Stereo itself is a nice place. It’s a Rennie-Mackintosh building, too. Inside, however, is another story altogether. Hot and airless, and tonight full of mostly teenage girls, it’s sweaty, and the floor is sticky with some mysterious substance that I’m almost certain isn’t just beer. Upstairs in the main bar, it is light and pretty and they serve some excellent vegan food. Down here, it’s not as pretty but there are some large blowsy yellow paper flowers on top of a speaker (with one dangling from the ceiling), which I’m assuming is some attempt to brighten the place up. The place sorely needs a lick of paint and is in desperate need of some form of air-conditioning.
The audience is predominantly young and female, presumably carried here by The Vampire Diaries TV show, and they are loud and rude, talking incessantly throughout the two tremendous support acts.
A drum beat sounds and Michael Malarkey makes an appearance. Now the stage is brightly lit, that is until Malarkey motions with his arms for a hush (good luck…) and the lights dim once more. He sort of gets a lull in the chatter, although it doesn’t last very long. And up go a plethora of mobile phones and tablets. I can hear a cello but I can’t see it. Michael announces the song but the only word I can actually make out is ‘Dancing’. It starts slow and moody, bolstered by Malarkey’s deep, rich vocals. He commands the crowd to clap along, and they do. “I didn’t say hello,” he says, “How are you, Glasgow?” What a nice chap he is! It’s his first show ever in Scotland. Track two – whatever it is – is upbeat and sunny and is fit for dancing, though very few actually take that step. He’s very softly spoken and it’s often hard to make out what he’s saying.
Many of the songs have a country vibe to them, the third track possessing a rhythm that resembles the steady pulse of an old steam train. Somewhere along the line, the cellist and bassist vanished though I don’t remember that happening, such is the draw and appeal of Malarkey. Every now and again, the cello is heard as well as a few notes picked out on a piano – but neither can be seen from my vantage point somewhere close to a speaker – and it all sounds beautiful. A large chunk of the audience are now drunk and even louder, but he’s very gracious, telling them that they’re a wonderful crowd. It’s a sweet thing to say, and I wish it was true, but it is not.
Approximately halfway through the set, the drummer has disappeared, along with the rest of the band, and Malarkey is left alone. In this crowd that seems hungry for flesh, I find myself frightened for him. Why there are people talking throughout his set I do not and cannot understand; the man is brilliant. ‘Bloody Nose’, one of few tracks I find out the title of, is slow and it plods slightly. It’s at odds with the title; I’d expected a song called ‘Bloody Nose’ to at least sound like it could inflict said bloody nose, and yet it does the exact opposite. His on-stage banter is good: he’s smart and funny, and fortunately for him, the crowd play along.
His voice is deep, rich, woodsy and warm, and it resonates throughout the evening. If Johnny Cash was an up and coming artist in 2016, I’d imagine he’d sound exactly like Michael Malarkey. The 13th track (I think – I lost count ages ago) has a South American twist and really shows off his vocal talents, with lyrics that sound like nonsense. Before playing ‘To Be A Man’, Malarkey calls for lighters to go up. Instead, he’s faced with mobile phones. Further proving just how nice he is he says, “Be careful of your phone batteries, I don’t want them to die. I want you to get home.”
The encore contains a cover of Lana Del Rey’s ‘Born To Die’, which Malarkey says is his guilty pleasure. I’m disappointed but only because by default; it implies he likes it but doesn’t want to. Never, ever be ashamed of liking what you like. His version is much better than the original, giving it depth. For a brief moment, Malarkey steps down into the crowd and I watch, waiting, and fearing for his safety and his limbs. And then, once back on the stage in one piece, thankfully, he finishes the song with gusto and drops/practically throws the mic to the floor. His final track is one with a sweet melody picked out on his guitar. The major downside is that a few people who are now far too drunk start cackling. “I fucked up that song…” he says sheepishly, before going back a few bars and finishing the song as it was meant to be.
Michael Malarkey is a really talented performer who deserves so much better. You are better than this, Glasgow. Next time, I want to be able to hear a pin drop.
Photo: Clare Ballott
