It’s not that the North is a hostile territory for singer-songwriters. It’s just that visiting SSs of a certain stripe would be well advised to watch their backs. No land that’s produced Van Morrison, Paul Brady, Duke Special, Andy White and Robyn G. Shiels can protest too loudly against the troubadour tradition. But as any kind of acquaintance with those guys’ music would suggest, the expectation around these parts is for something a bit more than windswept, tousle-haired emoting.

Nobody, however, has thought to break this to Jason Clarke.
Judging by Sparks, the most recent EP from the Belfast lad, the Nordy ‘Big Music’ moratorium is not something that concerns him too much. Big-hearted, full-throated and with massive, bludgeoning choruses, it’s a collection of songs with a street corner ethic and stadium ambition.
“I like that,” he smiles over a coffee. “I wouldn’t mind breaking the mould. I don’t want to fall into that busker trap. While my music is commercial, I’d like to think that it also has an edge to it. It might not be what people expect.”
Clarke is clearly a driven individual, as au-fait with the workings of radio pluggers as with the edges of a fretboard. This can-do and up-and-at-’em attitude manifested itself from an early age.
“I have a band but I’ve never been in one,” he says. “It never appealed to me. It’s always just been me and a guitar. I bought one in upper sixth and I think I started writing songs pretty much straight away. And that’s how it’s gone on – just writing, writing, writing. I’ve never really worried much about gigs. It’s been all about songwriting.”
After blasting so quickly from the blocks, Jason’s first slip was when he rushed too tartly into the studio.
“I recorded a full album. I hated it,” he admits. “I pressed 1,000 copies, listened to it and just thought: ‘Oh no, this is really shit’. It wasn’t me. It was naïve sounding.”
However, if it was a misstep, it looks to have been the only one Jason has experienced so far.
More successful sessions followed, the results of which attracted the attention of Brendan Moon, the manager of Paolo Nutini, leading to an out-of-the-blue invitation to support the Glaswegian on a string of Irish and British dates.
“He’s a great, great guy,” Jason reveals. “Likes a drink, but fiercely professional. What I love about him is that on his first album, you can tell he’s searching for a direction – singing in a voice that didn’t belong to him. Then, all of a sudden, he got it. Now look at him.”
Nutini’s example is a salutary one. At the moment, Jason admits to admiring The Script, but also hankers after a closer relationship with the back catalogues of Dylan, Cohen etc.
“It’s knowing where to start,” he says. “You can tell Paolo loves all sorts of music – even stuff that goes back to the 1940s. I don’t have that knowledge, but I’m looking forward to finding it out.
“I feel like I’m getting edgier and edgier and edgier,” he continues. “I was working with session musicians, and they were brilliant. But you could have been anyone, really. You were just another job to them. I have my own band now. It’s so much better. We’re developing our own sound, going in our own direction, and I’m excited as anyone to see how it’s going to pan out.”
And help is also coming from an unlikely source. Andrew Ferris, best known as label head of noise-loving Small Town America, has been offering Jason much needed advice over recent months. So, acoustic ballader meets angular noisenik – what gives?
“Yeah,” laughs Jason, “people may think it’s a strange choice for both of us, but I think we get on well together. Craig from Fighting With Wire was putting on a party and he invited me along to play. I think that’s where Andrew saw me for the first time. He’s a great guy. No-one knows more than he does about making it in the music industry – about the ups and downs.”
There will, of course, be plenty of time to contemplate both. At the moment, though, Jason’s gaze is only directed one way.
“We rehearse on a proper stage,” he says. “It’s a brilliant way to keep dreaming the dream.”