Ralph the Wonder Llama

I’d been looking forward to seeing this guy ever since Sue had told me about him and I’d heard a few bits of his stuff on his myspace site. There were hyperbolic comparisons to Nick Drake amongst others, and such talk provokes curiosity and skepticism in equal measure. We’d originally planned to go and see him play on the night before my birthday, but it was impossible to get in touch with the club, and anyway in the end we couldn’t make it. As luck would have it, he was doing something of a tour around Scotland and we spotted his date at the String Jam Club in Galashiels on Sat 25th. So we grabbed a couple of tickets and waited with baited breath. Well, not quite. That would have been three days. We’d have turned blue and all sorts.

The String Jam Club convenes on the last Saturday of the month above the Salmon Inn in Galashiels. They have a few open mic spots and then a featured headline act. The club is run by Allie Fox, who also acts as agent for both Dan Arborise and Rachel Harrington, and has staged this labour of love for ten years or more. Certainly she has a good ear.

The open mic spots were given over to Waterheads, clearly taking their subjects somewhat less than seriously, (a song about a fellow bus passenger with lip enhancements, Collagen Girl, anyone?) and another three from Kelso who brought their own PA, presumably because they must know that any soundman with sense would turn them down rather than allow them to play at “guitarist” volume levels (i.e. far too loud for the space, regardless of any evidence like, say, ears bleeding. And no, they weren’t Motorhead). People moved away from the cabs while they were on, having secured themselves prize seats early doors. I’m not getting old – I’ve always had this problem with guitarists – they’re incorrigible. No sense of proportion.

Anyway, after the raffle (seemingly inevitable in the effort to raise extra money to cover the costs of clubs like these), the main attraction. I can’t remember where the light running gag at Tesco’s expense started, but it may have been with the prizes. In any case, it continued, a slightly surreal thread to the set, for the rest of the evening.

And what an evening. I’ve never seen or heard anything quite like this from one man and an acoustic guitar. Oh, and some computers and a rack of pedals. Arborise starts off picking out some delicate, elegant figures and setting up swirling, reverberating loops in the air with his technological backline, and then sets about his fretboard with grace, speed and an almost ethereal but chimingly precise touch that left me having trouble remembering to breathe for what felt like minutes on end. It was almost as if it would have been wrong to disturb the air that he’d crafted into such wonderful, mesmerising shapes. At times he almost seemed to be playing two different melody lines, one with each hand, picking between each other while at the same time intertwining with the dipping and soaring sonic back projection that he’d set up for himself. In these respects, this particular weaver of music reminded me more of people like Bert Jansch and Jimmy Page (in his more pastoral modes) for the guitar playing that formed the warp of his songs, and, say, Pete Townshend (Won’t Get Fooled Again and Baba O’Reilly being the obvious examples that came to mind) for the loopy technique that provided the weft. Above all, his invention shone through. I haven’t been quite so astonished for a long time. Indeed I’m glad to have seen him live before hearing too much of his recorded work (first album Around in Circles bought at the stand afterwards, second, Of Tide & Trail, apparently held up in manufacturing), simply because if one had heard it first, one would have simply thought he was multitracking himself to create the effects. That he generates all this himself, live, is a testament to his creative talent and his musical integrity.

Some of his songs are simpler, just the man and his guitar, but even here he is inventive. I’ve never seen anyone start a song and play the opening section seamlessly alternating between two capo positions every four bars or so, effectively changing keys to expand the stave to suit his requirements. The voice to which all this is an accompaniment is a sort of continuous, gentle hum (but fuller than Drake), one that without any great apparent effort sets up a quiver in one’s chest, and it may be this resonance that really connects all his sounds with the audience and renders it essential. Maybe that’s what’s so captivating – there’s an Embrace song (A Glorious Day, maybe) where Danny talks of holding the breath of an audience for an hour, and this is what it felt like. I’ve also often wondered what Chuck Berry really meant when he said Johnny B Goode could play guitar like ringing a bell. Well, now I know. When one sees guitar played this quickly and this intricately (not that one does see this often), some of the notes can blur and blend into one another. Not with Mr Arborise – each note is struck like a tiny hammer on polished brass, clear and resonant and distinct. At times it was like listening to the technique of a banjoist being exercised upon a harp. I fear it may make little sense until you hear – or better – see him. I heartily recommend you do both of these things at any given opportunity.

Before I knew it, it was 10:55, and I felt like I’d had time stolen from me. An enchanting aural mugging. He asked how many tracks he had time left to do for an encore, was told two and realised that meant one – some of his workouts are quite extended. So we were left with one more teasing taste of his talent, and then this packed room dissolved into that hushed, wonderstruck fizz that can only be generated by nights like this one. All that, and some gentle but heartfelt satire at a certain supermarket’s expense. Every little helps