Mark Mulcahy, Bush Hall, London

Nick Hasted
Tuesday 21 June 2005 00:00 BST
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

Failure and famous fans have dogged Mark Mulcahy all along. In the Eighties, his band Miracle Legion were compared to and praised by REM. A teenage Thom Yorke found them life-changing, later declaring Mulcahy's voice "the most beautiful I've ever heard".

But Miracle Legion never made the big time, all but expiring on a tax-loss label that perversely prevented them releasing records. It's the sort of luck that made Mulcahy write "He Self Defeater", one of the all-time picks of another fan, Nick Hornby, in his book 31 Songs.

More pertinent than such near-fame by association, though, is the unsettling emotional balance Mulcahy has achieved on his most recent work, In Pursuit of Your Happiness. It's a terrain not quite like any other songwriter's, humanly sympathetic yet coldly realistic. There's a frozen bitterness, warmed by the sweet voice that so affected Yorke.

He begins tonight with a brace of songs from his new album. "In Pursuit of Your Happiness" describes excessive, destructive pleasure, then "Cookie Jar" warns an ex-lover: "preserve yourself". There's an enjoyable hardness, made digestible by the odd likeability of Mulcahy in person: he looks like a pleasantly grotesque Tim Burton character. A background of glowing stars and candelabras are the only other distractions for a packed, attentive crowd. So when Mulcahy unfurls a Curtis Mayfield falsetto on "I Have Patience", his gaping mouth and lolling tongue are unpleasantly hard to miss.

Mulcahy's fabled voice isn't showily exceptional. It's a sweetly effective instrument for delivering his defeated broadsides, such as "I Just Shot Myself in the Foot Again". His band play it with delicate modesty, a three-guitar strum giving way to melancholy violin, xylophone chimes, and pedal steel.

"G.O.D.", played with booming, fuzzed-up attack, is a Mulcahy attempt at hard rocking, but it doesn't convince. The tale of inappropriate relationships in "Pasadena Love Story" draws laughs before "Hey Self Defeater", that hymn to human frailty, lets us finish with a sense of liberating communal failure: the Mulcahy effect in miniature.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in