Ballboy

When people talk about intimate shows they tend to waffle on about ageing pop stars standing several feet away and acoustic versions of past hits and... generally miss the point about what intimacy in a live setting really amounts to.

Without meaning to sound condescending, surely the whole nature of this kind of show is to create a bond between the artist and the audience, design a level playing field where one and all is singing from the same hymn sheet as it were? Total participation is the key folks - all for one and one for all. Divide and rule? No sirree, or as Einstein might've said when asked about the future significance of nuclear power, "well, it ain't rocket science is it?"

First up though, are local four-piece Burningman, whose quiet-loud-quiet dynamics mark them out as 'Bizarro' era Wedding Present devotees, whilst drummer Sebastian Tighe seems to be possessed by the twin spectres of John Bonham and Keith Moon, a one man curator of spasmodic motion.

At times though, Burningman do give the impression that they're a little overwhelmed to be playing in front of so many people, and after one bum start too many a catalogue of uneasy silences between songs puts a dampener on their earlier unbridled enthusiasm.

In these times of chew it up and spit it out one hit wonder syndrome, ballboy are a rare commodity in that they actually inspire devotion. The average ballboy fan could be likened to an avid trainspotter or stamp collector, and will probably know more about the band than the collective members themselves, not to mention recite the exact day, date and time each song from their first John Peel session was broadcast or even tell you the exact moment in minutes and seconds where the hidden track appears on the 'I Hate Scotland' EP. But that's another story.

Which just about sums up the ballboy experience in that every song tells a story about the corner of Little Britain they inhabit. At first glance Gordon McIntyre has all the poise and grace of a librarian, yet put him on a stage and he turns into the poet laureate de musique, a hybrid of Robert Burns, Burt Bacherach and Stuart Murdoch. 'Avant Garde Music' and 'You Can't Spend Your Whole Life Hanging Around With Arseholes' may have been conceived in the grim surroundings of Glenrothes but these tales convey a more convincing insight into urban decadence and subversion than a million Dizzee Rascals, McIntyre being more reliant on subtlety and melody rather than fake "Bad Boy" posturing.

'The Time Out Guide' and 'Sex Is Boring' borrow their wisdom and witticisms from the Gedge school of prose rock while 'The Sash My Father Wore' is possibly the most demure yet brutal set of words ever written about religious bigotry and Sectarianism in football. Two teams, two creeds and one city - 'The Wheelbarrow Song' this most definitely isn't.

Some people may dismiss ballboy as being twee or even unambitious, yet if the likes of Coldplay possessed so much as an eighth of the passion embodied by these four Edinburgh eccentrics, the word "uplifting" would actually seem appropriate when describing their product rather than the mere lift music that it undoubtedly is.