Tim Easton in Whelan’s on October 30th 2013

Nashville-based singer songwriter Tim Easton conjures up strange memories of Kinky Friedman as he regales the crowd in Whelan’s main room. That satirising Texan country singer played this very room on his last visit and the vibe and arrangement is somewhat similar. A half-dozen candlelit tables and a few rows of chairs take up the space stage-front while a lone chair sits on the dark stage. Like Friedman – but with less vitriol – Easton intercuts his songs with digs at his government as well as our own “Communist state” – he misses the smoke-filled venue it seems – in a self-deprecating and witty manner. What works for the Kinkster works equally well for Easton, as he warmly leads the relaxed midweek crowd through his set.

Before this though is our own Stephen James – he tells us of the pesky music store guy who snapped the pickup of his guitar earlier in the day, but the panic has abated and he starts into a folky Patient Rivers. One song has “a singalong-y part” after its whistle and strum intro and if no-one joins in its more down to the fact that said part has been and gone before anyone realises. An altogether more successful venture is his cover of Leadbelly’s Linin’ Track, with James singing acapella as all in attendance clap time. “So he really did fuck up my guitar” he says as he tinkers, but a distinctive wavering vocal overshadows any blemishes.

Tim Easton introduces himself with a rundown riff peeled from his acoustic, the paint worn off it by the years and licks, going straight into “a spiritual number for Mr Lou Reed”. With new album ‘New Cool’ released this year he’s rolling the fresh tunes out first, and the nimble-fingered guitar work of Don’t Lie sets the high standard of bluesy fretwork and narrative songwriting that carries through to the end. There is indeed a hint of The Mescaleros to Looking Out (For Joe Strummer), a song he wrote in Dublin after watching a documentary about the Clash singer. His songs are well travelled and from here, to Amsterdam, to Las Vegas and everywhere in between, we get a story to accompany each.

He’s certainly willing to engage the crowd, inviting a few Q&A sessions, and folk become more willing to join in as the night goes on. “Don’t bother!” comes the shout when he talks wryly about defending his government. A risqué Obama reference at the intro to a certain song “gets a lot bigger laugh in Cork” but here it’s more of a breathy intake of ‘oooh’. On this occasion we do get the best rebuttal – and there have been many down through the years – for the inevitable cry for Freebird when Easton asks the crowd what they want to hear. “No Freebird, because the character from that song says ‘I can’t change’” he says, going on to elaborate – it’s not often you’ll get such a well-considered response to that request.

“I’ll try a medley…I’ll medley ‘em all” he grins as more requests come through, before going out on Northbound, and “a drinking song and a rock ’n’ roll song” to send us home with Burgundy Red. His misplaced harmonica holder is located for the encore by the now more vocal audience – “a whole room of tour managers” – and strapped on for Gallatin Pike Blues, a tribute to bluegrass musician John Hartford. Don’t Walk Alone rounds of his set all too soon, one that showcases not only his fine, textured guitar playing and song-crafting, but also his effortless knack for making a roomful of new buddies, if only for a fleeting moment.