Mark Eitzel @ Tobergal Lane

And so, some 45 dates into his European tour, Mark Eitzel makes his first visit to Sligo in what is the very last show of his Tony Bennett-esque reworking of his back catalogue. It beggars belief that a man who's been performing in various guises since 1984 or so and who's responsible for two of the finest albums of the 8o's and 90's should remain a cult indulgence. But so it is.
On stage tonight Eitzel is joined by American Music Club collaborator Marc Capelle and it's a combination which works wonderfully - the latter a wise-cracking Dean to the former's self-loathing Sinatra. Eitzel's shows are fraught yet compelling affairs - in spite of his majestic way with words and a voice that haunts as much as it beguiles, you frequently feel as if you're intruding upon some personal tragedy. On 'Mission Rock' for example, Eitzel explains how a friend's fear that she may have caught AIDS from using a dirty needle inspired the song;

"If I could talk it out of you I would,
If I could beat it out of you I would,
But all I can do is follow stupidly behind,
And watch you walk to the ocean in your mind."

It's uncomfortable viewing sure, but it makes for a compelling show. An Eitzel performance leaves the audience feeling less like a punter and more like a voyeur.
Equally compelling is how the reworking of his old favourites breathes new life into the songs. 'Outside this Bar' and tonight's closer 'Nightwatchman' are allowed space to breathe, with Capelle's subtle accompaniment merely showcasing Eitzel's intense connection to songs he wrote over 20 years ago. He is man incapable of going through the motions.
But what holds the performance together, what grips the audience from beginning to the end of the performance is his voice which has rarely sounded better. Opener 'I Left my Heart in San Francisco' is sung with tenderness, 'Why Won't You Say' with a quiet desperation. At the age of 50, Eitzel is singing with as much conviction than at any period in his career. Freed of the encumberance of an acoustic guitar and utterly confident in Capelle's accompaniment, Eitzel throws himself into his songs to a remarkable extent, frequently staggering to the stage front wrapped up in his own words, lost in his own music.
And yet, to document the evening's entertainment as an intensely harrowing affair devoid of relief would be to miss the point. Eitzel is a consummate raconteur and his between song banter with Capelle and the audience punctures any sense of self-martyrdom. At one stage Capelle jokingly insists on playing a piano solo, to which Eitzel retorts "I'm the fucking singer". 'Johnny Mathis' Feet' is lovingly retitled 'Robbie Williams' Feet' for the night and finds the singer on his knees shredding the setlist, incapable of keeping a straight face. Songs stop and restart as Eitzel banters with Capelle. 'Patriot's Heart' loses some of its original bitterness and becomes almost - in parts - a Danny La Rue pastiche.
But then Eitzel closes the show with 'Nightwatchman', a song which, he explains, he wrote about the six months he spent on a bedside vigil beside his mother watching her die of cancer;

"I remember how I let you down,
Everything you say reminds me of the pain,
How you lost your dignity,
Passing in and out of a dream."

It's a poignantly perfect way to the end the show. Quite an evening.