Paolo Nutini: The Real Deal

Earlier this month, I played a show in Columbus with my friend Baxter Orr. Just as the show was getting ready to start, in walks a white kid sporting an afro and Hammer pants (I’m not even kidding) with his entourage, which includes his promoter, an older black guy. We soon realize that the show had been double booked by the venue unbeknownst to anyone else.

The promoter and the kid decide that he should get to perform first. OK, fine. He plays his set (2 long hours of really sappy, bad John Mayer wannabe love songs mixed with beatboxing – again, not even kidding) and then leaves. We get to go on 2 hours late. On the way home late that night, my cousin Ryan, who was my guitar tech for the night, tells me that the promoter came up to him and told him, “Do you play? ‘Cause this kid’s the real deal. I’m telling ya, he’s the REAL DEAL.” This night, with it’s skinny white kid and an older black man, reminded me of a night a few weeks ago.

On September 11^th of this year, I was at my apartment getting ready for bed. I flipped on the TV and caught the tail end of Craig Ferguson’s late night talk show just as he was introducing the musical guest for the evening. Most nights, I don’t get very excited about the late night musical performances for a variety of reasons.

1. The artist is someone I really admire, but the performance is less than moving for lack of enthusiasm, lack of venue atmosphere, or in my case lack of a high quality entertainment system. I can never hear the bass player.
2. The artist is someone I’ve already heard and might even like a little, but they are performing their over-played single. It’s like watching live reruns. Déjà vu-ish.
3. It’s just not my thing. Singing to a track while being backed by female dancers of questionable talent is not an acceptable form of entertainment for me, no matter how good your voice is or isn’t. {{{cough Mario Vasquez cough}}}

So, on September 11^th, 2006 when Craig Ferguson announced the musical guest and I didn’t recognize the name, I thought, “Hmm… probably a number three on my list above.”

Boy, was I wrong.

The band begins to play and this hurt looking skinny white kid with big lips starts to sing. What? That doesn’t sound like a nineteen year old white kid! Where’s the older black guy that’s actually doing the singing? Come on, Ray Charles has got to be in the back there somewhere – behind the drummer maybe? Nope. Before my very eyes (through the magic of television), was a young, white punk from Scotland, that could pass for just another emo kid, singing with as much soul as a seasoned jazz crooner. I was hooked.

If you don’t already know of him, may I introduce to you a real deal, Paolo Nutini.

From an English TV show, I believe: