Two gigs stand out for me in 2009; both occurred within weeks of each other and both really quite different. The electrifying  Super Furry Animals at The Ritz and tonight’s gig; Edwyn Collins at The Deaf Institute.

I’ll be the first to admit that my delight at 80s Scottish music is of delirious magnitude (I had once considered a tattoo of the Postcards Records kitty. I realised that the rather troubled illustrater, Louis Wain, basically spent his time producing Victorian LOLcatz and, well, I thought better of it) so this was always a gig I was going to be excited by. That said I haven’t been enthused to follow Collins’s career post-Orange Juice and did feel a little anxious of what to expect.

There was no need.

The support came from Colorama who were charismatic and technically deft, a lovely warm up for things to come, then from the side door a humble figure of a man walks hand on cane and arm and arm with his wife onto the stage. As Collins makes his way to the box on which he’ll sit the crowd huddle in to the front, the admiration from the fans is palpable. As I move closer I knock elbows with Mani who stands front row and open mouthed in anticipation.

Falling and Laughing kicks in and oddly enough it’s this fantastic up-tempo start to the show that, emotionally, kicks me in the guts and I shed a wee tear. Colorama’s Carwyn Ellis and sometime-Primal Scream guitarist Barrie Cadogan are staggeringly good additions to the band, and the cracks in the fragile, occasionally flat, voice of Collins is delightful in it’s imperfections.

Collins is charming and funny and clearly a determined man. He also passionate, grinning at every opportunity and tapping along in time with all the songs; as excited as the audience to recognise the first riff of each song.

All the key Orange Juice hits get their turn in the spotlight, Consolation Prize has a new lease of life with fresh sounding backing vocals from Ellis and Cadogan. A new track co-written with Alex Kapranos receives great acclaim and a shout from the audience to “Release it, Edwyn” is greeted with a bemused “I’m going to!” but it’s the track Make Me Feel Again from 1994 album Gorgeous George that’s the stellar performance of the night. There are songs that when heard live are more beautiful than you could ever imagine them to be from hearing a studio recording, this minimal acoustic performance is heart breaking, it’s so utterly romantic and the words completely relevant to his recovery and marriage.

For the encore Orange Juice track Blue Boy and solo hit single A Girl Like You nicely bookend the evening with some lively classics (though the latter raises protesting grumbles from the audience in reaction to Warner Brother’s decision not to allow Collins to stream his own track on MySpace) .

A tender kind of set for such a devoted audience, there’s something hard to capture about the evening, to put into words, but the intensity, the awe and the obvious bonds within the band and between the band and the audience presents a confusing mix of satiety and loss; like the best summer fling you ever had.

On the way out there is a touching souvenir, a postcard, the image is of a rabbit hand drawn by Collins at the beginning of his recovery from the brain haemorrhages that took away his gift to play the guitar.

I’ll look back on tonight’s gig forlornly and not care if Mani saw me crying on the dancefloor.

There’s a rather wonderful scene in Pawel Pawlikowski’s My Summer of Love where the two lead characters take mushrooms and are whisked away, in a hallucinogenic trip, to the interior of a ramshackle pub. Here they dance in the dim light to the sparse, echoey accompaniment of a failed club singer. The eeriness of that scene springs immediately to mind as Hawley starts his set amidst a stage clouded in hazy, blue, dry ice.

It’s a strange feeling to listen to music so beautiful & to feel so disturbed, if you told me David Lynch had coordinated the tour I wouldn’t have doubted you. Hawley’s new tracks are resonantly darker, his vocals deeper with the tone and burr similar to Johnny Cash. A newcomer to Hawley would find this latest offering, Truelove’s Gutter, rather an inaccessible place to start although undoubtedly he has still managed to retain his style;  black & white timeless wonder.

Unlike previous tours, Hawley is not quite as forthcoming with his repartee and though fitting with the atmosphere it is a real shame that we hear so little of that Northern growl and quick wit. It almost gives the impression he’s weary of the tour, or just simply having a bad day. Having caught him at a small gig earlier in the week at Piccadilly Records he was on form, at ease with the audience and quick with his quips so I would hazard a guess that his delve into a more taciturn performance tonight is  intentional to set the scene.

A series of beautiful guitars are handed to Hawley throughout the night, he changes them at a staggering frequency, and the double bass in all it’s splendour is wheeled out for the encore. Rarely harking back to earlier tracks this evening besides Hotel Room and, during the (rather short) encore, of course; what else? The Ocean.

If you’ve ever been to the Bridgewater Hall you’ll know there’s no arguing with the quality of the acoustics, this venue is suited down to the ground for his music, but ultimately (and sadly) I found the show on this occasion to be lacking in grandeur and in need of some up-tempo tunes.

It’s a show that should have seen a shift in mood. Technically fantastic but emotionally draining for anyone other than a die hard fan.  Captivating and haunting it nonetheless would have been pleasing to see that wonderful old mirror ball from the last tour and to have walked away, not feeling soporific but, feeling you’ve once again been wooed by the rockabilly with the foul mouth.