C. Duncan’s music invites true listening—timeless, intricate, and emotionally rich. At Celtic Connections 2025, his ethereal sound captivated St Luke’s audience, celebrating a decade since Architect with exquisite melodies and heartfelt lyricism.
Remember when listening to music was a complete pastime – in and of itself – a valued leisure activity, even a novel luxury? Remember when simply putting on an album qualified as a singular, active form of entertainment for an audience of one – or more; before songs became commodities, marketed and flogged off at the ever-increasingly-fickle whim of industry executives via their most profitable technologies; and before audiences’ enjoyment was held to ransom by gatekeepers and so-called tastemakers, or algorithms. Remember when music existed for listening’s sake?
C. Duncan clearly does or, at the very least, he is a musician and songwriter well versed in this kind of indulgent “listening music”. See, it’s not only that the act of listening has changed, but that music within the evolving capitalist framework of listening has flexed to certain fiscal constraints. But what if…it didn’t? What if the music didn’t fold and instead bid its audience to follow down a different path. Well, this is where audiences would find C. Duncan in 2025.
A classicist of many forms, C. Duncan has not become a viral sensation. He doesn’t make the sort of 30-second earworms that get trapped in your head for days at a time; rather, what he offers are songs that feel immediately familiar, timeless, and yet sound completely fresh and unique. He offers measured instrumentation, delicately woven melodies, interesting-but-satisfying cadences and honest lyrics. He offers songs that exist for listening’s sake.
It’s hard to believe that it’s already been ten years since the release of C. Duncan’s debut album, Architect, and at the same time it feels like Scotland’s bedroom pop prodigy has been around since records began. To celebrate the release of his fifth album, It’s Only A Love Song, Duncan (the C stands for Chris) plays to a politely seated crowd at St Luke’s as part of this year’s Celtic Connections’ programme. It’s a fairly modest showing to begin with but fills out, both in volume and quality, as support act Adam Ross serves up some jaunty pop songs with a side of dad jokes.
As the frontman of Scottish indie folk weirdos Randolph’s Leap, Ross has an easy stage presence that makes his seemingly awkward transitions between songs feel like improvised skits where the audience are also performers. He makes jokes at their expense, jokes at his expense, he encourages audience participation on Caught The Sun then later compliments them for being “slightly patronising” before signing off with “Enjoy the rest of your lives!”, eliciting an enthusiastic singalong to The Going which sits in quite reverent contrast to the rest of the set. Ross’ lyrics have often been described as “witty” or “clever” but this sells his talent a bit short; his words are incisive, insightful, astute, literary, informed, inventive and best-of-all relatable. There’s a country flair about the music too, live, but his phrases belie any of the genre’s associated conservativism, despite him reflecting on the mundane and parochial trivialities of small-town life. These are the kind of songs you can’t help but tune into, like gossip in the local post office.
This audience was always likely to give over their attention, of course, because C. Duncan’s music demands it. Demands is a weighty term; the music engenders attentiveness. Forgiving an auspicious technical glitch at the very beginning, Duncan offloads a series of meticulously crafted musical vignettes about love, desire, romance, doubt, friendship, love, grief, patience, contentment, love – did I mention love? Of course, with the latest album holding to a kind of lyrical theme-and-variations, it’s only right that Duncan builds his performance around this most important human subject. The emotion isn’t only wrought from his words though, as the sparse accompaniment of bass guitar, harp, viola and violin adorn and embellish his acoustic and electronic arrangements.
Opening with It’s Only A Love Song and We Have A Lifetime sets the whimsical tone for everything that’s to come and it is most welcome! Simply, there aren’t enough plucky piano ballads with layers of breathy vocals on the radio these days, but C. Duncan has them to spare. Worry is a liltingly bright pep talk of a song though there often feels to be a melancholy lurking just below the surface of these arrangements. The brief instrumental Lullaby is a perfect example of something so beautifully sinister, with clouds of vocal harmonies settling over the contours of the piano. This leads into the rolling irregularity of For, a pop song that has defied categorisation for over a decade, only now beginning to find its home among a catalogue of exceptional compositions. It’s as dreamy as ever though. To be honest, everything sounds fantastically ethereal with the addition of harp, so kudos to Gillian Fleetwood for her contributions.
When it comes to popular music there’s a distinct difference between classical and classic. C. Duncan however, seemingly straddles both, with a cinematic romanticism that evokes Hollywood in glorious black and white. His melodies can bring a room to tears and as proof, he concludes the night with the stark magnificence of Wedding Song and I’ll Be Gone By Winter, his audience held in captivated silence until his final breath is drawn. This is what listening – really listening – feels like. LUSH.
Words and pictures: Kendall Wilson @softcrowdclassic