CATHI MOORHEAD, BLUE JAR, EILIDH PATTERSON, PADDY MCKEOWN

MCHUGH'S, BELFAST

28.11.06

There is a painfully small crowd gathered for opening act, Cathi Moorehead. She should consider herself lucky there are so few witnesses to this atrocity. Like The Sundays robbed of all grace and beauty, this is unimaginative jangle-rock, Moorehead trotting out her trite lines, 'Clean Up The Dishes' and 'Constant War' fumbling, Bridget Jones-esque tales of relationship breakdown, her grasp of the obvious breathtaking. Never before have I witnessed someone struggle to play the tambourine.

Blue Jar are an altogether more polished act, typically they play as a quartet, but are tonight reduced to a violin and guitar duo. A short set of classical and easy-listening standards ensues, and though technically proficient Blue Jar really need to find some charm and charisma, somewhere, anywhere, steal it. I have listened to elevator musak which exudes more warmth and humanity than this stoic duo. A career playing corporate shindigs beckons.

By this stage I'm beginning to feel that tonight's line-up is an act of malice on BelFest's part, a cruel joke on those unfortunate enough to have wandered into McHugh's. In this context Eilidh Patterson's performance assumes even greater importance, revivifying, faith in music restored. Working with quiet intent to win over an audience who obviously aren't allowed to talk at home, Patterson delivers a set that summons the spirit of Judee Sill, intimate folk and country, songs that weigh heavy on heart and soul, all enveloped in delicate, filigree guitar. And there's even room for a great cover of 'Poetic Justice'.

Playing with full complement of strings and brass, Paddy McKeown and his band of merry men very nearly outnumber the audience. It's a shame; McKeown is a true talent and deserves more than this. The breadth of imagination displayed in songs such as 'Scene In The Park' and newie, 'I Will', is quite audacious, classical and rock converging seamlessly, the liberated musical mindset akin to jazz improv and yet the band play with riveted precision.

The music builds slowly before exploding to heavens' grasping heights, 'Leo' has never sounded so good, McKeown's ululating vocal is a marvel, dextrous and affecting, bearing out those Tim Buckley comparisons.

All in all, a strangely lopsided evening's entertainment, Patterson and McKeown have at least ensured that it ends on a sublime note.

Francis Jones