Armed with a hoard of eclectic tunes about everything from vagabond romance to fantastical cornfields, a night of gypsy folk began with the sight of Kevin McNamara emerging from a cloud of smoke. Cradling a fragile, weather-beaten acoustic, the Wicklow-man began things slowly, nuzzling softly into a carefully plucked instrumental.
It wasn't long, however, before McNamara was treating all those in attendance - a circle that, by the looks of things, already possess an affectionate knowledge of his songmanship - to rousing sea chanteys and tales of spurned, drunken endeavours.
After a magnetic take on the classic Wizard of Oz tune "If I Only Had a Brain," delivered with the charm of a cheeky rapscallion, two Mediterranean girls began to erupt with giddiness, alerting themselves to McNamara. "Mr. Forina! Mr. Forina!" they shouted, over and over again. When it finally sunk in that they were actually requesting a recital of "Mr. Tambourine Man," a lengthy exchange ensued, cropping up repeatedly over the course of the evening, leaving all in stitches every time.
However, this wasn't the only opportunity for hysterics, it should be added, as the foibles of McNamara enchanted escapades are not only brimming with colour, but are told with enough humility to draw a smile from even the most hardnosed sceptics. When singing the line “Fat people, Cat people, where are your homes?” during “Miles the Ventriloquist,” for example, it provokes just the right measure of giggles to warm a room of pub-goers jaded by the feeling only a wintry Sunday night can bring.
Fitting, then, that these songs of pirate-ship stowaways and circus boys should be just the thing to kick a bit of life back into things, like a Spandex-clad Hungarian weightlifter downing a shot of whiskey and somersaulting onto a horse’s back, shouting “Huy!” with a slap.
After a seemingly impromptu incantation of Patsy Cline’s “Crazy,” followed by the upbeat shuffle of “The Stalker,” the evening is wrapped-up nicely with the funky, nod-along strum to “Birthplace,” stirring a hearty applause. With a range reminiscent of Tim Buckley, and a storybook to rival the imagination of Tom Waits, we may just have something on our hands with Kevin McNamara. His gift for combining splendid melodies, tango rhythms, Tetris beats, and accounts of drinking one’s way to insurance fraud makes for a dazzling prospect indeed.
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