It’s always nice when someone gets in touch and offers you an unsolicited review of a gig or album. Graham Jackson works in artist services, looking after artists touring the UK among other things. He’s also a very interesting guy to chat with – he has a few stories. This is his take on Isabella Coulstock supporting The Jools Holland Rhythm and Blues Orchestra at Warwick Arts Centre.

Photo Copyright Allan McKay

21st May 2023 – Warwick Arts Centre – Jools Holland with support by Isabella Coulstock

A reflection on a first visit to the impressive 1,450 capacity Warwick Arts Centre that is modern, spacious, scrupulously clean with facilities including a bar/restaurant to match.

The auditorium itself is wonderful. Despite its sizeable capacity, there is a feel of intimacy as the balconies wrap themselves around itself even going behind the stage area.

The time for the opening artist, Isabella Coulstock, is approaching and so refreshing to see the auditorium is near full in anticipation of the show, the Jools Holland audience showing a respect and interest in the support artist, perhaps with some naivety and curiosity.

The scene is set. The lights dim except for the one white spotlight, the announcement made, “Ladies and Gentleman, please welcome Isabella Coulstock” and as she walks on with her guitar, the audience breaks into spontaneous applause. Then silence as Isabella prepares herself.

With confidence and a big smile, Isabella starts her set with ‘Nice Just Ain’t A Good Colour’ which serves to give an immediate impact and connection with the audience. They are listening and listening with genuine interest, impressed from what they are seeing and hearing. It works – rapturous applause.

A set of six self-penned songs, from the very first written ‘Crazy Cowboy’ to the brand new ‘Riverside’, each appealing to the audience whatever the tempo, ultimately finishing with some audience participation which they duly join in singing and clapping to ‘Honky Tonk Beer’.

Isabella’s wonderful pitch-perfect vocals and accurate guitar play were ‘talking’ to and enchanting the audience, interspersed with short song introductions and thanks to Jools Holland and his team. It was the audience that was thankful, mutterings heard through the show such as “wow, what a voice” and “she is something else”, even comments after saying “the new KT Tunstall”.

Isabella Coulstock is like one of those rare beautiful orchids that takes time to develop and when the time and conditions are right, it blooms into a wonderful show of colour and panache – the show proved that the time and conditions are right for Isabella.

Full Set List:

  • Nice Just Ain’t A Good Colour
  • Borderline
  • Broken
  • Riverside
  • Crazy Cowboy
  • Honky Tonk Beer
Desiree Dawson @AMA UK Copyright Allan McKay

It’s been three years since I last did this and some things have moved on, some things haven’t. There are loads of new artists that I haven’t had a chance to photograph before and a few that I’ve shot many times. If there aren’t too many timetabling clashes, it’s a great chance to catch some artists that you haven’t seen before and it’s a way of catching up with contacts from the Americana scene. With a bit of luck and a following wind, you might even discover someone new that you really like; I usually do.

This year it was Desirée Dawson from Vancouver playing baritone ukulele and totally engaging the audience with her uplifting songs, enhanced by the jazz stylings of guitar player Matt Storm. She has a great set of songs and the performance skills to encourage audience participation. It’s not difficult to see how she does it; it’s the obvious warmth of her personality that leads the audience to shed their inhibitions.

But it wasn’t just about Desiree Dawson; there were a few other new artists as well across the international Americana spectrum. Mikaela Finne (from Finland, based in Stockholm and backed on pedal steel by Holly Carter), Canadian Tara McLean, New Yorker Lizzie No, Canadians Madison Violet and Whitehorse and Cumbrian Maz O’Connor. It’s a broad church and that’s before I get to the artists I’ve seen and photographed before, including Hannah White, Holly Carter, Hollie Rogers and Eddy Smith. As an introduction to a lot of artists in a short space of time, it’s a pretty good couple of days.

And the icing on the cake for me; Hannah White won UK Song of the Year with ‘Car Crash’ and Holly Carter won UK Instrumentalist of the Year. Well-earned recognition for two very gifted individuals who just happen to be lovely people as well.

