Third night
of a long weekend away from his home in Govan and The Drummer is battle
fatigued. Succour is provided by a night off the piss, rehydrated by orange
squash and PG Tips, he’s just got to
get through one final show, then straight up the high road home. While The
Drummer plays Leeds, Birmingham and Newcastle, Govan has been burning. It’s not
the Watts Riots, but a two day tense Mexican stand off between the green and orange tribes who
interpret the importance of 17th Century Irish History in vastly
different ways, topped off by a 2-0 win for the Tic at the Big House that will
pour more oil on troubling bonfires of vanity and hatred.. Will ye no come back
again? Surely, but there’s a job of work to do first…
Back in the
day, the Hunnish Horde referred to their mildly schizophrenic, ultra Loyalist
last line of defence, Andy Goram simply as The Keeper. Bad, bad man though he
was, it was a truth universally acknowledged that Goram was the best at his
craft in 90s Glasgow. You didn’t use his name in case you wore it out. A generation on, another colossus bestrides
the known world of percussion, towering far above all others; Alex Neilson,
though we call him The Drummer. He used to be the paterfamilias of the 21st
Century’s best band, Trembling Bells. He’s drummed and yelped for a dozen left
and ultra left field outfits, from Shirley Collins and Miker Heron (he’s here
tonight) to Tight Meat by way of Jandrek, Alasdair Roberts (The Drummer will be
back in town with him soon) and Death Shanties. Right now he’s just finished
the second leg of a tour promoting 2019’s best album, Otterburn, before cooling his ardour by coquettishly announcing a
forthcoming release called Andromeda.
We can’t wait, but we have to.
And so
tonight; The Cumberland Arms, like the Star and Shadow, is a venue
inextricably linked with The Drummer’s performances on Tyneside. Trembling
Bells burned it down on half a dozen occasions, the last time we were here was
for our dear Lavinia Blackwall and Stilton at the end of June, and tonight it
will again be reduced to a crumbling shell of ash and metallic detritus after
the show is over. First up, it’s Nev Clay, who is pretty much ubiquitous at
these affairs, so we give him a miss and concentrate on the gloriously hoppy,
hazy and citrus-tinged 4.2% Almasty IPA.
On second are Cath and Phil Tyler and, without question, it’s the best
we’ve ever seen them. Taut, but not overwrought, it’s the sound of dirt poor,
dustbowl demonic possession; Flannery O’Connor goes sean nos. I found them
captivating.
Then, the
time comes for The Drummer and his accomplices. Guitars and bass are provided
by Audrey Bizouerne and Rory Haye, who regularly swap instruments with gifted
nonchalance and are the equals of Mike Hastings and Simon Shaw, which is some
compliment, while Georgia Seddon (daughter of Mike Heron and a regular collaborator
over the years) tinkles the ivories. Then
there’s the bloke who runs the show. Normally we’re used to seeing him flounce
onstage in a gaudy, diaphanous silken kaftan and fluorescent corduroy slacks,
but it’s a different vibe he’s moving to this evening. Now he’s front of house,
in an Art Blakey or Buddy Rich style, The Drummer dresses wicked. A sensible
number 2 crop, hidden underneath a peaked cap, a pink polo, Sta-Press slacks and Oxblood loafers takes him many
miles from the shaggy haired Maoist beatnik counter culture and puts him right
in the middle of the fairway as a kind of golfer with attitude, fashioned by
Richard Allen.
The music
is, as expected, perfect. Most of Otterburn
gets an airing, augmented and indeed improved with virtuoso stickwork; it’s
the equivalent of flamenco drumming, with each fill, riff and solo flying off
to the outer spaces of your mind. It’s The Sun Ra Percussive Headfuck and I’m
glad I’m here. Master, Dildos of Carbeth and
a celebratory version of The Cruel Rule justify
our attendance.. And then, the moment, the song, the purpose; Otterburn was inspired by the tragic
death of Alastair Neilson in summer 2017 and we must never forget that.
However, such heartbreak has forged the finest art and that includes a cover
version of Luke Kelly’s Night Visiting
Song so beautiful that I can’t listen to it without crying, in sadness and
euphoria.
The oldest
Neilson brother Oliver filmed a video for Night
Visiting Song that was focussed around The Drummer walking south across the
High Level Bridge towards Gateshead. Unknown to the brothers, this was a
journey often taken by Luke Kelly. Long before The Dubliners formed, Luke came
to England to make a living and the first place he worked was Newcastle on Tyne
(with his navvy boots on, no doubt). At this time, he didn’t sing in public,
being more concerned, as a Nortsoide Gurrier, with playing football. Settling
on Coatsworth Road, he turned out several times for Gateshead Reserves, but
also enjoyed a jar. Around this time, we’re talking 1959 to 1961, the Tyneside
Irish diaspora congregated around The
Bridge Hotel, where ex-pat Paddies
of the first and second generation, like Louis Killen and Tony Corcoran,
formed a folk club. It was the first place Luke Kelly ever sang in public. It
was the only place he ever sang duets with my old fella Eddy Cusack, other than
walking back across the High Level Bridge when the last bus was long gone. So,
you see, the song means a bit to me, but then every song The Drummer does means
a lot to me. I defy you to listen to the acapella Smoke and Memory without dissolving into tears.
Despite not
feeling the full shilling, The Drummer and his band harvest diamonds all night
long. Once it’s over, we exchange hugs, while he listens, deferentially and
half embarrassed, to effusive praise that he hears every time he does a gig.
Soon, they have to load up and leave. We have one last Almasty for the road and
start counting the seconds until Andromeda
is upon and among us. For the avoidance of doubt, Alex Neilson is a genius
beyond compare.
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