An Evening of Doomin' and Gloomin' with the Incomparable Mick Flannery

If I could only see one contemporary artist perform live for the rest of my days, it would probably be Mr. Mick Flannery. Shout out to MySpace for introducing a melancholic 20-year-old me to his music all those years ago. Since then, I’ve seen him live in Ireland and several times here in Vancouver, including at last year’s Folk Fest when I was heavily pregnant. I don't want to overstate it, but this man's music has helped me through all my adult life stages—young and single, in a relationship, and married and pregnant with my first and second babies. Things are more hectic than ever these days, so it was a real treat when my partner and I got to see him perform again at the Blueshore Financial Centre in North Vancouver recently.

It was an incredibly intimate show. You could hear a pin drop as the audience remained entranced by the man and his music throughout the entire performance. Our seats were fourth-row centre, and unlike many shows I've been to lately, we actually had a clear view of the stage. Thank the Lord they were designated seats too. Yes,yes, I know—I'm old. For this performance, Mick was without his band, but I love his solo shows just as much. He's a masterful storyteller who needs nothing more than his gravelly, world-weary voice, a piano, and a guitar. It's perfection. His show opener was "Boston", which I'm guessing is his favourite track to perform live, seeing as how he has opened the show with it the past three times I've seen him. It also happens to be one of the rare 'happy' love songs in his song catalogue. Out of all his tracks, it's probably in my top five. He then led into "Baby Talk", originally performed as a duet with SON, and then to "Take it on the Chin", which is one of the older songs in his set, and my husband's favourite. Next up was “Safety Rope,” a formative love song for me, with the admission that he didn’t really know what the fuck he was talking about when he wrote it at 22—and maybe that’s exactly why I love it. It’s one of those quintessentially earnest relationship songs, written before time and experience have had a chance to reshape your understanding of what love even is.

Between songs, he treated the audience to anecdotes saturated in that trademark wit of his—wry and self-deprecating, always nestled somewhere between endearing awkwardness and painful self-awareness. These little moments always make the show for me.

A serious, emotionally guarded person (he reads Cormac McCarthy—what do you expect?), he has a way of pointing out the absurdity woven through life’s bleakness. It touches something in me I can’t quite explain. And yet, without fail, a sweet, boyish chuckle sometimes slips out before he launches into the next song. It’s just one way to manage the sorrow amid the rot, I guess. Mick gets that. He always has. Though he’s matured as an artist over the sixteen years I’ve been a purveyor of his music, that sensitivity has never left him. It still lives beneath the aloof exterior.

An exquisite songwriter and storyteller, Mick remains unwavering in his musical offerings—each song rich with dialogue, excruciating truths, and meanings carved with scalpel-like precision. He cut to the bone with songs like "I'll Be Out Here", "The Small Fire", "Machine", "Star to Star", and "Get What You Give". In a moment of levity, he also played "Fuck Off World" which he consistently rejects as being a serious song—much to my disappointment, because I always seem to play it when I'm in an exceptionally pissed off state. It probably should've come with the disclaimer: not meant to be taken literally, Melissa. Oh well, let it stand as my guilty pleasure song.

Given that Mick is humble and not one to get high off his own supply, he predictably throws in gems at every show that he didn’t write himself—usually something by one of his cherished mentors, John Prine—and they’re never random. This time, he chose “Hello in There,” a devastating song that speaks to the loneliness and isolation experienced by elderly people, and the desperate need to feign connection amid the absence of loved ones. But the standout covers of the night were the hilariously sardonic “Checkers Playing Gutter Bitch,” written by Jeffrey Martin, and the gut-wrenching “Kilkelly,” based on old family letters excavated in an attic. As for the crowd-pleasing "Checkers"—on the surface it’s meant to be humorous, but I’m guessing Mick plays it because it speaks to the very human need we have to be reductive and take the easy route—as he sings, “the best ideas, they fit on hats and bumper stickers.” Quite an apt observation, considering our current political climate. I’ve heard a few Jeffrey Martin songs before, but I’m definitely going to dig deeper into his work after this show.

While most of the show was what I expected (in a good way—Mick never lets a girl down), I was surprised at the end when he closed with an aching brand-new song—“Something Beautiful,” which resonated deeply with my tendency toward melancholy. It was probably the one moment in the show where I had a smidgen of regret that I didn’t have my phone out to record the performance, especially since it’s going to be a while before his next album. But as my temptation leans toward recording everything—and I’m trying to be more present with my experiences rather than aestheticize them—it was still just as lovely to enjoy the show relatively phone-free.

After all, as Mick’s music has often taught me over the years, there’s nothing like being in the moment and dissecting the beauty and the pain later—always with surgical precision.

Can't wait to catch you again, Mick!