It is the first evening of 2006 that I notice a seasonal temperature rise.  Spring is on its way and this thought puts me in something of a good mood as I make my way to the Scala to see Adam Green.  Once inside it becomes obvious that this is going to be a gig where jostling is the name of the game, and at some point the flimsy plastic cup that holds my beer will buckle and empty its contents on either me or some other unsuspecting punter.  Moments before Green takes to the stage there is a further surge forwards with people eager to get a better view of the mighty showman.  At this point I seize my chance and eke a path out of the crowd to the stairs where I climb to the second floor.  From here the view is clear and jostle-free and I can finally make out the scene that’s intended for us.

It is to be an evening of unadulterated theatrics.  Accompanied by a small band and with a string section adding sophistication to the mix, Green lurches onto the stage, with arms flailing and hair tousled – the showman had arrived.  For me that is ultimately what Adam Green embodies.  Both his solo output and that of the Moldy Peaches, his previous hipster anti-folk outfit, have never captured my imagination.  The songs come and go, but never do I stop to think of them as masterful or rewarding.  But live it is a different story, and Green embraces the realm of the absurd with an infectious ineptitude.  He fucks up the beginnings of songs, so he starts them again – no one really seems to care less, in fact it spurs the crowd on.  He lounges casually on a park bench set on the stage under a Victorian gas street lamp and invites the most vocal and drunken fan to join him, wrapping her with a loving embrace before dancing a two-step.  Any self respecting music fan would consider his bravado an attempt to conceal inability.  But it works.  It all works.  You might find yourself asking how, but by then it’s too late – you are captivated by the monster that is part Jim Morrison, part Scott Walker, part…who can tell?

Promoting his new album, Jacket Full of Danger, Green seems comfortable with his enduring cult status.  Latest single, Nat King Cole, is reeled out with relish as he ducks and extends, hovers and leers.  The audience participation reaches new and strange heights as two join him for the ‘bunny dance’ to accompany Bunnyranch, from 2003’s album, Friends of Mine.  It’s an activity that sees Green and his stalwarts leaping for their lives across the stage with fingers on heads in mock-ear fashion, attempting to out do one another in the distance stakes.  From where I am standing I can’t help thinking that if there was a sudden power cut and the music fell silent, Green would carry on regardless.  Perhaps it could be considered an artistic issue that the music appears sidelined in favour of charm and good times.  But honestly, what kind of deep-rooted cynic would you have to be to let that cloud your judgment of Adam Green as a performer.  In reality few people come close anymore to what Green offers when he is on stage with an adoring crowd wrapped around his little finger.  The only downside is that he may get bumped up to larger venues in the future and that would be a crying shame because he works so well in the more intimate environment.  Best seek him out while the cult tag still applies.

Rob Herian