Six months ago, ex-pat Mark Geary played this very venue to a highly expectant yet unsuspecting crowd; this time around, while the music has scarcely changed, the set-up is entirely different. Geary has gained supreme confidence in his own performing abilities, and his songs, backed by a full band (including, delightfully, John Hegarty on keyboards, the Jimmy Cake’s Dip on bass and our very own Kim Porcelli on cello) while losing little of their prettiness or delicate beauty, sound even more full-bodied than on record. Under the reddish-hued lights of Whelan’s, ‘America’, ‘Gingerman’ and ‘Adam And Eve’ are imbued with a new meaning, a new power.
It is of course, the truly exquisite relationship between Geary and his audience that is the evening’s star attraction, and it’s precisely this that renders him different from the herd. He attempts to teach his lyrics to his audience, though he’s clearly preaching to the converted. Like well-behaved and eager scholars, they sing when asked, sometimes in harmony, and Geary is clearly blown away, whispering an approving “Beautiful” on more than one occasion. They laugh a little too loudly at his jokes, which come thick and fast, and his innocent, flirty, playful sexuality isn’t lost on them either.
Of course, it’s September 11, and we are in the company of a New York citizen. ‘Volunteer’, written specifically about 9/11, is, curiously enough, sung without any nod to the date or occasion. Perhaps Geary’s own way of marking events is to fill the room with joy and goodwill.
Long may he continue to endear Irish audiences with his tales and songs lovingly crafted in the key of life.