Son Of Dave

As Benjamin Darvil, who goes by the band name Son Of Dave enters club 100’s stage, he immediately quiets the bustlingly busy room as the audience gaze in wonder at a man dressed in one-piece robot decorated pyjamas, a red silky dressing gown, a fedora and dark black shades. As an onlooker shouts to him 'play some tunes,' the atmosphere lightens up, and nerves turn to giggles when Darvil sarcastically retorts with 'yeah, I’m gonna take your advice all night,oh buddy you’ve just sunk the ship.' The crowd take this as cue to shout and interrupt, with cries of 'I’m your son, Dave' echoing through the crowd.

Darvil begins the start of his bizarre, encapsulating and entertaining set, with harmonica and microphone in hand, recording sounds to play on loop through a foot pedal, while creating his own drum-beat with his beat-box voice, combined with a mic at his feet for extra rhythm as he taps them. He is a one man band but to any listening ears it would appear that there are several musicians on stage. Indeed at one point in his set he exclaims that he is 'lonely and a little frustrated,I need some help’, and drags an unsuspecting couple onto the stage with him. They sit and drink wine while he carries on with his set, intermittently thrusting the microphone toward their bemused mouths. Bewildered, the couple remain on stage for the rest of the show, immersed in smoke released from the dry ice Darvil pours into the wine cooler, or awkwardly blowing on their party Poopers that Darvil thrust to them.

This spectacle of musical extravagance is more than a common gig, but a show of entertainment, comedy and an eclectic range of sounds impressively created by one man, his foot-stomping beat, his bluesy-grunge voice and his faithful harmonica – which he plays with a diversity to be commended. Although Darvil’s eccentricities and demeanour may come across akin to that of an escaped mental patient inspired by an entire blues band, it is arguable that genius comes in many forms, and a man who can produce invisible band members all by himself deserves a hearty round of applause, which was given with no qualms.

His quirky mannerisms are accepted and adored. He doesn’t pause between his songs but carries swiftly on, using his voice to create sounds ranging from bird twittering, to a revving engine after exclaiming that 'a bunch of Latino’s show up in a f***ing low-rider, ruining your picnic.' As Darvil sings his newest single Ain’t Going to Nike town he adds humming on loop, sounding like there are ten backing vocalists behind him. His intrepid gospel blues with a rock edged vibe is brought out by this summer beat, sure to become a favourite amongst the alternative grungy clubs.

Amongst many, one memorable song, unique by its eerie wind sounds which Darvil plays on repeat, as he begins a story-song tale about his 'great great granddaddy in the igloo, singing right into our mouths, who was part French and part albino Inuit, who froze to death when nobody clapped at his song.' We are right there with him, in this fantastical creation of Darvil’s imagination. He stands up on his chair, stamping around, oblivious to his surroundings and immersed in his own creation of sound.

When all was winding down at the end of the show, Darvil re-appeared for an energetic encore, simultaneously dancing and shouting 'We’re having a nice hippy jam, you and me. I’m feeling really really good, and able to sustain this for a long time.' This ending highlights what he was all about – one man creating an environment above and beyond our age of indy-rock generic beats but transports us back into a time and place where genres merge, people were friendlier and bluesy-hippy-rock tunes were an acceptable and common combination. This is why he works, why we love him and why he is gaining increasing popularity round the grapevine - it is something refreshingly eccentric.

The show culminates with Darvil dancing off the stage, after the whole audience participants in the humming of a tune entirely new to them. 'Ok, bye' he says, sunglasses on once more and off he goes. We are left wondering whether we imagined this whole spectacle, if it weren’t for his encore, and the gig-goers pounding heads the following day, it would be easy to believe that the whole night was merely the creation of an over active imagination.

www.myspace.com/thesonofdave
www.sonofdave.blogspot.com