Two songs into his set, David Kitt apologised for the amount of between-numbers tuning he'd have to do. He only has the one guitar, you see. With that, the instrument let out a brief yelp as a string snapped. Kitt had brought no replacements.
Some minutes later, the man they call Kittser was gently beguiling a jam-packed auditorium, accompanied by two able musicians, a drum machine and a borrowed guitar. If Kitt's followers were attracted by his delicately striking folktronica, their loyalty was earned by his disarming naturalness on stage. With keyboard player Paul Smyth assuming a lotus position on the floor, the muted beats and looping melody of Sound Fades With Distance provoked an almost meditative state of rapture.
Kitt is a rare creature, a musician simultaneously capable of a dreamer's romantic abandon and the affable restraint of a cool pragmatist. Untainted guitar melodies combine with murky industrial beats to animate the paradox. As Kitt previewed the stirring Into The Breeze and You Know What I Want from his forthcoming album, The Big Romance, a hushed full house heard every scraped string, every unaffected lyric.
Between numbers, Kitt gamely responded to each good-natured audience heckle and continually thanked Paul O'Reilly for giving full meaning to the title of support act. Lending his voice (as well as his guitar string) to set favourite Another Love Song, O'Reilly was a satisfying substitute for David's 10-year-old brother, Robbie Kitt.
After a number of cover-versions had received Kitt's funky folk treatment, new release Song From Hope St (Brooklyn, NY) was celebrated with an upbeat performance. Following a beautifully stripped-down version of Saturdays, an all-out cacophony of clarinet shrieks, huge bass grooves and a throttled Dictaphone on Headphones raised the roof. Catch David Kitt quick, but do him a favour and bring some guitar strings.
