Photo: Mark Perlaki

More of a tour of duty than a album tour, it’ll be Joseph Arthur’s eighth performance here at King Tuts tonight, not that anyone but J.A. has been counting. First up though, there’s two support acts, The Kays Lavelle and Conil, respectively. The Kays Lavelle are some Glaswegian 6/7 piece act with various degrees of beardiness and of no real fixed identity, something that’s reflected in the democracy of shared lead vocal turns. With a Talk Talk-like spirit at work, absorbing songs are delivered with various degrees of autumnal shades and a Caledonian rock-reel is augmented by viola, while power-ballads take on Mogwai-esque slow-building crescendo’s. Conil are serving as Joseph Arthur’s touring band and combine some of The Clash’s grit with Morphine’s instrumentation. There the comparisons end. The vocalist delights in his unforgiving angsty punk growl/holler that reminds of a tight-throated Shaun Ryder or Joey of FYC, while the dapper 4-piece leads with felicitous guitar licks and the warmth of standing bass. Skanking, baggy-era Madchester tunes make for the best moments from the band who hail from Peckham, while the grit remains in the teeth for a hard to palate vocalist.

Dressed in black shades, and a charity shop black jacket with an armband that reads LOVE DISEASE, only the D is blocked out as he didn’t want to have a disease, and to emphasise that for Joseph Arthur, love is ease. Making the techy Alec one of thre hardest working men in town that night, Joseph Arthur milks to the nth degree what for many would be an oversight - “Can I have some more monitors…more mic…can we take some of that top end out…can we lose that glassy sound…” making for a pitstop proper before even the opening number of ‘Electrical Storm’ gets it’s airing. With a prolific artistry that puts most to shame, Joseph is already notching up his fourth EP release this year with an album scheduled for the latter half, that’s not forgetting the double release last year of ‘Nuclear Daydream’ and ‘Let’s Just Be’.

Oftentimes, Arthur entertains and detracts from his musicianship by producing figurative works of art, most often twisted and distorted faces that are embellished throughout the performance. Tonight, there’s nonesuch. And the pedals and tricks of overlaying sound mean that there’s a purist slant to the show. Pure, and highly personal. One of Arthur’s greatest talents is the highly personal manner in which he connects with the audience, with an arresting aura and profundity of song writing that makes for an intensity of moment. Many artists have great songbooks, and Joseph Arthur’s is propped on a stand with all the density of a Biblical tome. As such, there’s any number of ways the performance could go, and tonight there’s the littering of older favourites with newer ballads and harmonica drenched tales of amorous strife - Joseph singing “…I don’t turn you on until it’s time for me to go…” that wears Lennon-esque threads and turn of phrase.

More sound adjustments make for light entertainment and a Virgoan perfectionism, “Can you put some more mid-range on the guitar…any way we can flatten the eq…”, he drawls, with Arthur declaring himself drug-free, to allay any doubters that is, and the pace is picked up for ‘Chicago’, a song with a seer’s vision and a wonderful lyrical cadence in the lines - “…you/ see the light/ see the light…“, simple, unembellished chords with all the comfort of a bear hug, followed by ‘Black Lexus’ and an aside where a Glaswegian heckle to “See it away Joe” is interpreted as a request for ‘Slide Away’, which is honoured, without any extra charge - “…what you said it counts…” makes for a belting moment where Joseph can really open the lungs.

Another new song is littered with Dylan/Lennon-esque symbolism with an anti-war stance as blood is spilt and a soul is lost in the after-life - “…the crucifix/ the hand grenade/ only you know which one can save you…”, while the purity and urgency of delivery is continued with ‘Birthday Card’. A deliciously moving and tender ‘A Smile That Explodes’ is delivered to pin-drop awe, whilst ‘Honey & The Moon’ makes for a buoyant, summery reverie that ne’er fails to delight. “What’s your favourite song?” is asked, pointedly, which causes a wriggle-squirm of discomfiture, leading to possibly Arthur’s finest and most adopted song, ‘In The Sun’, delivered with simple strumming harmonies that allow all the lyrical strengths their fullest, resonant expression for those in search of meaning.

A generous encore revels in a ‘Blood On The Tracks’ era Dylan cover - “…some are lost some are found…there ain‘t no more surprises/ like a saviour/ one that never rises…”, and Arthur declaring with his drawl that he has 3 levels of gigs - some awesome, some pretty good, which is where this one sits he teases coaxingly, he’s really not just lip-syncing or making out the sound check is to make it sound real. ‘When I was Running Out Of Time’ finds one Angela McClusky duetting with a cracked voice like Cyndi Lauper and a certain glee in the company, and solo once again for a stargazing moment, ‘King of The Pavement’. “Well, you’ve been a great audience, and I hope I’ve been an adequate performer”, Arthur concurs, and he’s after some assistance with the final number where it’s a sing-along but he’ll be going off the path, in a kind of Pink Floyd way, the audience with “…one by one they turn black…” on a poignant song about New Orleans after the flood. There’s little his unflinching gaze won’t address, and here at King Tuts, the acuteness of Arthur’s songcraft has been graced by the unadorned splendour of his arrangements.