The Pleasance, Edinburgh, 18 June 2008

Lyon and Campbell

WHILE THE name Lyon and Campbell may sound like a Scottish brand of soup or syrup, there is a lot worth preserving about this fast-rising accordion and fiddle duo. As they took to the stage at the Edinburgh Folk Club, Angus Lyon and Ruiradh Campbell wore the look of two young men full of self-belief and composure, a poise that instantly instilled confidence in their audience.

The merry twosome have been making a name for themselves in the last couple of years thanks to the (laptop) recorded version of their album, 18 Months Later, and it’s easy to see why. While traditional folk lies at the core of its essence, it’s the nice, subtle, whistle-stop tours made towards tango, jazz and even funk, that is attracting both trad lovers and innovators alike.

Here, though, Lyon looked as if he hadn’t slept in three days (and admitted as much). Campbell, meanwhile, looked slightly more alert as they hopped the genres together. Lyon’s weariness didn’t exactly slow the pace down, however. On the contrary; prior to every tune, Lyon readied himself vigorously, rolling his shoulders and snorting through his nostrils like some farmer about to get to grips with some heavy hay bales. He grew up on a farm, after all.

Yet from the opening exchanges – ‘Connor’s Reel’ (“for a friend”), ‘Mirrlees Lane’ (“a place Campbell lived in Glasgow”) – the only thing lacking was a bass boost on Lyon’s accordion. Lyon’s fancy triplets are one of his best features, and for what the Biggar lad lacked in suitable volume, Campbell more than made up for with his steely-armed, classical-infused fiddle playing.

‘Eilidh On The Western Shore’, a tune written for Campbell’s sister in Nova Scotia, saw a little more invention creep into the set. But that was before a snappy little tango piece danced its own particular Argentinean jig round the Edinburgh Folk Club tables before ending abruptly.

Following the break, Ben The Hoose opened the second half with a jaunty wee set. A Scottish folk duo based in New Zealand and featuring Kenny Ritch on fiddle and Bob McNeill on guitar, their largely traditional, steady-as-a-rock style of playing was swiftly followed by an inspired protest song from Anne Renshaw [not about their playing, presumably – Ed.].

Entitled ‘The Slender Tree’, the song is a dissenting wee number aimed squarely at the feet of the Scottish Arts Council following their proposed cutting back of funding from the traditional arts in Scotland. Simply put, it was the most convincing tune of the whole evening.

Not to be outdone, the headliners soon returned to the fray with more jiving jigs and reckless reels to feast on. ‘Top Of The Morgen To You’, a jig about a German with an Irish accent soon gave way to Lyon’s ’21 Miles To Biggar’, a tale of accidentally cycling to Edinburgh in a pair of Scotland football shorts (“the away ones from 1985″, no less). The bizarre stories continued with a delightful ditty called ‘Seaforth’, referring to a jogger who set off a military booby trap in the Black Isle.

For a moment it was as if you were watching a younger version of Aly Bain and Phil Cunningham. Like an old married couple, the lads are already finishing each other’s sentences; they’re lacking a natural connection with the audience, but it’ll come. And soon. But lest not forget the real magic here, which belongs in their playing.

As a duo, Angus Lyon and Ruaridh Campbell have great technique, as well as great tunes in spades. However, as they closed their lengthy set with a slow air, you couldn’t help feel that with a slightly increased line-up of musicians, these guys could make an even bigger impression upon the Scottish folk scene. For now, though, let’s just be thankful for small mercies.

© Barry Gordon, 2008

Links

• Angus Lyon