Canadian troubadour Ron Sexsmith is the man you want in a crisis, such is the wholly pleasurable, pacifying effect of his music – unstintingly melodic, mellow and suffused with a naturally plaintive quality, this was deep easy listening to satiate the soul.
Oran Mor, Glasgow ****
On this outing, Sexsmith was marking the 20th anniversary of his Other Songs album,with a few tunes from the record, nothing fancy. It transpires that little has changed in his musical world since its release. Like The Ramones, he got it right first time, and has continued to unearth ravishing roots pop nuggets ever since.
Selections from his latest album, The Last Rider, held their own in classic company, from the homely wisdom of Worried Song to the rollicking power pop of new single Radio, from Man At The Gate, his exquisitely mournful farewell to his former Toronto neighbourhood, to the rapturous Who We Are Right Now, which he claimed to have submitted to One Direction. Their loss was our gain.
His band were on hand to supply lush arrangements and mellifluous harmonies throughout, not to mention a big Beatley finish to Breakfast Ethereal, while support act Lori Cullen duetted on the classy Autumn Light. But a Sexsmith solo slot was also something to cherish.
While his hardcore fans and fellow musicians have long known that Sexsmith was something special, it seems criminal that songs such as the blushingly romantic Secret Heart and the precious Gold In Them Hills are not household tunes.