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A small legion of devotees is gathering; polka dot frocks and slick bobs is their uniform. It’s Tracyanne Campbell that they’re here to see: Camera Obscura frontwoman, vocalist, songwriter, guitarist and pinup for indie boys and girls. She has commanded the Glasgow six-piece in its various incarnations for a decade now, and as their third album rests freshly on the record store shelves, there’s a definite atmosphere of change for the band.
Support comes from Francois, a multilingual Frenchman from the Bristol experimental indie scene. There are glimmers of structure amidst his loopy DIY, kid’s toys and scatty singing/shouting, but mostly it’s fairly awkward and slightly irritating. His vocal briefly hints at a Sigur Ros inspired high-pitched quality before an off-key screech and a plink-plonk of yet another wacky gizmo.
As Camera Obscura pile onto the stage the crammed room gets uncomfortably muggy. The opening guitar riffs of ‘Teenager’ are like a blast of air con through a tropical night and any discomfort drifts away. New album title track, ‘Let’s Get Out Of This Country’ is an instantly catchy anthem for the uncool. “We’ll find a cathedral city, you can be handsome, I can be pretty,” Campbell coos as the nerdy lads at the front swoon.
Tracyanne’s heart shatters more and more as each new track unfolds, but we’re falling in love with her heartbreak: “The singer in the band made me want to cry,” she pines on the beautifully glum ‘Country Mile’. Country-tinged ode to troubled American singer-songwriter and poet ‘Dory Previn’ pulls Tracyanne back from the edge as she casts off past hurt, before shimmering new single ‘Lloyd I’m Ready To Be Heartbroken’ tips its cap to 80s pop crooner Lloyd Cole.
Campbell’s vocals float effortlessly through the smarting, saccharine choruses of early single ‘Eighties Fan’ before the romantic waltzing sadness of ‘The False Contender’ hints her love life has really been through the mill. It’s clear Tracyanne’s had a tough time with the fellas, but tonight she sheds her normally surly on-stage image, seeming relaxed and self-assured, grinning as she says sorry for faffing about with her new guitar pedals. There’s less cutesy teen-bop simplicity to Camera Obscura these days, though the innocence and charm remains and ‘Suspended From Class’ from 2003’s ‘Underachievers Please Try Harder’ album stirs the crowd’s indie shuffle.
The new songs ooze grown-up anguish and disappointment, wrapped up in glorious 60s girl wonder-pop, organ hooks and Nigel Baillie’s precisely placed percussion and luscious horn trills. After years of skipping around the fringe, the sextet has arrived at the indie pop pinnacle. What happens next is anyone’s guess, but for now Camera Obscura is the epitome of West Coast Scots cool and it’s a gorgeous place to be.
