Lawrence Mackinfinds it hard to dislike Newton Faulkner, but wonders what's left when it's all stripped back
Newton Faulkner,,Olympia, Dublin
Newton Faulkner can't seem to settle down. Bouncing on stage, dreadlocks a-trailing, he rambles between a range of musical styles. There are comedic vignettes, singalong Disney-esque numbers, throaty ditties with shades of Robert Johnson, Eddie Vedder-style emotional rock, and jazzy, funky percussive pop.
There's no doubt that he's a technically gifted player and a born entertainer. The audience is in the palm of his hand throughout, laughing at every quip, joke and story, especially when Faulkner's phone, which he's smuggled on stage in his pocket, starts interfering with the PA.
In addition to his style of play, he has a whole bag of tricks and gadgets and insists on using every one of them. Faulkner even whips out a bit of a song that he hasn't managed to finish, the point of which seems to be to play something as complicated as possible. This is a mixed, jarring, jangling bag though, which doesn't quite have the substance to stand on its own splintered musical roots.
When he brings on his band, and there is actually a percussionist on stage, Faulkner is left with more straightforward frontman duties, and it's here that the deficiencies in the songs become stark. The playing is intricate and the lyrics are quirky and cheesy enough to cause more than one audience member to demand to be the mother of Faulkner's children, but when stripped down to its essence, the whole package is a touch too predictable.
It's hard to dislike Newton Faulkner: the crowd certainly loves him, and his almost naive approach is disarming. But when all the novelty cover versions, thrumming percussions and bells and whistles are stripped away, the music that's left is as bland as James Blunt.
Field work: The Bend in the Field (above), by Dolores Lyne, is part of her new exhibition, Connemara Calling, at the Norman Villa Gallery in Salthill, Galway, which runs for two weeks from this Saturday. Resident in Connemara for a number of years, Lyne's interest in her chosen locale is the basis for an offbeat, quirky journey into the landscape in all its moods and seasons
