Vicar Street, Dublin
A few years ago, Brendan Benson just about sold out Whelan’s; shortly before that, he was one of the singer-songwriter hopefuls at the Ruby Sessions, a low-key gathering indeed. And now? Well, now he’s too big for the Button Factory, but not big enough to sell out Vicar Street, so something is going on, but is it enough? Factor in Benson’s co-writing role with Jack White in The Raconteurs, and it’s arguable that you’ve got a guy on the cusp of crossover.
Yet whether that will be attained in tandem with someone else or on the back of his solo work is a moot point. There’s little doubt that a band such as The Raconteurs wouldn’t work so well if it wasn’t for Benson’s lightness of touch – he is the foil to White’s occasional heavy-handed blues/rock/prog hybrid. Yet Benson, for all his sweetness and charm, somehow seems destined for cult appreciation only. This is a pity, of course, but it’s possible that he himself is at fault.
The figure he cuts on stage is one of slightness and anonymity. He is a one-of-the-crowd kind of performer, a man with obvious ambition and clear-cut talent, but someone who seems unable to muster up the requisite levels of arrogance and ego that will take him and his music to bigger venues.
It is his music that shines through though. Long before The Raconteurs were dreamed up, Benson was a purveyor of ridiculously smart pop/rock via albums such as One Mississippi(1996), Lapalco(2002) and The Alternative to Love(2005). He plays tracks from across these albums (as well as from 2009's My Old, Familiar Friend)and there is pretty much nothing missing from them – they are bright as stars, proud as punch, perfectly formed.
And yet something isn’t quite right. For starters, there’s no sense of occasion, no notion that what’s being played is special and, most worrying, little personality beyond the music. Maybe Brendan Benson isn’t on the cusp of crossover success after all then.
