Guillemots, Oran Mor, Glasgow

Venerable local artist Alasdair Gray was the interior decorator of this larger of Oran Mor’s two venue spaces. His spectacular work in the former church defies simple description; likewise the band who grace the stage tonight are never easily categorised. The measured chaos of a calendar of constellations cover the ceiling in gold and blue; the rafters bare the legend “To the Glory Of Our Universe and All Who Work Well Here.” Inspiring stuff.

Busts of stern protestants labelled with names - John Knox, Martin Luther and their ilk – stare down as cinematic classical music and incense set the scene for Guillemots to appear. This gig follows their performance earlier this year at The Classic Grand – then they were previewing their album ‘Walk The River’ - tonight they give a more balanced survey of their career thus far.

In an autumnal wardrobe of fur hat, cape-like overcoat and thick rope of coloured beads, Fyfe Dangerfield fills his role as eccentric centre-stage while the orchestral stabs of Kriss Kross match his garments for drama. “Feel really holy,” he sings, and Gray’s fleshy painted angels almost take flight behind him. To his right Arisistazabel Hawkes slinky behind her bass; to his left MC Magrao a mass of shaggy haired movement and at the back, Grieg Stewart drives them ever forward from behind his kit.

They have become supremely self-assured, able to play older tracks like ‘Go Away’ and ‘Made Up Love Song #43’ so early in the set that they go by in a blur. Here is a band not much troubled by convention unless it suits them. You get the feeling that (except for the super cool Arista) they have never been all that concerned with being fashionable. Fyfe has the air of a boy who spent his youth watching nature programmes and immersing himself in music; but just as you think you have them pegged they turn it around and play ‘Vermillion’, a Disco-hipped Atomic fiend of a tune.

‘We’re Here’ lifts the room, only to allow for the contrast with ‘I Don’t Feel Amazing Now’, now firmly installed as their “depressing song” (but for my money still the best track on their latest LP). Out of the ashes of self pity rises something with the structure and synths of a great lost 80s pop hit. Little Bear, with Magrao on Theremin, bridges the gap between this and the cacophony of ‘The Basket’, capturing a depth in their sound they often miss on record. Falling Out Of Reach becomes a delicate waltz and the tension of newness returns as Fyfe plays a feminine folky acoustic number called ‘Southern Winds’.

Annie ‘Let’s Not Wait’ starts out busked and brings the band back to the stage to join in on a variety of percussion. Now is the moment to notice that the stone face staring down from the back of the room is labelled Chalmers. We are charmed, indeed, we are spellbound as ‘Trains From Brazil’ turns into a race for a big finish. In lieu of cheers for an encore, Fyfe requests that we “Moo like cows for 35 to 40 seconds.” That he forgot that this will sound like booing does not dampen the rousing ‘Yesterday Is Dead’. It only serves to highlight their skill at using the power of volume, both quiet and loud, to capture and enrapture an audience.

Fyfe’s big coat finally comes off for a rather messy, noisy version of ‘Get Over It’ and to close they render a sprawling ‘Sao Paulo’. It sounds like four different Beatles songs being played all at once in a joyous carnival parade. As it resolves in peals of church bells and thundering samba beats, a rainbow on the back wall catches the light and maybe it’s a trick of the eye but old stony faced Chalmers looks like he might just be smiling.