Given Mrs. Toad and I shall be spending the weekend at the Fence Collective’s Homegame Festival in Fife I thought I might take the opportunity to mention some of the unsung heroes of their roster this week, so that I can rave about the new finds when I get back. They may be known for James Yorkston and King Creosote, but what about the smaller artists – the ones, to an extent, that make Fence Fence.

It is rare that I get much more than a non-commital shrug from Mrs. Toad about the music I play but last year, at our first Homegame, even she was excited about one act who stood head and shoulders above the others. So much so that, despite our rather tatty financial status*, we both agreed we shouldn’t leave Anstruther without the album. That chap was a fellow called Adam Beattie and he played an absolutely captivating set of blues-folk with the assistance of no more than an acoustic guitar accompanied by a double bass.

Now hooked up with a band called the Consultants, it’s difficult to tell what he’s up to at the moment. I’ve emailed him to ask, so I’ll let you know as soon as I find out anything.

Anyhow, digressions aside, the album is fantastic. It’s all typically introverted, thoughtful Glaswegian storytelling, mixed with a few rambling inner monologues. Something about his voice is really emotionally engaging, and at times he sounds like a slightly bluesier version of a young Tom Waits. Owners of The Early Years will know what I’m on about (you know me – any excuse whatsoever to mention Tom Waits). Adam’s not playing this year, it seems, which is a shame, but it’s worth finding out what this chap is up to – he’s a talented fella if you ask me.

Tom Waits – I’m Your Late Night Evening Prostitute
Adam Beattie – Lonesome Pigeon
Adam Beattie – Bank Street
Adam Beattie – Seabreeze

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*The reason for this is ludicrous actually. We went for a posh meal on the Friday and I ordered a bottle of red wine to accompany our fish as I don’t hold with all this red/white with such and such bollocks. I drink wine I like with food I like and if you think that is crass then you are a bit of a dick. Anyhow, when the waitress appeared, proffering a bottle of white instead, with exactly the same name, I thought I must have been mistaken about the colour of the wine and didn’t say anything. After all, we were both having fish, so a bit of white wasn’t going to hurt. On receiving a rather astronomical bill including a £75 bottle of fine white wine I thought I’d have a quick check of the wine list on the way out and discovered that I had actually ordered a red wine after all. There were two identically named bottles on the wine list – one a reasonably priced bottle of red and one a rather extravagantly priced white. The one time in my life I decide to actually keep my mouth shut for a change, and it costs us nearly fifty quid. Jesus, what an arse I felt!