By Bexy

When I told my mates what I was doing tonight they didn’t really try and hide their indifference. And I don’t really blame them. I am, after all, only going to see Dan Mangan, who – to quote the man himself – is: “just another dude who plays guitar”.

Oh Dan how wrong you are. Let me tell you first, before anyone else, that this man is exceptional. A Canadian folk-rock singer, I only discovered Mangan this summer – courtesy of Your Niece. On record he sounds good, really good. But I’ve been told that it’s as a live act that he comes fully into his own. Walking on stage he tells us that he’s an “open book”, bashfully apologising for only writing songs about himself. The crowd, however, doesn’t seem to mind and the anticipation becomes palpable.

And then, starting with ‘You Silly Git’, he delicately opens his book and sings: “She says the joys of life are lost among the living, so I guess all the souvenirs are for her health.” Within minutes I have tears in my eyes. There is nothing else but me and his voice. The more he sings the more his voice becomes a physical entity, is beating up the crowd with its raw blast of exquisite energy. And we revel in the pain.

Mangan is reveling too. He can’t get over the reception, had no idea how much we loved him. He keeps pausing as he sings; pausing in disbelief at the reactions we’re giving him. ‘Sold’ has me dancing and I’m singing and (unusually when I sing) everyone is smiling. Interestingly, it’s the album tracks that I usually pay less attention to that are really doing it for me tonight. I listen to ‘Sold’ and ‘Basket’ as though for the first time.

Mangan is a poet. He explains that ‘Tina’s Glorious Comeback’ is about how Vancouver is no longer what it was, singing: I’m ambitious when giving up/ Never thinking clear enough/ But we’re not Elvis anymore/ We’re not Frankie in his wild years / We’re not Tina’s Glorious Comeback / We’re not us. His songs have a heart rendering, confessional quality so intimate that you’re left with the odd and unmistakable feeling that somebody has confided in you, you are his confidant- and a very grateful at that.

The encore is, of course, the epic ‘Robots’. He has no choice; the crowd is chanting it desperately. He laughs as he introduces it to us, reminding us, (as if we need it), that the chorus goes: Robots need love to / They want to be loved by you. And it is brilliant; we all sing it together, not in our bedrooms or front rooms, not under our breath sitting on the tube, but loud and clear with Dan Mangan himself. Wow.