Here’s the official video for Hannah’s award-winning ‘Car Crash’:

With the return of Rosko to the Caroline North airwaves and my show sitting in for Paul Brown on the main album channel done and dusted, we had a weekend ‘at large’ to enjoy and spent it irresponsibly at the final, or so we’re told, annual Skegness Rock and Blues festival at Butlins Skeggy. The night before we set off we went to the New Vic in Stoke to catch Paul Jones and Dave Kelly and to be honest, if any of the acts we were due to see and hear over the weekend were on a level playing field with them, I’d have been happy. And happy I was. A Fab weekend, too much to mention, but for me, the three highlights (other views are available but, clearly, they’re all wrong) were…

Full House. Frankie Miller’s old band, still featuring the stunning guitar work of Ray Minhinnett.

I have previous to declare here. Back in early October 1976, at the University Of Dundee, (who were remarkably well disposed, thank the Lord, to taking in English duffers who’d not exactly exceeded expectations in their A-levels) the band booked for freshers week, just before I started my three-year stint as a resident DJ there, was Frankie Miller’s Full House.

And what a ‘Welcome to Scotland’ that was. My mate the celebrated rock snapper Allan McKay and I had one of those moments where we both knew that was it, whatever happens, we’re doing rock ‘n’ roll in some shape or form for the rest of our lives. It was like facing a full-on storm force wind – and it was the first time I’d been to a gig where a band had successfully welded Rock to Soul to the Blues with some damn strong pop tunes as well. To this day on Radio Caroline I use the personal strapline ‘Rock n Soul Radio’; get these two to meet on a stage somewhere, stir in a pinch of the blues and you’ve cracked it.

And to my absolute delight – and Butlins true intent is all for your delight, (it says so, it always did!) they absolutely nailed it. What a line up band leader and guitarist Ray Minhinnett has assembled here! They say the best musicians attract the best musicians and there’s not a duffer or time-server amongst this lot. From the opening bars of ‘Be Good To Yourself’ through an impassioned ‘Fool In Love’ right though to the final tongue in cheek disdain for the singalonga ‘Darlin’ at the end, (Miller hated the song, which he knew he was going to be stuck with forever once it became a massive top ten single hit, even when he returned to play our venue in ’78, and so do the rest of the band even now, but at least they had the honesty not to short change the punters who wanted to hear it and played it straightish) it was like standing in the eye of the storm again, only 47 years removed. Magic.

For most people in situations such as these, the elephant in the room would be that Frankie Miller was such a unique talent. Which was part of the problem, the record company just didn’t seem to know what to do with him. Nobody, and that’s nobody, could lay a glove on him in his pomp so the guy on the mic is on a hiding to nothing, right?  So I was nothing less than astonished to hear the man tasked with bringing the vocal delivery of these songs to life wasn’t just joining up the dots…he was absolutely giving this the best shot you could reasonably expect another human being to give. What a voice has yer man Gregor!  Go See wherever and whenever. They had to play a shorter set than normal and I’ve got to catch them out on the road somewhere else now. Truly the Celtic Soul Vision. If you go around not going to see these you might just as well give your ears away.

And I’d have been happy to go home at that point but…..Dana Gillespie and her band finished the proceeding late on Saturday night in the smallest of the four venues; but with mobile phones etc good news travels fast and by the time she was three songs in they were hanging off the rafters. For the uninitiated, Dana Gillespie was signed to Bowie’s MainMan management group and sang backing vocals on Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust album before releasing the album ‘Weren’t Born A Man’ on RCA records in 1973 which was produced by Bowie and his guitarist Mick Ronson. Since then she’s been largely concentrating on singing and recording the blues alongside her acting work and is a well known and respected member of the Blues fraternity. But all this just falls away when she lets rip with that band of hers, including the astonishing keyboard thumper Dino Baptiste who is just boogie on legs. Her main area of concern in the songs she performs are those highlighting the strange balance between the attraction and the fractiousness which exists between men and women – exclusively from a female perspective and we’re treated to a set of ripe old blues songs which made the walls blush, starting at Bessie Smith and working downwards. Imagine a more glamorous Jo Brand with A Voice belting out the blues in front of a band who are absolutely on fire and you get the gist. When I say the housewives’ favourite, Jimmy Young, had to be quite forcibly dissuaded from playing her version of ‘Ten Inch’ on Radio One back in the day, you probably get the idea. Time – she’s into her 70s now but you wouldn’t know it for the energy and ‘twinkle’ in the performance – has blessed her with a mellowed, husky set of pipes which just so suit the task in hand. Always good to see a ‘survivor’ thriving, but this was much, much more – an object lesson in how to work a room. This isn’t a relic of the wild times relishing last woman standing status; this is overdue recognition of an outstanding talent. That David Bowie, he knew what he was about.

