With its Corinthian columns, stained-glass crucifixion scene and aroma of incense, the Christopher Wren-designed St James’s church on London’s Piccadilly is an unusual gig venue. And even taking into account its progressive reputation, it is an interesting setting for a man whose strict Methodist family told him he was going to hell for being gay, and who sings lines as spicy as the one on the T-shirts he sells: “I hope you know that all I want from you is sex.”
Then again, John Grant’s songwriting feeds on radical contrasts. He anatomises the ugliest depressive episodes and the bitterest break-ups with exquisite melodies and a chocolatey baritone. He likes his beauty to have jagged edges.
