A trip to Cambridge for the folk festival, a place renowned for its flatness – it’s true, it is flat and the longstanding festival is still chuntering away – I last went in 1975 and have vague recollections of stunning performances from Richard & Linda Thompson and the beer tent. Be that as it may, the festival has a fine eclectic mix and is not too sanctimonious about what sort of music is let in the door. As is becoming apparent from this summer, one of the highlights was, yes, an old bloke. Allen Toussaint (you see, not an obvious folkie) appeared on stage to give us all a master-class in rolling funk and blues piano with a great fat slab of Noo Awlins (which is also flat and tragically even more prone to flooding). Assisted by a saxophonist, bassist and drummer, they ranged through his back catalogue (Working in a coalmine; Ride your pony and all sorts of songs you’d forgotten that he wrote. And just look at some of the people that have covered his songs - personal favourites including Little Feat, Robert Palmer and Jerry Garcia) interspersed with reminiscences of all the wonderful people he had worked with – see above but also and at most length in his reminiscing, Frankie Miller. Bizarre you will agree, but magic.
Honourable mentions also go to Chris Wood (not the dead one from Traffic and all the better for it); kd lang (spirited Hallelujah but Lenny had already upped his game); Eric Bibb (spotted on three different stages - yes at three different times); Grupo Fantasma and Bassekou Kouytate & Ngoni ba.
One thing you do notice about Cambridge is that it’s not actually very big. This means that you don’t have to go very far to hear some extraordinary things. It also means that you can’t go very far – it’s nothing like Glastonbury where you can trudge for hours (even when it isn’t mud) before you find a little bolthole stage that has a tiny audience listening to the best thing you’ve ever heard. And because it’s run by the council they are very strict about when they close up each night – which worked against the Imagined Village who, straddled by loads of equipment and technology, found themselves with a shorter set than anticipated. Still, you can’t knock a festival that pumps the Archers omnibus edition through its main PA system on a Sunday morning.
Friday, 23 January 2009
Friday, 12 December 2008
The Triumph of the Old - old blokes part 2
Highlight of a fine sunny day (yes, at Glastonbury – weird!) is this long-term pensioner who doesn’t actually appear old and is possibly performing at a level higher than he has achieved in his much-acclaimed past. With a very tightly-knit backing band and fine sound quality Leonard Cohen (for it is he) had the audience in his hand and treated us all to a lesson in how you take a massive crowd without shouting at them. He played his hits from the early bed-sit suicidal student years (the listeners rather than him) through to the blatant “he’s having a laugh isn’t he?” songs which encompassed a thundering, crowd-silencing version of Hallelujah. His original recorded version of this has been left way behind following Jeff Buckley’s rightly lauded reappraisal and various other solid improvements (Rufus Wainwright, kd lang) but his performance here reclaimed it as his own and left all other pretenders in a way distant zone. Breathtaking.
And a final mention for the true fan standing right by me (oh, so too close) who insisted on singing along woefully off-key and occasionally well off on the words too (how many times do you need to hear a chorus to identify that you’re version is not the same as Lenny is singing? More than we covered in So Long Marianne on this occasion that’s for sure). But no matter, Leonard was fantastic and all those of you who weren’t there and raged at him for not agreeing to the BBC coverage, sorry, you should have bought a ticket. A contender for event of the year (in any year).
And so to another man who appears infrequently (but not forced out this time because his manager’s legged it with all his money) to mass adulation from fans and critics alike and is keen that his tickets do not appear on ebay either. Thanks to eagle-eyed attentiveness several months in advance, tickets for Tom Waits’s Edinburgh show ( only appearance in the UK, first time in Scotland in 21 years, second in Britain for four years so perhaps not so rare) were procured and travel arrangements duly, well, arranged with dear old easy jet. Which was just as well as passports had to be shown to match the name on the ticket (mine as opposed to Tom Waits, he got in OK without it). So lots of excitement on a July evening in Scotland (i.e. drizzly and no decent beer to be had for miles). The Playhouse is a fun venue, full of stuffing and looking like a music hall venue with a good atmosphere. The vast majority of the crowd were dyed in the wool fans snapping up the memorabilia – programmes, posters etc – before taking their seats in anticipation. Half an hour later (in an attempt to appear youthful? Most older performers seem to turn up bang on time so that they can get their post-show ovaltine and stilll be in bed before news at ten) the man appears to huge acclaim, milking the audience to applaud more – which they do, banging his foot on a massive drum laid out as a stand for him and covered in powder to billow out with every boom. Showmanship for sure but that’s what he is, and a fine one too. Anyway, backed by his small, tight band (featuring his son at one point) he stomped and hollered and played with the audience sounding somewhere not too far from Captain Beefheart (which is certainly a good place to be even if not particularly crowded), directing the band and audience with stunning and rearranged renditions of great chunks of his back catalogue, most of which I couldn’t recognise but it all provoked much discussion after the show amongst fans so I wasn’t alone. An excellent evening’s entertainment for everyone – Tom seemed to be enjoying himself too – which seems all too rare these days (Van Morrison could certainly learn from it). Another surefire contender for show of the year (maybe the award should be split between indoor and outdoor shows).
