Port O’Brien at Crawdaddy

“Um, I guess I’m going to play a song.” The fantastically named Zebedee Zaitz, guitarist of Port O’Brien, steps forward to the main microphone with a mixture of sheepishness and good-natured enthusiasm. “We’re having a little banjo trouble”, he explains. That’s a glossy way of putting it. He has bumped into Cambria Goodwin’s banjo whilst they were both tuning, and knocked the head off it. Literally. Surreal.

Cambria and singer Van Pierszalowski run backstage to try to reattach the headstock of the banjo to the neck by tension or sellotape, and Zeb plays two songs in the mould of Neil Young. They’re more than competent efforts, but it’s not really the start people might have been expecting. Eventually, Cambria re-emerges with an intact instrument, whispering “it’s not your fault” to Zeb as she passes him. Van follows, and with drummer Josh and red-haired bassist Ryan in tow, they get to it.

‘Don’t Take My Advice’, a slow-builder from All We Could Do Was Sing, served as Dublin’s first real introduction to Port O’Brien. They’ve been here before, supporting Tapes ‘n’ Tapes and Sons and Daughters (whom they described as “like Cassandra’s band from Wayne’s World”) in Tripod, but this is their first headline set. It’s also towards the end of a very long year of touring, and that seems to have taken its toll.

For one thing, Van’s idiosyncratic voice is close to collapse for much of the second half of the set. Some of their instruments, as mentioned, are not in the best of condition. They were robbed in Sheffield. And a lot of their set seems to be non-album material, a possible symptom of tour-sickness.

But they bring the fabled energy nonetheless. Songs like ‘Fisherman’s Son’ are imbued with a fresh energy for the live setting. Drums and bass become heavier, and everything is sped up a notch. It suits them, especially this late in a tour where vocal chords might not sustain a folkier vibe as well as would be ideal.

The true Port O’Brien moment, though, whether on record or live, is always the same. The box full of pots, pans and utensils is passed around the crowd, the drums start and fatigued voices prepare themselves for the first “WOAHHHHH” of ‘I Woke Up Today’. It’s a celebratory moment, and the only set-closer possible. There will be no encore, but that doesn’t matter. We’re all in it together on this Tuesday night, and we clatter our saucepans judiciously. Very few bands ever write a song this good, and there’s nothing for it but to enjoy it.