More about: John Grant

Pianist John Grant is fluent in Russian, Spanish, German and the language of his adopted home, Iceland. He explains tonight at The Roundhouse that Icelandic grammar is complicated, and that he resents the innate ease with which the nation’s children use it with ”every fibre in his body.” Though often as lush as Iceland’s virgin landscapes, John Grant's music can lack that complicated feel. That is not to say that there aren’t several stand outs at his In The Round show this evening.

His most famous melody ‘Marz’ is an even more overwhelming experience live than versions cut in the studio, flooding the body with feeling to the degree Van Morrison could do in his Astral Weeks heyday.  Many numbers such as ‘Outer Space’ are given playful accompaniment on the keyboard, cleverly aping the effects of a Seventies moog and exploiting the eerie soundtracks to science fiction B movies of the fifties, à la Portishead. The valiant Roundhouse choir, standing like a clutch of Amish or prisoners behind barbed wire, also shoo in added texture to some of the compositions.

Grant’s songs are steeped in melancholia and draw heavily on a difficult childhood. The use of science fiction tropes amplifies his sense of being an outsider, struggling to come to terms with being a gay young man in a conservative Methodist household that never ceased to be disappointed in him. In admirably candid and confessional interviews he has talked of living in a state of PTSD and hyper-vigilance when young, attempting to control his surroundings because he expected folk to do him harm. It was only when he contracted HIV that he began to accept who he was. As he says in ‘Queen of Denmark’ “I wanted to change the world, but couldn’t even change my underwear.” The set has some raw moments that would not be out of place on John Lennon’s Plastic Ono Band.

 Grant is a gentle bear of a man in the rugged, wholesome Americana tradition and will have felt the love in the intimate staging in the round of this iconic Camden venue. Several in the audience, many of whom are also bearded Sigmund Freud-a-likes, avidly remind him of the esteem they hold them in and there are plenty of wry ripostes from Grant. When a couple file out during the encore he quips: “If you’re leaving for the babysitter I’ll pay the extra.” One devotee shouts a request that Grant fails to pick out. “You want me to play Liszt? I was thinking of Caramel.”

Songs like the opener ‘TC & Honeybear’ have a wistful late 60s feel, in the vogue of Simon and Garfunkel. And there are stately ballads echoing the late Scott Walker, with whom Grant shares a rich, warming baritone. Of those ‘Geraldine’ and crowd pleaser, ‘GMF’, verge on the anthemic.

Four solo albums to the good, Grant also shares a cab musically with the likes of Father John Misty, albeit without his range and consistent lyrical finesse. However listening to the former The Czars vocalist, in whatever guise, is always a soulful encounter. The final track of the night is the avowedly jazzy blues of ‘Chicken Bones’ and more of this hike in tone and tempo would have made this a stellar night.

More about: John Grant