England’s oppressive summer cracks still on. “I’m glad to be here,” says Roddy, “Not least because it’s a hundred and ten degrees downstairs and it smells of rotten vegetables.”
Unluckily for the young Scottish fella, the temperature in the venue is much the same, and I doubt whether it smells any more fragrant than backstage. Yes, the Bloomsbury Theatre is a lovely intimate venue. No, it doesn’t have air conditioning.
When word got out that Roddy Woomble was taking time out from Idlewild to record a folk album, it wasn’t exactly earth-shattering news. His band had, after all, moved from shambolic punksters to rocking only slightly harder than Coldplay. Roddy’s solo album, so it seemed, would just carry on moving up the mainstream. But Roddy takes his art seriously, and in conjunction with a load of genuine folk folk, he’s made a tender sofly-spoken album that stays in the memory for far longer than it’s relatively short running time.
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