Few will remember the night that Daughn Gibson rolled into Nottingham, just one of three U.K. spots on current European tour. But those that came to The Maze on Wednesday, November 27th, a dark and compact venue ideally suited to Gibson’s deep baritones, were not disappointed in the gig put on by local fledgling promoter, TMX.
With two albums behind him, All Hell and recently released Me Moan through Sub Pop, Gibson, a.k.a. ex-Pennsylvanian trucker Josh Martin, draws heavily on real-life experiences in presenting and delivering his mix of country and electronica. Ably supported by the impressive guitarist and drummer from support band, Doug McCombs’ Brokeback, played a strong, hour-long set.
Standing well over six feet tall, with a couple of day’s dark stubble on a handsome face that could have been chiselled from a hunk of granite, Gibson had an imposing stage presence that commanded attention. Wearing a camouflage singlet, revealing huge tattooed and glistening guns, he certainly fit the part of a stranger who has come to town to preach his version of musical Western noir. And when not using his array of electronic instruments, he variously swished a tambourine, and exercised and swirled those big arms, beseeching and imploring the entranced crowd to listen to and hear his message. At the end of one haunting song, Daughn pointed, in turn, in rhythm, to individual members of the crowd in turn, saying, “You… you… and…” before picking one young person out, looking over intensely, softly calling out a lingering, “…YOU…” Gripping. WOW!
Gibson’s stature belied a beautiful, strong, deep yet generous voice. Comparisons with Nick Cave are not out of place. It may have been gravelly at times, reminiscent of Johnny Cash and his Folsom Prison Blues, but there’s no crunching the gravel that night. Echoes of Scott Walker’s tenderness could be found in slower paced songs, too. But when the pace picked up, rousing sounds not dissimilar to the 1980s Stan Ridgway / Wall of Voodoo tunes got feet tapping and bodies swaying. Brilliant.
Gibson’s set was topped off by a three-song encore, much appreciated by the enthusiastic crowd. 60 minutes worth of raw power, both gentle and brutal appropriate to the lyrics. And that was that. Another hour later and Gibson had packed it all away, moving on to the next town, somewhere down the road, and starting all over again. It was as if instead of trucking, he’s emulating the late nineteenth century ‘medicine men’, travelling across US states pedalling their wares. The twenty-first century difference, though, is that as well as leaving something tangible, LPs and tees, Gibson’s also sharing something more intangible and oh so much more valuable: a stirring of spirits, souls and tangled emotions… Nottingham said, ‘Thank you’ and bid him, ‘Farewell and bon voyage’!
