Even as the first chords of ‘Wolf Song’ echo through the Church of St. John the Evangelist, Patrick’s accompanying violinist and accordionist play along, occasionally glancing at each other with an overt affection which betrays a relationship deeper than that between artist and backing band. Almost immediately the night takes on a mystical quality, enhanced by the high-ceilinged church which is lit only around the stage itself. The church is filled with seats, which unfortunately have all been filled by the time we arrive. Eschewing the few remaining scattered seats, we favour a particularly comfortable area of the floor to one side of the stage which affords us a great view of the back of Patrick’s head as he sits at the piano (“Can you see my pants?” he queries when he notices us).
The set itself is mostly drawn from last year’s release Sundark and Riverlight, an acoustic reinterpretation of some of Patrick’s existing songs.‘London’ is one of the especially successful examples, capturing both the spirit of the original while adding a new depth of emotion. He explains the story behind the song, describing how he never wanted to go back to the place of his birth, but had now found himself back home. This moves nicely into ‘Paris’, a chronicle of the city that took him in after he fled his birthplace which is filled with a startling fragility which is noticeably absent from the original. Patrick continues to explain the stories behind the songs, most notably ‘Damaris’, the tale of the gypsy lover of a vicar’s son, who died after discovering that they could never marry. Rewritten specifically for the tour, the song lingers in the mind with heart-breaking poignance.
Patrick also tells us excitedly that he met Prince Charles earlier and “mostly talked about our hair and our outfits”. His outfit is certainly worthy of discussion: a waistcoat and knee breeches, with a flamboyant bow at his throat and a glitter-covered collar. This is apparently homemade with materials sourced from Poundland and his local market; “there’s a recession on, you know”, he remarks. He spent two days before the meeting locked in a room writing a poem which he reads out to the audience, saying that he might be more nervous because we’re “more important than the monarchy” (small round of applause from the somewhat left-leaning audience). The poem unfortunately leads directly into an extended tuning session, during which Patrick suggests that we take the opportunity to ask him any questions (or go to the toilet). We can easily forgive him this though, as he is taking up his fifth instrument of the night; he’s moved from tenor guitar to piano to harp to viola to baritone ukulele and is proficient in each.
Patrick’s eventual departure from the stage prompts deafening applause, followed by his reappearance in an indescribable cape for an encore which, though manufactured, nonetheless leaves the concert on a high note with natural show-stopper ‘The City’. The night ends with a particular significance for us as, on the way to the toilets, we run into Patrick who exclaims “you were sat behind me! …Sorry.” No need to apologize, Patrick. No need at all.
