Love in the air: Tim Burgess at Exeter Phoenix

Tim Burgess, Exeter Phoenix, Thursday 19 September 2013

Perhaps it has something to do with Tim Burgess' keen practice of Transcendental Meditation, but rarely I have watched such a relaxed and admirably unshowy gig from a commercially successful artist.

Indeed, a low-key gig at the Exeter Phoenix - part of a UK autumn tour - seemed pretty apt for the laid-back recent solo work of the Charlatans' front man.

Topped with an enviably lush mop of Dougal-esque blonde hair (Burgess is 46 now and nigh on 25 years of rock 'n' roll has been impossibly kind to him), Burgess smiled and eased his way through a set mostly culled from his two solo albums, with a sprinkling of re-modelled Charlatans' classics to satisfy the adoring 'Charlies' fans in the audience.

The night was high on between-song banter from the audience which underlined the informal mood; an atmosphere you could have cut with a rubber knife - but edgy, seat-of-your-pants thrill-seeking was not what the evening was about.

Shrugging off microphone problems that would have tested more diva-ish 90s front men, Burgess and co. were on chipper form. The tight five-piece band - including Charlatans' guitarist Mark Collins on acoustic guitar - unfussily recreated the elegant country-rock nuggets from 2012's Oh No I Love You.

Co-written with Kurt Wagner, singer-songwriter of Nashville's critically lauded 'alt-country' outfit Lambchop, this warm-toned record is ripe with soulful tales of middle-aged regret, heartbreak and joy. Wagner's poetic lyrics are matched by a generous, slow-burning melodicism, a combination not unlike Wagner's own enlightened, hushed, tear-stained confessionals.

Beginning the set with the unassuming The Doors Of Then which possesses a melody so sweetly understated, you wonder quite how it has managed to worm its way into your brain as you find yourself still humming it on a loop the next morning. Between this and the encore's contented finale with the blue-eyed soul of White, we get recent gently-countrified morsels like The Graduate and The Economy and the poppier Oh My Corazon; plus rearranged versions of Charlatans' classics The Only One I Know and North Country Boy, shorn of their Stones-y swagger.

As we sing along with The Only One I Know's Byrds-derived refrain "everyone has been burned before/everybody knows the pain", you can't help but be touched hearing these classic moments of youthful self-mythologising played by their older, perhaps slightly wiser progenitor in more reflective form; a little amused - a little wistful over those heady days of the, erm, 1990s.

You realise too just what a good singer Burgess is - the Ian Brown-isms of his early years matured with deeper soulful tones and an occasional break into an affecting falsetto.

Sadly there is no A Case For Vinyl (performed instead as a poem for the show's intro in the style of Wagner's version on the recent remix album Oh No I Love You More), the gorgeous early hours break-up conceit that is the strung-out highlight of Oh No I Love You; but it was that kind of evening - no demands, no stress, no fanfare, just sweetly sung and played tunes. Sometimes, amid all the bluster and the hype and the hip, such simplicity hits the sweet spot.

"You're beautiful Tim," came a cry from the audience. "We're all beautiful" said Tim in reponse. It was that sort of night. Oh no, we love you Tim.