Sophie Zeldin-O’Neill

It was surprising to find myself agreeing to review Calvin Harris. At the moment I was asked, an internal battle immediately commenced between the part of me that just can’t get enough his awesome techno-electro-new-wave-synth-rave-pop vibes dude, and the part of me that was being honest with myself. A breath away from saying no, I contemplated the possibility of learning how to do ‘little fish, big fish, cardboard box’ by a pro, and accepted the challenge.

Calvin Harris came onto the music scene two years ago like a synthesizer through a teenager’s bedroom window, and, during that time, has osmosed into the public consciousness in a big way  – Like most of us, I clearly recall sneaking into a club when I was seventeen and dancing to ‘Girls’,  I can morph into my slightly more ‘ghetto’ alter-ego when ‘Dance Wiv Me’ hits the needle, and ‘Acceptable in the 80s’ has unwittingly become in integral tune on the soundtrack to my life. But that aside, I was going to have to do a little research if I was going to avoid looking like something of a pork chop at a Jewish wedding.

The support act, Mr Hudson, was really quite something. When the lights had dipped, there was a reactionary roar from the audience and the darkness was broken with flash of blinding light heralding his entrance onto the stage. His incredible energy and arresting good looks gave him a fantastic presence on stage that hypnotised the audience into an electronic trance, and filled the room with not only little fish, but big ones too, and more than a few visible cardboard boxes.  He kicked off the night with such recent hits as ‘White Lies’ and the epic ‘Supernova’, a song recorded with the slightly legendary Kanye West, and one which energised the audience to unprecedented levels of roof-raising mania. We were located in the seated section upstairs in the Academy – the best place to appreciate the incredible light show on stage, and far enough away from the throngs that the stack of glow sticks suffocating my arm weren’t going to be drenched in Fosters.

When his work was done, Mr Harris seamlessly picked up where Mr Hudson had left off, entirely redefining the previous hour’s definition of ‘energy’ and performing with verve and unique showmanship that looked, from where I was sitting, to be entirely effortless. This guy is the Duracell bunny of the pop world, and I was left with no doubt in my mind as to why he is at the very top of his game. He may make the eighties look like an era of exquisite style, but boy can he entertain. Clad in his trademark multicoloured hoody, he gave a spectacular performance which showed off his full, heady repertoire of electro mixes and which, as the album promised, ensured that every single audience member was well and truly ‘Ready for the weekend’.

Calvin Harris is a performer in the true sense of the word – More than having worked, during his short career, with some of the cream of pop music royalty and inspired a cult following of shutter shade-donning fans, this man is one of the best things to come out of Scotland since the fried Mars bar. I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I’ll be swapping my collection of Simon and Garfunkel posters for florescent leg-warmers and rave paint, but stroll by the viaduct late one Friday night and it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine you’ll hear a synthesizer echoing from one of the terraces…