and a half
A cappella bands are ten-a-penny at the Edinburgh Fringe. There are classical outfits, jazz and pop impersonators; almost any variety you can think of and yet despite this I’ve never personally felt the urge to watch any. Judging by their popularity I appear to be part of a scant minority, but nonetheless this gig filled me with a dubiety that even the words “Epic, Finnish and Electric” could not console. My pessimism was further compounded upon finding that the venue was, like my metaphoric pint glass, at least half-empty. It tends to be that shows of such a theatrically grand nature demand an audience of similar proportions and on this front the team had their work cut out for them.
Strange noises and percussion are set to be the stars of this year's Fringe and aficionados of the genre will find plenty to keep them entertained. Words Fiona Shepherd
David Hasselhoff may be nearly 60, but he’s as over the top as ever. His show is billed as intimate, but chances are, it won’t be. Words Isobel Palmer
Mud, mud, glorious mud,
Crowded into the HMV Picture House, excitement hung heavy in the air. The night was kicked off by the energetic Woodenbox with a Fistfull of Fivers, whose upbeat folk accentuated by an incredible horn section managed the often difficult task of grabbing and keeping the attention of an audience waiting for the main act: Gomez.
I had the pleasure of seeing a multi-culturally-inspired a cappella group called Voices last night in an underrated show at New Town Theatre.
Not all musical conglomerations can live up to the tagline of ‘supergroup’. However, this is not at all the case with the Burns Unit, and tonight’s Queen’s Hall gig proves this Scottish/Canadian group is a super one for certain. 
Seeing Soweto Entsha perform is a truly uplifting experience for two reasons: firstly they are living proof that talent and dedication can get you anywhere, and secondly they are quite simply superb at what they do. 
I’ve been a fan of Amanda Palmer since I was about 13, following her through the days of the Dresden Dolls, Amanda F****** Palmer and now Evelyn Evelyn. I’ve been to just about every gig she’s done in Edinburgh; I saw one years ago in Cabaret Volitare when Jason Webley was her support act. I’ve spent Edinburgh Festivals since spreading the gospel of The Drinking Song, when he got the audience to raise a glass and spin 'round and 'round. 
Just as her introduction tonight puts it, this is not a serious show, but it is a quiet one. 
The Twoks are pretty unusual, pretty and unusual. Xani Kolac plays the electric violin like a siren. I mean, she’s a siren, like bohemian Karen O meets Joanna Newsome. She writhes around the stage in a one-piece bodysuit, howling out enchantment. She’s a maverick, playing her instrument with a looping pedal she controls with her toes, swelling the melodies into rhapsodic choruses. Mark Leahy’s drumming is dotingly merged into the rapture. I joked, “Jeez, he’s good to be able to work with that” because Xani can go off on an impromptu detour, but he really is. 
It’s hard to know what to expect from Scandinavian a cappella group Fork. I’m certainly expecting a decent performance given the busy venue, not to mention the good things I’ve heard. My initial confusion comes from the music blaring out as the group bursts onstage – if you were expecting unaccompanied harmonies think again: there's a backing track playing throughout. Secondly, I wonder how seriously this group really takes itself. ‘Sit back’, whispers the blonde male vocalist, grinning. ‘ We are professionals!’
Centre stage within the vintage walls of the Bosco Theatre stands a songstress ready and more than willing to bring you back to the bygone days of glamour, with her nightingale vocals and penchant for everything delightfully yesteryear. Indeed, Miss Lili La Scala not only promises to entertain this festival season, but promises to slap a smile on our forlorn faces, too. 
The tragic death of his E.S.T. bandmate made Swedish jazz musician Magnus Öström all the more determined to keep his vision alive. 
An eight-piece brass ensemble straight from Louisiana bring their own savory brand of New Orleans jazz to the Spiegeltent tonight with the mission to ‘blow the roof off this tent.’ What seems to be the whitest audience they have probably ever performed to happily consents to stand up, put its hands up and ‘get ready to party.’ 
Anticipation is high at an expectant Queens Hall for the welcome and overdue return of Edinburgh's very own Niki King to her native city. With a critically acclaimed new album and a stonkingly hot band, The Elements, behind her, the buzz surrounding the Scottish songbird with the extraordinary soul voice sees the venerable venue packed and on tenterhooks.
The Ukelele Project’s clear love of making music is deeply refreshing, although, of course, the ukulele would perhaps be the least appropriate instrument to play reluctantly.
The Fringe can sometimes seem to be a bit of a desert where music is concerned. Between the tawdry titillations of cabaret singers and the earnest folk of, well, folk, there stretches a wasteland only enlivened by The Edge Festival’s big name, one- or two-night acts. 
Imagine a group of Oxford choristers locked away with only MTV and a very talented musical arranger for company. Tenuous image, I know, but the result is entertainment genius. 
South Africa’s world famous gospel choir descend upon Scotland to perform a combination of traditional African, gospel and reggae songs with all the gusto and magnificence that have made them so famous. Formed from singers from the churches of South Africa’s largest township, their joyful music has led them to some of the world’s greatest stages, and Edinburgh was lucky enough to be one of them this year.
Don’t fooled by the greys, this sister has still got it. Hoowee, she does. With a voice that ‘don’t play’ and a saucy ol’ story to back up every song, Miss Morrison has her audience eating right out of her snappy little fingers.
Camille, the Irish-French cabaret phenomenon, was at her effervescent best as she melted everyone’s hearts with her perfectly crafted songs. Reviving the fiery cabaret acts she discovered in Berlin, she added her own tantalizing and very real edge to mostly dark and traditionally masculine songs. Her set took us on a journey through some of her favourite artists including Jacques Brel, Radiohead and Tom Waits. 
As a virgin to Jack L’s music prior to this engagement I found myself
lured instantly by the charm of the occasion and this smooth charismatic
performer, supported by an equally compelling band. His voice and
alternative bluesy style offers a unique musical tool to revisit some of
the classics like The Port of Amsterdam, which he performed last night
to perfection to a captivated audience. Lukeman performed to an almost full crowd of movers and groovers, who all enjoyed a mixture of his original songs as well as soulful interpretations of tunes by musicians like Randy Newman. 
Take note: some of the world’s best musicians will be in town for the festivals. Mark Fisher conducts a tuneful investigation into who’s top of the pops.
There’s something special about the students of RSAMD, which is why producers and writers fly in from all over the world to work with them.
With more than a hint of the epic bard’s tales about them, Cheyenne Brown and Seylan Baxter arrived at the Acoustic Music Centre. Using Cello and Harp to full effect, the sounds produced evoke images of Hobbits trudging across snowy mountains, Ivanhoe setting off on crusade, and your reviewer battling rain and wind whilst trying to find the Fringe outpost that is the Acoustic Music Centre.
The Rat Pack: Sammy Davis Jr, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin- men synonymous with old Hollywood, imbibing, the tuxedo, and real and far reaching talent.
A spark of the 50s that has never faded, born a black American in Ohio in 1945, Melvin Brown can still tap, croon and swing with the best of them, bringing a feeling of old Hollywood to the New Town Theatre this Fringe.
I always thought Acappella was the refuge of nerdy middle-aged men, who enjoyed singing but weren't cool enough to be in a rock band. What a prejudiced, unthinking fool I was.
Watching Otway and Barrett feels like you have traveled back in time, and taken a deep breath of fresh air. They belong to an era of entertainment which embraced unkempt, rough around the edges amateurism over the airbrushed clones that currently dominate the music industry.
No one will ever surpass the charm and presence of Sammy, Dino and ol' Blue Eyes. People try and fail and we are just reminded of the superiority of these three legends.
It was a surprisingly hot afternoon. People shuffled around the Pleasance Courtyard like cattle and were then herded into the musty Cabaret Bar, which offered no coolness in the shade. The decision (made by an astounding three people on the back row), on this sticky day, to remove sweaty shoes and perch feet on stools was the only cause for complaint I found during an hour listening to Flanders and Swann.
I’ve got to make this clear from the outset: I’ve never liked Starsailor, and though I went to the lovely venue with as open a mind as I could muster, the chances of me leaving impressed were as slim as singer/songwriter James Walsh’s book of ideas. See? I’ve already started. Oh well, press on.
The two acts before Bird flew on stage highlight a lot about modern music. It’s not that it’s poorly performed; rather it displays a passive-optimistic repetitiveness which varies only slightly between songs. Definitely the foothills of the musical summit which the audience would be invited to ascend with Bird.
Slippery limbed salsa with rolling hips and elbows, alongside bawdy Scottish stomps and cheers of “Aieeeeupp” were the ticket of the night. Back performing to their hometown, Salsa Celtica underlined why their albums have topped the New York and L.A. salsa charts, and European world music charts, sending the crowd into pulsing raptures that literally shook the Queen’s Hall within minutes.
Tucked away off Dalry Road is the Acoustic Music Centre, which continues its aim of bringing the finest folk acts to the festival. Tonight was no exception as they welcomed Scottish quintet: The Poozies.
The sweetly soulful Dean Friedman is old-school; a country-and-western singer complete with piano, guitar, love melodies and naff album covers.
