Thank you very much for coming to see us play tonight!

When I was younger, eleven or twelve, I used to walk past the Langside Hall and daydream that one day I would play in a band, and one day I would play here. I never went inside the building, I just marvelled at the cut of the stone against the blue sky and the stretch of the park, and the view up and down Kilmarnock Road with the lanes drifting off and the cafes.

That's a feeling, really. And I still get it walking around here. I know these gestures are small, I know that. But I'm sure the traffic sounds different, and I'm sure the curve of the streets and the hills makes the light different. They change the shadows, definitely. It's Saturday and there should be calm and a slowness, drying oily puddles in back courts and a quiet that hangs so you can hear the buzzing of insects if you choose to.

Ach, it'll be kicking off when you leave! A queue for The Shed and an argument in The Blue Lagoon. But this is our Saturday, and the type of Saturday we choose to play.

I've been doing all sorts of preparation for tonight! Yesterday I thought it would have been great to dress the stage as a set from a 1963 Coronation Street, Albert Tatlock's front room as Ken announces he's leaving uni. We would've had standard lamps and a stout table... and I thought that would work, as Aoife and Maya could SIT at the table, and Basil could play his mandolin there... we'd have an upturned bike in the corner, mid-puncture repair, newspapers spread around, and flickering lights catching the dust of the hall. I swear I am going to do that one day.

I've gathered songs together, songs to fit this occasion. I've been listening to old cassettes, picking through them for voices and for people. I found a recording of Wichita Lineman on one, straight off medium wave, the song cut short for a news report of the loosening of Callaghan's grip. The peals of the guitar led into the report, and I felt tiny listening to it, I forgot where I was.

That's how I want our band to sound. I want it to be something beautiful and gentle and kind. I wrote this out years ago, but I never had the tools to do it. Instead I would plan playing in Langside Hall, think about the bounce of strings in soft rooms I'd never seen, think about capturing the feeling of railings and turned earth and cold hands. For a while I couldn't admit to it, it felt too precious, it felt faintly ridiculous. But there is no little filthiness across this city, and sometimes cynicism and sometimes cruelty. On balance, it doesn't hurt to try to hold on for any moments of perfection you might find.

We'lll run on strict municipal rules. But please use the facilities! Use the bar, and run your hand over the green tiling, and run your finger over the sills for authentic Glasgow dust.

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