Sunday afternoon and the Chicago Blues Legends Show is on in Reds which is by far and away the best of the ‘big’ venues. The sound in Centre Stage is usually horrible and woolly and the big tent is, well, a big tent. But Reds is crisp, precise and usually a very good listen and so it was on the Sunday afternoon in question. Giles Robson and the aforementioned Dino Baptiste did a sterling job opening for them and on came the first of the Legends, a hand-picked hot Chicago player already doing great things and destined for greater. Jamiah Rogers was the unanimous choice of the old stagers who were due to follow him on the package and it was a brave move as this guy is HOT. We’ve all heard ‘Baby Please Don’t Go’; not like this, you haven’t. And, like all really talented American entertainers, he knows how to grab an audience without seeming to make the effort and in the tradition of the Blues, it tends to be BS-free as well. If you’re rising to the top of a scene as competitive as the Chicago blues scene – at the age of 27 – well…no disrespect but those old lads better be At It, that’s all I’m saying.

 Twice Grammy-nominated, John Primer was part of Willie Dixon’s Chicago All-Stars and led Muddy Waters Band from 1981 onwards. A small figure hunched behind a big red Gibson (I think, I was a long way back. Sunday afternoon, I like a nice sit down then) and promptly brought the fields, the city and the Hard Times right to my table.

I don’t know how they do that. How can a musician bring you that Shakespeare’s catharsis thing right to your table when you’re gently sipping a pint of Guinness and are comfortably at your leisure? And there you are, head down and nodding quietly to yourself while the man plays turbocharged Jeremy Kylesque stories of poverty and misery and extreme deprivation and there you go. You Got The Blues. First Time all weekend I genuinely Got ‘Em. And then on comes Billy Branch. He’s recorded and / or toured with Willie Dixon, Johnny Winter, Lou Rawls, Taj Mahal……and he plays the old gob iron like the living spit of Little Walter. And he played ‘My Babe’ and it was 1955, it was Chicago, and it was January, and cold. And then they all joined together and hollered and stomped and wailed.

And when I stepped outside after that because my head was full it was January, and cold.

And the fourth of my three top choices for the weekend – King Pleasure and The Biscuit Boys. Now you couldn’t get further away on the blues spectrum then these. We felt, myself and the legendary Mrs Jenner, that a bit of a knees-up would be a suitable way to round off proceedings for the weekend and this lot did not disappoint and they’re no mugs either, having been in with BB King amongst others. A sort of turbo swing, Jumping  Jive / Big Jay McNeely / Cab Calloway / Louis Jordan mash-up meets Bill Haley and the Comets, Madness and Lord Rockingham’s Eleven with Eric Morecombe on slap bass. The lead singer chose the purtiest girl in the room to dance with when he went walkabout and so I graciously donated the Legendary Mrs J to the cause, as if I had a choice in the matter and we went to our very clean and comfy billet, I have to say, back to tea and toast and the back end of Match of the Day, utterly convinced of the stupidity of the decision, whatever the politics to make this the last Rock n Blues Festy weekender.

Outright winner? For me, Full House on points. But then again I got reasons!

