunny, the Shetland fiddler’s hyperactive displays are as renowned as his astonishing, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it technical prowess. As he said himself early on in his hour-long set, “that’s how we usually finish off a show, not begin one” referring to an all-out guns-blazing attack on the lugs of those listening.

And there were many, most of whom had seen Stout earlier that afternoon backing Catriona McKay during her mesmeric New Voices showcase. A performance so breathtakingly amazing, anything that followed would most certainly pale in comparison. Which is a shame, because Chris Stout is one of the most adventurous and enjoyable-to-watch performers on today’s Scottish folk scene.

Opening with a track dedicated to Vasen’s Swedish nyckelharpa player, Olaf Johansson (“simply because he wrote it”), this nose-to-the-grindstone version set the tone for the rest of the evening, a fast-paced outing that, if anything, provided Stout’s backing band with a thorough cardiovascular workout.

In fact, there was barely enough time for the musicians to catch their breath between tunes; sax player Fraser Fifield even had to pause for a moment during one hell-rasing number to grab a drink of water. This was flying by-the-seat-of-your-pants stuff.

When things did eventually calm down for a moment, it was to recall an uncomfortable car journey – during a visit to West Virginia, in the United States – whereby a crew-cut cop mistook Stout’s homeland as somewhere in Chicago, whilst narrowly letting him off the hook for having a supposedly illegal driver’s license. The only thing Stout was driving here, though, was forward; the rest of the set zooming by in a mixture of blistering Shetland reel and trawl tunes.

Catriona McKay let Stout hog the limelight, adding nice flourishes and touches here and there without imposing herself too much. The two have a great musical chemistry together, and it’s one that will hopefully continue to the benefit of both musicians’ careers.

Saying that, there was no time to be sentimental as whistle-stop tours towards jazz-influenced material reared its head towards the end of the set: Fifield’s sax playing definitely impressive, though not entirely convincing during the more folk-orientated parts of the set. Nevertheless, ‘Fisherman’s Prayer’ proved that Stout can simmer down his playing and still hold everyone’s attention when he wants to. It just isn’t that often.

If hardcore-folk isn’t already a genre, then Chris Stout will surely spearhead its existence in the future. A spirited and animated fiddler who’ll keep charging ahead at 100mph until his joints require a squirt of DW-40, an hour in Chris Stout’s company is an hour well spent. Just don’t forget to bring your oxygen mask.

© Barry Gordon, 2008

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