The transition to Shack’s honest, well-honed songwriting couldn’t be more pronounced. From the sublimely ridiculous to the ridiculously sublime. Shack are in rare, exquisitely dishevelled form – Mick Head looking even more like a dissipated boxer than usual with patchwork bruises and stitched-up forehead (the resolution of a disagreement with a cab driver allegedly). As they morve from the hazily picturesque Streets Of Kenny to the euphoric Natalie’s Party, Mick sits down on the floor, opens a can of lager and watches in amazement as the crowd jump up and down, as if it’s something he thought he’d never live to see. And, when hundreds of voices join in the chorus to Comedy, he actually looks so overwhelmed with emotion he might break down and cry.
Shack have captured hearts and minds that for a very long time seemed closed to them, and, clearly, they’ve emerged as tonight’s most adored heroes. This is beyond triumph. It’s redemption.