Fionn Regan

Ideally, it's the way that all gigs (in the non rock world) should be. Upstairs in a pub, a few tables, a few candles, hushed silence and one man, his words and a guitar. It's an ideal sort of night.

The small, appreciative crowd have gathered on a rainy November evening to watch Irish folksman Fionn Regan. The last time he donned a stool in anger, it was supporting compatriot Gemma Hayes on her acoustic tour around the country, he's striking out on his own tonight, and early indications are good.

Amiable and affable, Fionn introduces the first three songs by claiming that he'd written them before he'd hit double figures in age. If he has, its miraculous, even if he hasn't, they're pretty smart. Its an easy comparison to make, but Regan's way with a listless autumnal-invoking song reminds of archetypical English balladeer, Nick Drake. His guitar playing too, is reminiscent of the maudlin one; strange tunings and arythmical chord sequences at odds with the standard minor chord misery chosen by many, less accomplished acts.

Songs like 'Reservoir', 'Noah (ghost in a sheet)' and '_After The Fall_' already sound like old friends by the time they are finished; each one a little story that unfolds with the music. It's a short spot, but its enough to promise a distinguished future.

Catch him in someone's basement soon.