Reading is a solitary pleasure; it's almost getting that way with gigs these days...
Music:
Having reacted to the new Alex Rex album Paradise with feelings adjacent to hysteria, I was equally agog at the prospect of catching a live performance on his latest tour, at The Cumberland natch. The shame was that Lavinia Blackwall had to postpone her tour, which would have seen her pitching up at Bobik’s two days later. Instead, we will wait patiently until April for that one
The realisation drew on me that Alex, with neither Lavinia nor Marco Rea accompanying him, was going back to basics. Just like in the old Tight Meat days with him and David Keenan, this would be a duo; Alex on drums and Rory Haye on guitar. However, I thoughtfully didn’t suggest they could possibly rename themselves Loose Vegetables when I ran into the great man, bearded and resplendent in a tweed jacket and high polo neck sweater, coming out of The Cumberland bogs. How different he looked when contrasted with the outfit of Harrington, DMs, Fred Perry and suede cut on his last visit. Despite his travails with digestive issues on his previous two visits, Alex had still eaten at Al Baik, though Rory assured me he’d stuck with vegetarian options. Loose vegetables are preferable to loose stools I suppose.
Support was provided by the immensely entertaining Spanish guitarist and singer Victor Herrero, of whom more lately; and the passionate and beguiling Yakka Doon, with a set of plaintive, self-written regional ballads. When the main act took the stage, there was no hint that being reduced to a duo would limit Alex Rex’s power. For a start, Rory’s guitar was like the rebirth of That Fucking Tank and for another thing, the less cluttered, punishing sound gave further space to Alex’s self-immolatory lyrics. Is he the most confessional lyricist ever? While that may be the case, he managed to find a cover, Man in the Tree by Pearls before Swine, which outdid the great man himself for misery.
One
of the main effects of being a duo was the fewer than expected numbers from Paradise that got an airing; only 5,
including The Great Experiment,
dedicated to Faustino Asprilla and Scandalise the Birds, because I asked
for it, which meant in return that I missed the last encore getting him and
Victor a pint. Small beer eh? However, Alex is nothing if not creative and he
debuted a minimum of 4 new songs in the set that, as ever raised the bar on his
art. The bloke is a genius and quite why the turnout was so depressingly low is
a mystery to me.
One very cheering element was Victor Herrero’s set; I’m not sure if the eccentric troubadour was playing classical guitar, Flamenco flourishes or what, but I loved what he did. Standouts included a song about a horse and a final improvised number with Alex and Rory had reminded me of a Velvets rehearsal or a NEU! demo, adorned perfectly by Alex’s anti-Motorik drumming. Victor’s performance was so good, I invested in a copy of his 2020 album, Hermana, which means Sister, but has little in common with the Sonic Youth album of that name. Accompanied only by his own playing, Victor has 10 beguiling tracks that vary between complex yet gentle instrumentals and insistent vocal numbers where his voice complements and challenges the fluent guitar work. A thoroughly engaging album and one I’m glad I bought.
As
mentioned above, Lavinia Blackwall has postponed her tour until next April,
though this has not put paid to her releasing music, as the very beautiful,
self-titled Wyndow album that she
made remotely with Laura J Martin
has seen the light of day. Their partnership was forged by a mutual love of Robert Wyatt, which is writ large by
their sensitive and soothing version of his Free
Will and Testament. I first saw Laura supporting Euros Child, who had the wonderful Marco Rea and Stu Kidd as his Roogie Boogie backing band. No doubt this helped forge links
between the two angelic voiced singer / songwriters who have produced a female
duo folk-ish album as seminal as Silly
Sisters by Maddy Prior and June Tabor. Throughout the piece their
superb voices complement each other and are augmented by Laura’s subtle, but
brilliant keyboard work and some superb guitar from Marco. The whole 11 tracks
are of the highest quality, building a stronger and perceptible dream like
atmosphere as the record progresses, which is possibly why I feel the closing
two tracks When Winter Comes Shadowing In
and Tidal Range are the strongest and
most powerful on here. I’ve no idea if Wyndow will prove to be a samizdat
lockdown project, or if there’s a niche second string to their bows, but the
album will last long on regular repeat in this house.