And a final mention for the true fan standing right by me (oh, so too close) who insisted on singing along woefully off-key and occasionally well off on the words too (how many times do you need to hear a chorus to identify that you’re version is not the same as Lenny is singing? More than we covered in So Long Marianne on this occasion that’s for sure). But no matter, Leonard was fantastic and all those of you who weren’t there and raged at him for not agreeing to the BBC coverage, sorry, you should have bought a ticket. A contender for event of the year (in any year).
And so to another man who appears infrequently (but not forced out this time because his manager’s legged it with all his money) to mass adulation from fans and critics alike and is keen that his tickets do not appear on ebay either. Thanks to eagle-eyed attentiveness several months in advance, tickets for Tom Waits’s Edinburgh show ( only appearance in the UK, first time in Scotland in 21 years, second in Britain for four years so perhaps not so rare) were procured and travel arrangements duly, well, arranged with dear old easy jet. Which was just as well as passports had to be shown to match the name on the ticket (mine as opposed to Tom Waits, he got in OK without it). So lots of excitement on a July evening in Scotland (i.e. drizzly and no decent beer to be had for miles). The Playhouse is a fun venue, full of stuffing and looking like a music hall venue with a good atmosphere. The vast majority of the crowd were dyed in the wool fans snapping up the memorabilia – programmes, posters etc – before taking their seats in anticipation. Half an hour later (in an attempt to appear youthful? Most older performers seem to turn up bang on time so that they can get their post-show ovaltine and stilll be in bed before news at ten) the man appears to huge acclaim, milking the audience to applaud more – which they do, banging his foot on a massive drum laid out as a stand for him and covered in powder to billow out with every boom. Showmanship for sure but that’s what he is, and a fine one too. Anyway, backed by his small, tight band (featuring his son at one point) he stomped and hollered and played with the audience sounding somewhere not too far from Captain Beefheart (which is certainly a good place to be even if not particularly crowded), directing the band and audience with stunning and rearranged renditions of great chunks of his back catalogue, most of which I couldn’t recognise but it all provoked much discussion after the show amongst fans so I wasn’t alone. An excellent evening’s entertainment for everyone – Tom seemed to be enjoying himself too – which seems all too rare these days (Van Morrison could certainly learn from it). Another surefire contender for show of the year (maybe the award should be split between indoor and outdoor shows).
Friday, 14 November 2008
The onward march of the Old folks - part 1
Now here’s a way to link together various stars of the summer and actually have a legitimate common theme amongst them. This summer, apart from generally being wet, foul and as unlike something imagined by the Beach Boys as you could possibly get, has seen the old folk coming out into the fresh air and, frankly, knocking all sorts of stuffing out of the young pretenders. So, in chronological order (i.e. when I saw them as opposed to their age which, obviously, is personal information that it would not be for me to divulge, here they come.
So first up is the increasingly balding Steve Earle. Taking a break from crashing around with the Dukes he instead performed a largely solo show at the Colston Hall with simply a selection of guitars, mandolin and banjo and the occasional assistance of wife and support act Alison Moorer and/ or Neil on decks and beats. And it was excellent. The venue was intimate (and yes we are talking about the Colston Hall) in comparison to the Cardiff barn experience and it was refreshing to see the songs take centre stage – with reworkings in a number of cases and not always to accommodate the revised instrumentation. Apparently this tour upset a few people who were expecting that he would do what he normally does. But isn’t part of the point of Steve Earle that he doesn’t do that? Personally I would rather he attempted something different and I for one was particularly taken with the decks support – especially on Satellite Radio. So well done Steve, thanks for being consistently different.
Next up the ever spry Bruce Springsteen showing no signs of slowing down.
Another trip across the river to Cardiff – this time the Millenium stadium which, for a first visit, is some wonderful thing, especially if your ticket gets you onto the pitch. (Although you do seem to have to be lithe, lissome and young and, ideally, female if you are going to be allowed into the select area immediately front of stage. Which I wasn’t.) Having got over the curiosity of where they put the grass, there was a while to assess the surroundings, observe the Mexican waves going round the auditorium and generally feel impressed. Big screens flanked the stage to make you realise that, actually, you were further away than you realised. Unlike Steve Earle, Bruce was in typical mode – i.e. ably supported by the E Street Band making a thunderous racket - special mention to Nils Lofgren for ability and Miami Steve Van Zandt for looking the part. In fact mostly sufficient noise to prevent the tidal wave of noise echoing back from the far end having any negative impact until they stopped.As ever Bruce thundered and stormed and gave his usual 3000% going back into his older material. As is becoming apparent with the longer-established rock star they are no longer embarrassed about their back catalogue and, if it’s good, then it gets included rather than having to wade through the latest album which, frankly, may not hit the spot quite so accurately – Born To Run was plundered for around four or five tracks and all were damned fine. The River was only lightly hit – with just the title track – but it sent me scurrying out to buy it. So you can’t say better than that, and I won’t.