Now that the live music scene has come back to something resembling normality, our Man in the North has been getting out to a few gigs again. Here are his thoughts on four gigs in the north of England by George Thorogood, Joe Jackson, From the Jam and Lil’ Jimmy Reed, including a gig at one of Music Riot’s favourite venues, The Picturedrome in Holmfirth.

Cats are supposed to have 9 lives but this cat (in a Keith Richards stylee) enjoyed 4 lives in 9 days (or thereabouts) in various bits of England in amongst a heavy-duty  studio schedule back here in the Staffordshire Moorlands…starting with George Thorogood and the Destroyers at the Nottingham Royal Concert Hall. Nottingham’s love affair with George Thorogood started at Rock City over 40 years ago, and now he’s a Major Rock Star, he’s played the Royal Concert hall a few times.

Bless him, he looks a bit ‘lived in’ now compared to the pumped-up All-American guitar slinger who bust out of Rounder Records at me way back in the seventies, in fact he’s 72 years old so he’s excused, but his arm looks in much better nick than when we last saw him in Manchester a fair few years ago when he was all strapped up and heavily reliant on his second guitarist to do some of the ‘heavy lifting’. He certainly seemed to be shifting around the gee-tar quite comfortably this time, and joy of joys as this cannot be said for many of a certain age, his voice is still a very useful weapon.

The rather ‘cartoon’ ‘Rock Party’ gives way to a spirited romp through Bo Diddley’s ‘Who Do You Love’ and as he correctly surmises…’and we’re away…’ and the middle eight’ of the gig comprises some good ol’ George favourites, ‘Night Time’, ‘I Drink Alone’ and a rapturously received ‘One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer’. Nowt wrong with that. No, Sir. More or less at this point he switches to a beautiful white Epiphone and slide tube, and we get ‘Gear Jammer’, ‘Get A Haircut And Get A Real Job’, and to enjoy the irony of that you have to go back to the days when there was such a thing as a ‘Real Job,’ a crowd-pleasing ‘Bad To The Bone’ and a joyous romp through the Champs ‘Tequila’ and then sprinting home with the title track from ‘Move It On Over’ before an encore of ‘Born To Be Bad’ and a bizarre awarding of a single rose to a lady on the front row whilst the National Anthem played (not the American one). His slide work is still gold standard stuff, The Destroyers, including the old 1970s  originals Billy Blough and Jeff Simon still pound along with enthusiasm and yes, there aren’t the physical pyrotechnics and Chuck Berry ‘duck walks’ anymore and it does look like hard work on occasion, which it assuredly is. But these are card-carrying American musicians. You’ve paid to see a Rock Show in the grand manner, and you’re getting your money’s worth. For how much longer, I wouldn’t like to hazard. But right now, you’re unlikely to see and hear a better set of rocking blues here in the UK.

From there to Manchester and the Albert Hall, which is actually a converted Methodist Hall which is over a hundred years old and is perhaps best described as ‘shabby chic’. A medium-sized venue, it has probably the longest walk to the rest rooms outside of a festival setting and significantly more stairs. However, it did, on the face of it, appear to be a charming venue for us to see Joe Jackson go through his paces for the first time since the early 80s.

The local support act were almost inaudible and that should have set the warning bells a-jangling but as they were of the hyper-sensitive acoustic singer songwriter duo I was inclined to put that down to the genre. But Sadly Not. Joe Jackson took to the stage with his band, and as ever the main man cut a dapper figure, almost painfully tall and thin, and straight away we’re in trouble. The opening song is just a muddy mess, ‘One More Time’ completely ruined, Jackson’s voice almost completely drowned. OK, a sighting shot. Come on, mixing desk guy, get it sorted. ‘Big Black Cloud’ is slightly better, but this isn’t saying a great deal. ‘Sunday Papers’ is knowing and brisk, but once again, the cacophony which surrounds him seems to be fighting the voice rather than supporting it.

