Home → Reviews → Colin Reid

I would have mashed myself into the crowd of the basement club, the Borderline, in Soho anyway, as the sublime Boo Hewerdine would be playing later that evening. But I made a point of getting there early so I could see the true treat that would be opening the heavenly musical evening and undoubtedly inspire half the punters to pick up a guitar, in the way Bert Jansch inspired another generation.

Bert Jansch, in fact, was a strong admirer of Colin Reid, the magical acoustic guitarist from Belfast. Colin had toured with Jansch after the legendary guitarist fell for the charms of his demo tape, and dared to stretch his compliments to saying that Reid reminded him of himself and John Renbourn fused together. Surely there could be no greater compliment from a greater man than to compare this up-and-coming young guitarist with two amazing, highly regarded, definitive guitarists. Jansch’s description most likely refers not only to Reid’s level of enormous technical skill, but also to the fact that his playing somehow sounds as though you are listening to more guitarists than the one playing. My theory is that he has an invisible third hand, like Rolf Harris’s (or Jake’s) peg leg, but transparent and much more useful.

As a person who focuses on lyrics and normally gets lots in instrumentals, I surprised even myself by falling so easily and so madly for the two Colin Reid albums I owned. The first self-titled one was entirely instrumental and the recently released one, Tilt, was mostly instrumental, although it did have guest vocalists such as Eddi Reader (covering a Fleetwood Mac song) and Boo Hewerdine (on a richly vivid, glowing song he had written with Reid). Colin is a hugely gifted acoustic guitarist and composer who appeals to everyone, obviously even those who are not normally guitar fans. He somehow combines a Spanish/classical feel with a bit of a daring Deliverance feel and can cheer you with a ragtime version of an Irish jig, closing with a newly defined sound of pop. Or, in the words of Robin Denselow of The Guardian, Colin plays ‘a nineties form of folk-baroque with a Celtic edge.’

This inventive fingerstyle wonder is so worth beholding that television sought him out at the 1999 Cambridge Folk Festival, when Colin was the only artist in the acoustic tent to be featured on the highlights programme hosted by Jools Holland. He is so comfortable with his instrument that he was able to add breathtaking solos spontaneously to Boo and Eddi's songs when he appeared with them at the same festival the following year, having met Boo only an hour beforehand, yet remarkably playing his material blindly but beautifully. Colin was even nominated for the Hot Press Music Award for Best Irish Musician in 1999 along with musicians such as U2’s The Edge and the male Corr.

So when this man in black took the tiny stage shortly before 9pm on this September evening, I was expecting to see a mind-blowing performance, and naturally, he did not disappoint. What I had not banked on was his wonderful gift for humorous banter; that must be the Belfast in him.

Colin was, to me, always the incredible silent talent dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, looking gentle and kind with short hair and dark doe-eyes. Tonight, he had shorn his hair , which made him look more like a tough and threatening bouncer, as though he should be covered in tattoos and piercings. In fact, one of my party was so thrown by his new look that she booed his hairstyle vociferously whenever the chance arose, but fortunately it was clear that she was not referring to his stellar performance.

He had taken the stage without ceremony or announcement, and there were only about 60 people in the club at this stage, people who had come to see Boo and were intent on drinking and talking until he appeared. However, Colin changed their plans. He started plucking out a hundred notes or so within the first few seconds, or so it seemed, and the club hushed immediately. Everyone turned toward him, jaws dropped open, and no one looked away until he finished his set 50 minutes later.

Colin began with a quick, catchy piece that reminded me of The Cat Came Back, one of my many favourite tracks from his debut album, but was probably something else, perhaps the flurries of Frantic. Without lyrics to identify the song, I am at a bit of a loss, and since I cannot remember it well now, I might also guess that it perhaps was Suzi Who or the delightful Griz’s Golden Ticket. Mind you, it could be any number of songs as Colin excels at ‘quick, catchy’ pieces. It truly awed the crowd, whatever it was, and opened many more minds to the inventive talents of this incredible future legend.

The next engaging song was, I thought at the time, described by Colin as music for a fine Harlem meal. How curious, I thought, but as I knew Colin had toured the world, I thought it was always possible that he had ventured into Harlem for some reason, and most places seem to have some incredible restaurant tucked away somewhere, known only to the locals, perhaps even Harlem. I really couldn’t picture the scene, this brilliant musician from Belfast travelling to Harlem for a meal when there are so many marvellous places to eat in New York that were surely closer to where he would be staying and playing, but who was I to question such inspiration for a track. Later, of course, I remembered that the second track on Colin’s album released a few months earlier was called Music for a Found Harmonium, which sounds much more feasible. After all, harmoniums go missing all the time and they deserve a gentle finger-flying guitar instrumental to be dedicated to them when they are happily reunited with their owners.

As a lovely, young blonde cellist (possibly Becky Joslin, as I know he later toured with her, but I cannot be certain) joined him on stage, Colin tuned his magic guitar and, to keep us interested, ventured to chat to us by asking if we liked his hair. ‘Where is it?’ someone called from the audience, whilst my friend took one of her opportunities to boo in favour of his slightly, well, more existent hair before. He and the cellist meandered into an absolutely stunning warm, orchestral song appropriately titled Across the Fields. Amongst the 14 other tracks on his first album, this one I perhaps overlooked as I gushed and fainted over so many favourites, particularly the flurrying ones that involved Colin using 10 of his hands at once. However, at the Borderline this evening, this number was truly hypnotising. It truly did evoke images of wanderers over gorgeous green Irish fields and should easily find a home in a soundtrack over such a celluloid image one day. The audience erupted in applause after a moment’s hesitation to absorb the beauty they had just heard.