Coming next, even older people . . .
So first up is the increasingly balding Steve Earle. Taking a break from crashing around with the Dukes he instead performed a largely solo show at the Colston Hall with simply a selection of guitars, mandolin and banjo and the occasional assistance of wife and support act Alison Moorer and/ or Neil on decks and beats. And it was excellent. The venue was intimate (and yes we are talking about the Colston Hall) in comparison to the Cardiff barn experience and it was refreshing to see the songs take centre stage – with reworkings in a number of cases and not always to accommodate the revised instrumentation. Apparently this tour upset a few people who were expecting that he would do what he normally does. But isn’t part of the point of Steve Earle that he doesn’t do that? Personally I would rather he attempted something different and I for one was particularly taken with the decks support – especially on Satellite Radio. So well done Steve, thanks for being consistently different.
Next up the ever spry Bruce Springsteen showing no signs of slowing down.
Another trip across the river to Cardiff – this time the Millenium stadium which, for a first visit, is some wonderful thing, especially if your ticket gets you onto the pitch. (Although you do seem to have to be lithe, lissome and young and, ideally, female if you are going to be allowed into the select area immediately front of stage. Which I wasn’t.) Having got over the curiosity of where they put the grass, there was a while to assess the surroundings, observe the Mexican waves going round the auditorium and generally feel impressed. Big screens flanked the stage to make you realise that, actually, you were further away than you realised. Unlike Steve Earle, Bruce was in typical mode – i.e. ably supported by the E Street Band making a thunderous racket - special mention to Nils Lofgren for ability and Miami Steve Van Zandt for looking the part. In fact mostly sufficient noise to prevent the tidal wave of noise echoing back from the far end having any negative impact until they stopped.As ever Bruce thundered and stormed and gave his usual 3000% going back into his older material. As is becoming apparent with the longer-established rock star they are no longer embarrassed about their back catalogue and, if it’s good, then it gets included rather than having to wade through the latest album which, frankly, may not hit the spot quite so accurately – Born To Run was plundered for around four or five tracks and all were damned fine. The River was only lightly hit – with just the title track – but it sent me scurrying out to buy it. So you can’t say better than that, and I won’t.
Coming next, even older people . . .
Blasting back with vintage reports
Having spent the summer remarkably busy on your account - but also remarkably at leisure on my own account, here's the start of the winter uploads. This one actually dates back to May and has been simmering away for a while. Here we go.
Welcome back to some favourites and another reliable and exhilarating performance. Yes it's Bellowhead. Multiple award winners for live performance and probably more besides. So not an evening for sitting quietly but one that demanded rhythmic shuffling from the audience as a minimum and possibly leading up to full scale jig mayhem. The venue was the Pavilion in Bath, one of those strange buildings that seem designed for school assemblies but have been transported to a different location. A selection of seating around the edge but the main hall left for twirling, falling over or dancing (or all together of course).
The band – all 11 of them accounted for – proceeded to put on yet another fine display. The edge was slightly taken off by having seen them previously and so the element of surprise was slightly lost but then the edge was put back on because what they play and the way they play it is just so exuberant that you can’t stay still – pity those people hoping to sit through the set. A mix of current (i.e. last album) with a few appetisers from the impending album due some time soon. It should not disappoint.
The support act Babyhead (actually no connection or relation of Bellowhead) played with vigour and enthusiasm with the occasional deranged rant. It was only later that it became apparent that their long set was not eating into Bellowhead’s time but in fact was to enable the headliners to perform their usual set and achieve the Bath Festival organiser’s claim that it was going to end very late (which it just about managed).
A fine time.
Welcome back to some favourites and another reliable and exhilarating performance. Yes it's Bellowhead. Multiple award winners for live performance and probably more besides. So not an evening for sitting quietly but one that demanded rhythmic shuffling from the audience as a minimum and possibly leading up to full scale jig mayhem. The venue was the Pavilion in Bath, one of those strange buildings that seem designed for school assemblies but have been transported to a different location. A selection of seating around the edge but the main hall left for twirling, falling over or dancing (or all together of course).
The band – all 11 of them accounted for – proceeded to put on yet another fine display. The edge was slightly taken off by having seen them previously and so the element of surprise was slightly lost but then the edge was put back on because what they play and the way they play it is just so exuberant that you can’t stay still – pity those people hoping to sit through the set. A mix of current (i.e. last album) with a few appetisers from the impending album due some time soon. It should not disappoint.
The support act Babyhead (actually no connection or relation of Bellowhead) played with vigour and enthusiasm with the occasional deranged rant. It was only later that it became apparent that their long set was not eating into Bellowhead’s time but in fact was to enable the headliners to perform their usual set and achieve the Bath Festival organiser’s claim that it was going to end very late (which it just about managed).
A fine time.
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