Another
of the Byres Road cognoscenti to regularly collaborate with an array of
sympathetic souls is the storied Alasdair Roberts, who last played here
in October 2019 as a bandleader, with a certain Alex Neilson on drums. Now he
returned, after an 18 month Covid delay, as part of the Green Ribbons unaccompanied
singing project, along with Debbie Armour (better known as Burd Ellen,
who I shamefully missed at Bobik’s a while back) and Benjamin Webb
(aka Jinnwoo and Bird in the Belly), though there was no sign or
mention of the fourth member of the recorded output, Frankie Armstrong. The
62 bus never showed up, so I had to get the 63, which meant I arrived in the
middle of a very brave set by Cath & Phil Tyler. Cat hasn’t been
well of late, but she really put her heart and soul into a set of Northumbrian Americana;
great to see you back. The 5 performers were slightly outnumbered by a simply
appalling turn out of 6 punters, but even if the room was almost bare, the
standard of performance was stunning. The three of them, individually and
severally, were absolutely outstanding, from Alasdair’s opening Geordie
to the collective closer of Sheila Stewart’s The Parting Song, by
way of an Aberdonian skipping song Debbie learned from Isla St Clair, of
all people. Great gig, wonderful people and a late night listening back to the
CD with a couple of beers. Well worth Friday’s hangover, even if it made me hors
de combat for The Blue Orchids the night after. Ah well…
One
of the things I missed most during lockdown was popping out to a midweek gig
alone on a school night, sipping on soft drinks and heading home, entertained
and ready for bed, soon as the last encore finished. This was situation I found
myself in when going to see the glorious Burning
Hell at The Cumberland. I’d seen
them twice before at The Cluny 2 and Cobalt Studios, so I knew exactly what
to expect. They don’t disappoint. They never let you down. Their songs are
wonderful and nourishing. If you ever
wanted to know what a cross between Yo
La Tengo and King Missile would
sound like, then check this lot out.
Touring as a four piece, the sound was superbly beefed up, with the
emphasis more on out rock’n’roll than whimsy. Fantastically, this was a sell-out, because
Newcastle loves the Burning Hell and the Burning Hell love Newcastle.
Paul Flanagan has been my mate for 35 years now. I met him in 1986 and in 1990, he started playing live gigs and recording songs, firstly with Puppy Fat, whose baggy and indie grooves I loved, then with the slightly recondite Nancy Bone, who sometimes hit the spot with their creative Lee and Nancy style updates. At the end of the previous millennium, he called time on his musical career, save for a single Nancy Bone support slot with Penetration at The Cluny in 2013 as far as I can remember. However, just before lockdown, he told me of the existence of a new band he was playing with; Emergency Librarian. They’ve played a few gigs, but I hadn’t managed to see them until I caught the first date of their winter 2021 mini tour (Friday October 29th, Newcastle and Saturday October 30th, Salford) at the Cobalt Studios.
With a spring in my step I’d walked from home to Newcastle Cricket Club for Peter and Gillian’s 60th birthday then, after a couple of free pints, headed on down to Cobalt. Not only was I delighted to be seeing Emergency Librarian in the flesh, but also running into my old mate Knaggsy for the first time in far too long, was a highlight. Anyway, Emergency Librarian were the support act to some mixed media doo dah called Marra, which was supposedly a rumination on life in West Cumbria. I’ve no idea what the denizens of Workington and Whitehaven would have made of a performance piece that consisted of a load of straw scattered over the venue floor, and a malfunctioning PC, but it was enough to send me away down to The Lodge in an Uber.
However, Emergency Librarian were worth the price of admission. I found their combination of atmospheric drone and strident local folk to be particularly endearing. Like a cross between Fairport Convention, Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Hawkwind, they fused brief vocal parts with lengthy proggy workouts. I liked almost everything about them, save for the slightly too strident percussive parts that dominated the latter part of their set. I’d certainly go and see them again, even when the bespectacled bassist becomes a sexy sexagenarian.
Books:
Perhaps one of my most incompetent on-line purchases was my dealing with Roddy Doyle’s latest novel, Love. Published in June 2020, I immediately ordered it as a click and collect from Waterstone’s, not realising, in my attempt to save pennies, I’d bought the paperback edition that didn’t come out until this year. It was worth waiting for, but a bloody frustrating salutary lesson nevertheless. So, when learning of the imminent publication of a collection of his short stories, Life without Children, this October, I bit the bullet and bought the hardback. I must say I’m very glad I did too. This is Doyle’s third collection of short stories; first there was 2007’s The Deportees, in which all the stories were specifically written for Metro Éireann, as an attempt, not always successfully, to reach out to Ireland's immigrant population and explore their experiences. The stories were written in 800 word chapters and published monthly; as Doyle explains in the foreword:-
The stories have never
been carefully planned. I send off a chapter to the Metro Eireann editor
Chinedu Onyejelem, and, often, I haven't a clue what's going to happen next. And I don't care too much, until the deadline
begins to tap me on the shoulder. It's a fresh, small terror, once a month. I
live a very quiet life; I love that monthly terror.
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