An unsmiling violinist with scary Lyle Lovett hair now joined them on stage, creating the first appearance of The Colin Reid Trio. Colin introduced the track they were about to play, The Conversation, one of my favourites. Rather than being a tribute to the intriguing Francis Ford Coppola film staring Gene Hackman as a surveillance expert with a life-and-death dilemma, it was a number written in the dead of night after an argument with Colin’s girlfriend. Something about what the best colour of sugar was, he explained, so he thought about calling the song Brown Sugar. Perhaps because the topic of the argument was hardly life-changing stuff, the music in the song is mostly gentle, soft entwining parts and full of fondness, rather than a rapid, intense expression of bitter rage. It makes one think that having an argument with this compelling composer would be delightful. Certainly the fruits of the argument are.

Next, Colin explained that he gets invited to a lot of weddings, which I would like to think is because he has a lot of loving friends, although I suspect that many people hope he will contribute some of this beauty for free to make their day memorable. Indeed, he wrote this next piece, The Spanish Man, for the procession. As if to demonstrate that my emotions are out of sync with the world, as I thought the song about the argument sounded peaceful, he played a dark, mournful, initially ominous piece for the wedding of friends. However, the more I listened to it that evening and later at home on his CD Tilt, the more I could picture a beautiful art-house film with this piece playing over a run-through of either Spanish or Italian nuptials. I would be so privileged to walk down the aisle to a Colin Reid original; it would almost be enough to make me discard my marriage-hating ways, which really does prove the man works magic. Still, I think the tune would be better suited for opening a fantastic foreign film. I trust his married friends who enjoyed this dramatically beautiful number at their wedding will forgive me for saying so.

Moving on, Colin encouraged lateral thinking by opening our ears to the possibility of ragtime without a piano. Not possible, you might think. Well, you have not heard The Clay Pigeon Rag, the delightfully fun, upbeat, jazzy ragtime-type number that closes his album Tilt, with a raging violin and plucked cello pulled together by his constantly compelling finger-picking on the guitar. Actually, the speed with which he played made it more of an imponderable pounding. I believe he made some reference to Romeo and Juliet when introducing the number, and even somehow managed to give William Shatner a mention for some reason, but mainly I remember his tale of a girl saying she frowned upon Clay Pigeon shooting because she thought it was cruel. Bless.

Like pigeons in pre-Ken (Livingstone) Trafalgar Square, the audience was eating out of Colin’s magical hands. Colin introduced his favourite song but teasingly told us that he would not say where it got its title, The Queen of Two Rooms. On his album, he is joined by Maire Breatnach on violin, who has recorded with has recorded with U2, The Chieftains, Sinead O’Connor and Sting and was the fiddle soloist on the original Riverdance – The Show. So now she has recorded with another brilliant star; he just hasn’t been observed by quite so many stargazers as yet. Cello on the recording was provided by Neil Martin, a fellow Belfast composer/musician whose talents have also been tapped into by Bryn Terfel, Brian Kennedy, Phil Coulter, Donal Lunny and The Dubliners. Although he was new to the punters in the Borderline tonight, this man in black was clearly a highly respected musician with whom his similarly talented peers wanted to work. And whilst we did not have Breatnach and Martin joining him in the club, the strings that were intertwined so stunningly with Colin’s subtle but steady guitar painted an engaging aural portrait that had most of us floating away in a dreamy trance. The mysteriously titled tune was amazingly gorgeous, so I hope its name is not a reference to anything crude or lewd. But perhaps that’s why Colin kindly kept us ignorant. He clearly has tremendous taste, in any case, as he chose that smooth, chocolate-like number as his favourite.

Colin closed his set with a performance of Rocket, which originally appeared as part of Icarus, Colin’s suite for string quartet and guitar composed commissioned for Celtic Connections 2000, which led to him being nominated that year in the Music Category for a Belfast Arts Award. Rocket opens his latest album Tilt. A busy, rising number that grows in intensity as it builds to a racing, breathless climax whilst Colin maintains an amazing rhythm with his many hands, it strikes me as a perfect tune for an exciting television theme. Perhaps it would have better suited a show in the golden age of television, probably a western starring John Wayne or Audie Murphy if they had ever retired to the small screen. Nevertheless, it even has a swing feel about it that would also suit something like Jeeves and Wooster.

Such a rare juxtaposition as western swing, or the ragtime Irish jigs or classical pop that he had delighted us with earlier could only be the work of the fantastic wonder from Belfast, Colin Reid. He certainly wowed the crowd he might have had no idea they would sit through instrumentals, never mind be absorbed in their fluency, until Colin Reid took the stage. Although one normally rarely misses support acts when they depart as it means the reason for attending, the main attraction, is closer to taking the stage, it was clear we were all sorry that our period of being enchanted by this incredible man had come to an end.

Five minutes after leaving us so enlightened, Colin bizarrely became a roadie as he brought big Boo Hewerdine’s massive guitar onto the stage and left it on its stand. When Boo took the stage shortly afterwards, he commented that ‘Colin Reid’s quite good at guitar, inne?’, always the master of understatement. He plugged Colin’s latest album as well as his own several times during the evening and finally asked Colin to join him on stage to perform the encore of his own set, where he demonstrated when they decided what to play that Colin’s ‘arguments’ are indeed quiet enough to inspire the calm beauty of The Conversation.

So we saw two incredible, should-be-big-star talents on one ticket that night, and in the intimate setting of the Borderline rather than from miles away in Wembley, where they deserved to be playing. That’s value for money to a faint-worthy degree.