Of course, when it comes to sampling the whole Will Oldham live thing, a mere record can do scant justice to the manifold delights on offer.
You’ll miss the beard of course, and the remnants of appetisers and main courses invariably lurking within. And the weirdo lip licking – you’ll miss that too.
Half the fun of seeing Kentucky’s favourite romantic degenerate comes when he first appears on stage.
The old actor in Mr Oldham has never forgotten the importance of making a strong visual impression – and with his mixture of Chaplin tramp, chimney corner minstrel and death row pen-pal, you’ll certainly never confuse him with anyone else.
It’s just as well then, that the music he's been making over the last decade, in its many forms and guises, is every bit as arresting as his passport photograph.
Recorded earlier this year, Summer In The Southeast finds Will and various kith and kin (including Matt Sweeney) in raucous voice, and in common with 2004’s Nashville-ication of his back-catalogue, anyone hankering for a note-by-note recreation of his best moments would best steer clear. But those keen to hear a wonderful songwriter revealing fresh angles in his finest work should buy this record as a matter of urgency.
From the word go, ‘Master And Everyone’ – as lovely and spindly beautiful a song as he’s ever written – is flayed alive and knocked into a roaring alternative shape. It’s great. Likewise ‘May It Always Be’ is roughed up into a Nuggets-esque garageland tune with the help of co-vocalist Pink Nasty.
The clammy carnality that Oldham captures like no-other permeates throughout – from the howling ad-libs during ‘Wolf Among Wolves’ (“Why can’t I be loved as what I am? A wolf among wolves, and not as a man among men?”), to the “I’ll fuck him, fuck him with something, the fuck, he deserves it” vengeance of ‘A Sucker’s Evening’.
And it’s beautiful too. ‘Take However Long You Want’ has never sounded more heartbreaking, ‘Ease Down The Road’ as deceptively pretty. And while lyrically Oldham could show Neil Labute a trick or two in the ways of male bastardry – anyone who chooses to close a song with “And we will rise in anger, love and ardour, shining, sparkling, shimmering in love’s amour” – must be on the side of the angels.
Even if he looks like an individual well practiced in more goatish pursuits.