Rhian Daly reports on Kid Harpoon – Portland Arms, Cambridge 1 Nov 2007

Artist Visiting Cambridgeshire
As Jay Jay Pistolet's tall, thin frame clambers onto the stage; a hushed silence descends onto the venue. Delicate folk songs and the quirky voice of the London-based troubadour cut through the quiet and entrance the audience from beginning to end. Pistolet's storytelling hypnotises and mesmerizes and, combined with the intense gaze shot towards the crowd, makes it nigh on impossible not to fall in love with the man awkwardly pouring out his heart in front of us.

Darren Michelangelo Smith is quite a different kettle of fish. Playing songs that sound like Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly meets The Ordinary Boys (the awful third album era), via Scouting for Girls, and an inability to pronounce 'thank you' correctly, make this local boy more annoying than entertaining after a period of more than 10 minutes. Smith's set passes without much to write home about and the room begins to fill in anticipation of tonight's headliner.
Anyone who saw Kid Harpoon support the Holloways a few months ago will know he can hold his own on the bigger stage, so how would he fair on the tiny platform on offer in the Portland? Kicking off his set with live favourite The Milkmaid it soon became obvious that intimate venues suit this artist better than ones with barriers and stewards between band and fans. Teetering on the edge of the stage, Harpoon energetically races through high octane, energy-packed songs such as 57, Flowers by the Shore and Colours, whipping the crowd into a frenzy, whilst his loyal backing band huddle towards the back of the stage, complimenting their front man with flawless renditions of his well crafted tunes. Proceedings are calmed down a touch with the slightly ominous Death of a Rose, before launching straight back into the more upbeat repertoire. Approaching the end of the set, Harpoon announces an impromptu gig outside after the main show is over, before launching into the final two tracks of the night, Riverside and First We Take Manhattan, in his usual flamboyant manner. The audience dances until the very last note before rushing out in the cold November air to be treated to more numbers by the man from Medway.

Writer: Rhian Daly