Joseph Arthur, the amazing technological dreamboat

Whistlebinkies, Edinburgh

FOR a man whose name has been mentioned in the same breath as Dylan, Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits, Joseph Arthur is very much a cult phenomenon. Even by the cultish standards of the singer songwriter world.

Signed to Peter Gabriel’s Real World label, the gangly New Yorker looks as though he could have been purpose-built for the more bohemian end of the acoustic coffee shop circuit. Unkempt of hair and awkward of manner, he is a cross between the Eels’ E and every shy drifter who busked to work up the Greyhound fare to the next town.

At present, he has next to no public profile and yet before this gig starts young women are daring one another to go up to Arthur and ask him to sign their copies of his album. One pair try to muster up the courage to have their photo taken with him but don’t quite manage it. Almost imperceptibly, earnest young men who appear to have grown their sideburns in homage to Arthur begin to cluster around the edges of the venue. It’s a bit like stumbling into a secret ceremony where Arthur is the slacker high priest.

Arthur’s unique selling point is that in effect he builds his own band for each song through looping samples of his voice or guitar. By recording and then repeating a single sung or strummed note, he builds up a rhythmic backing track for himself and gives a whole new meaning to the idea of the one man band.

It is a clever trick to watch but one that works best when it is the accompaniment to Arthur’s voice rather than the main focus point. Throughout his marathon two-hour set, there are occasions where the gadgetry takes centre stage and things take an unfortunate psychedelic prog rock turn.

But for the most part, it is Arthur’s songs and voice that are in the spotlight. There is a laidback warmth to his songs that disguises the existential angst of the lyrics. Not overly fond of one-liners, his material tends to ponder topics such as the validity of mercy, rather than the pop staple of boy meets girl.

It could all be a bit solemn if he didn’t have such a firm grasp of dynamics and pacing within both his set and his songs. From gravely rasp to softer sighs delivered at breakneck speed or drawled like honey, Arthur shades his material with enough texture to keep it vivid.

There is a talent at work there but whether or not this concert displayed it at its best is more debatable. The cult of Arthur is growing though. There was an audience of about 30 when he picked up his guitar and about 80 when he put it away. They were all rapt.