The Divine Comedy – Glasgow Royal Concert Hall

I bought The Divine Comedy’s first album way back in the day and picked up several more over the years, but somehow I never managed to see them live.

Considering how long I’d been listening to Neil Hannon’s music, that felt like a glaring omission in my gig-going career.

Then I heard the new album, Rainy Sunday Afternoon.

I enjoyed it so much that I decided it was finally time to put that right.

One of the joys of The Divine Comedy has always been Neil Hannon himself. Few songwriters can combine wit, intelligence, melancholy and grand orchestral pop quite as effortlessly as he does. His songs can be funny one minute, heartbreaking the next and often both at the same time.

As a live performer, he proved every bit as entertaining as I had hoped.

Unfortunately, my filming skills proved somewhat less impressive.

My plan was simple enough. I placed my camera on the floor to discreetly record the show and settled in to enjoy the music. The only problem was that I’d forgotten my glasses.

This turned out to be a significant oversight.

Without them, I had absolutely no idea what the camera was pointing at. It wasn’t until later that I discovered I had successfully recorded a magnificent feature-length documentary about the venue’s ceiling.

While I’m sure the ceiling worked very hard and gave an excellent performance, I didn’t think anybody visiting the website would appreciate watching it for over an hour while Neil Hannon occasionally drifted into frame.

As a result, most of the footage below is audio only.

Trust me, it’s for the best.

Thankfully, things improved towards the end of the evening.

At one point Neil encouraged the audience to give something back, told everyone to get up on their feet and invited us to have a bit of a dance. Seeing my opportunity, I picked up the camera and finally started filming properly.

The result is that the final part of the concert was captured in all its glory, including plenty of the classic songs people had come to hear.

So if you’re wondering why the visual quality suddenly improves, that’s the reason.

There was, however, one additional distraction throughout the evening.

Directly in front of us sat a couple who appeared to have mistaken the concert for the final scene of a romantic comedy.

For most of the show they were draped over each other, whispering, cuddling and generally behaving as though nobody else existed in the building. Annoying, certainly, but manageable.

The real challenge came later.

When everyone stood up to enjoy the final part of the concert, they remained standing long after everybody else had sat back down. Had I been directly behind them, I suspect I would have politely suggested they continue their evening elsewhere.

Preferably somewhere involving a room and a door.

Instead, I spent much of the show trying not to let their drunken, overly affectionate antics distract me from what was happening on stage.

Thankfully, Neil Hannon was more than capable of holding my attention.

The performance itself was excellent. Songs from Rainy Sunday Afternoon sat comfortably alongside older material, and hearing tracks I’d been listening to for decades performed live at last felt strangely satisfying. The years of waiting had been worth it.

Looking back, the evening contained just about everything you’d expect from a concert-going adventure: great music, technical incompetence, mildly irritating audience members and a triumphant finale.

Most importantly, I finally got to see The Divine Comedy live.

Only a few decades later than intended.

The audio recordings below capture most of the evening, while the final videos allow you to actually see what was happening on stage once I realised I had accidentally become a specialist ceiling cameraman.

When Neil asked the crowd if they were ready to give back and told everyone to get up and dance, I picked up the camera and managed to film the last part of the show in full effect. Hope you enjoy the classics.

This couple were all over each other all the way through the show and they didn’t stop when they were standing up and everyone else had sat down. If I was sat behind them I would have told them to get a room but instead I spent most of the gig trying not to get riled up by their drunken overly lovely dovey antics.