The Tiger Lillies are back again at the Fringe, away from the famous Spiegeltent and into the Pleasance Beyond which takes some of the burlesque features away from the act (most noticeably Ophelia Bitz) and makes us concentrate solely on the twisted repertoire of front man Martyn Jacques.
It’s an inspiration to see Edwyn Collins shuffling on to stage, cane in hand to perform at the Assembly Halls. Four years ago the singer song writer suffered a stroke, which resulted in severe disability. He has clearly maintained much of his musical instincts, however, and gives a strong performance.
Blazin’ Fiddles is a group of stupendously talented musicians, and one that you should definitely see if you get the chance. Though I’ve been to my fair share of ceilidhs, I’m hardly an aficionado of traditional Celtic music, but this band of four dynamic fiddlers backed by keyboard and guitar are so tight, so expert, and yet so fun, that it seems only the dead could fail to be entertained.
Lady Carol looks like a gothic Lana Turner with a penchant for Arabian Nights. She sings cover versions and originals tinged with darkness, accompanied by herself on ukulele, interspersing these with unexpected comedy.
I’m not usually one to foot-tap or sway during sit-down shows, in fact it irritates me if I’m honest when neighbours develop suddenly into strumming beat-hunters, yet Music from the Penguin Café seem to take over my feet as they played at the Queen’s Hall. Our row of seats beating in time with the queer array of instruments on stage was a visible show of how well the folk orchestra had hooked us.
The Queen’s Hall is peppered with an odd mixture of older folk fans, mostly occupying the pew-like seats that edge the main room, and bright, trendy young things who cluster in groups of four or five on the dancefloor. A typical Festival audience this: a cocktail of die-hard fans rubbing shoulders with chipper hipsters hoping to be entertained but little caring by what as long as there’s lashings of lager involved.
Bach for Breakfast is quite the preferable way to do mornings. The room is overflowing with classical music enthusiasts who are here to relax and be gently entertained over a cup of coffee.
Described as having “best kept secret status” and “one of Scotland’s most prolific song-writers”, Michael Marra is not widely known but is highly regarded, with a fiercely loyal and passionate fan-base. As part of the Acoustic Music Centre at St. Brides, he performed his outstanding set in an eerie stretch of the church.
‘Hullo’ says the Hagrid like lead violinist from Shooglenifty, the six man fusion of music which could only be vaguely described as traditionally Scottish. Indeed the sounds experienced are far more international than Scottish. I can only imagine how the group ever actually managed to produce the sounds they do.
A wee room at the back of Valvona and Crolla, a wee nip of whiskey and a wee crowd sets the scene for a gossip about Rabbie Burns and his various, and often nefarious, dealings with the lassies.
Shoo Shoo Baby, the very glamorous misses Anna Braithwaite and Tanya Holt, accompanied by their faithful pianist and Musical Director, Michael Roulston (aka Fingers) immerse you in an evening’s education in Cabaret galore.
Rarely a day goes by when Calvin Harris is not heard on the radio or seen on TV. His production skills are widely recognised and backed up by a steady succession of successful collaborations (Kylie, Dizee Rascall) and he’s rumoured to be working with pop sensation, Lady Gaga, at some point in the future.
Hard of hearing? You will be after seeing this show! The pace and energy of this show is unlike anything I have witnessed before, with the drummers being as much athletes as musicians. This show displays a fantastic combination of drumming, music, dance and physical exertion – you need look no further than the drummer’s faces to see that they throw themselves into the rhythm of the performance.
It is the sixth year for this African choir at the Fringe and it is becoming the show that should not be missed. Consisting of a mix of traditional Zulu and contemporary African gospel music, the hour-long show is flawless and perfect in pitch and pace.
Sexy, hip and funny, Rachael Sage is a New Yorker through and through. Her show at City Nightclub was lively and captivating bringing together her jazzy, pop tinged voice with a piano, a stand up bassist and a drummer. The sound was polished and professional and miles away from amateur hour.
This show is like marmite: you’ll either love it or hate it. David Benson’s performance is unarguably impressive and his voice brings back to life the best of Noel Coward. However, the show is very specifically directed at Noel Coward fans and the British in particular with songs such as ‘London Pride’ (although I’m not sure his fans are particularly international anyway).
Everyone can see her knickers, and absolutely no one is complaining.
It’s an odd site – even at the Fringe – to see a group of respectable middle class ladies getting so involved in a rendition of Back in Black by a group of singers. ‘Bloody fantastic’ one uncontrollably yelps out as another fans herself from excitement. Everyone is clapping along and sporadic whistles pepper the stage.
Life is tweet