Jackson’s keyboard work is nothing less than sumptuous, though. ‘Real Men’ is a compromised delight and this leads to tonight’s cover where he wryly observes he usually likes to do one cover in a set from a band he likes….but this time he’ll do one by a band he really doesn’t like, and promptly launches into an extremely well-arranged and thoroughly enjoyable cover of Abba’s ‘Knowing me, Knowing You’.    And then a bit of a break before ‘Blaze of Glory‘ ‘Tomorrow’s World’ and ‘Fool’, and it becomes increasingly apparent that either 1. It is nigh-on impossible to get a decent sound in the venue, OR; 2. The sound guy is clueless. In any case, the drummer plays with a lack of sensitivity and touch which is almost breathtaking. It’s as if he’s employed Animal from the Muppets to ruin the set for him. A couple of songs where Jackson plays and sings solo underlines this. In mine own humble, he’d have been better off touring solo with his keyboard and maybe somebody on a cajon or something. ‘Sing You Sinners,’ a cover of the Tony Bennett standard leads into what for me was the highlight of a frustrating gig, a re-arranged and vocally – led ‘Is She Really Going Out With Him’. And it is apparent, as it has been all night, that his voice is still Right There. ‘Different For Girls’ is played completely straight down the line and is a serious high point and ‘I’m The Man’ is played with an energetic, punky joy which gets them dancing in the aisles. So we’re all warmed up and it looks like He’s The Man and he’s going to pull triumph from the teeth of near – disaster; the assembled knows what’s coming. ‘Stepping Out’, top ten hit both sides of the Atlantic, and they’re ready to celebrate and dance. So the band elect to play it as a slow ballad. Which of course it can be sung as, lyrically that much is clear. But under the circumstances, Why Would You? Classic case of just because you can doesn’t mean you should. F for frustrating. He was good, It could have been soooo much better. Would I go see Joe Jackson again? Probably. Would I go to Manchester Albert Hall again? Probably not.

Ah, well. Sup up your beer and collect your fags. A hop and a skip around the uncharacteristically parched Pennines and here we are in gorgeous Holmfirth, and all dressed up for my favourite music venue in the entire country, the Picturedrome. And a revisit to From The Jam for the first time in a good few years as well.

And they are on top form from the off. Neither of the main men, Bruce Foxton or Russell Hastings are in the first flush of youth and the intersong raps often focus on the effects of statins and the magic of stents but they play with brutal conviction and drive. ‘Broooos’ even manages a couple of eye-watering scissor kicks and I’m speaking as a contemporary here.

We are Having It tonight, it seems.

Early set highlights are a stinging ‘David Watts’ which really underlines the band’s (yes, this one and the ‘previous’ one) links back to the 60s beat boom, but without the corny guitar tricks, angelic harmonies and ersatz American accents which compromised so much of the home-grown, R’n’B based pop music of the time. They go for ‘A Town Called Malice’ early in the set which is, some might say, brave; a nailed – on encore barnstormer all day long, but with a body of work like this I guess you can afford to take a risk or two.

‘Pretty Green’ and ‘Saturday’s Kids’ are just a joy to hear. What great songs they are – and they’re played with power, energy and verve and – the voices work SO well together. Russell Hastings seems very comfortable in his role and it is gratifying that there are almost as many ‘Russell’ shouts as there are shouts for ‘Broooos’.

Bruce himself doesn’t look entirely comfortable at some points in the set or indeed totally happy though goodness knows why, if I was caught up in the middle of that lot I’d spend all my time delighting in the fact that I’d found a way to take these songs out on the road again and put them in front of people in the manner they were intended. ‘That’s Entertainment’ is a full – on pull out the stops electric version and ‘Start’ is pure 60s beat-boom magic. I absolutely delight in The Jam’s Motown and soul covers from way ‘back in the day’ so it is with ‘throw myself about all over the place’ abandon I greet ‘Heatwave’ which even includes the headlong vocal ‘call and response’ stuff towards the end. ‘Strange Town’, ‘In The City’, ‘Eton Rifles’, ‘Going Underground’ (after an EXTREMELY lengthy wait for the band to come out for the encore, apparently due to ‘discussions’ about the encore songs) but by this time the whole place is reduced to a sweaty, heaving dysfunctional mess, the front is in full mosh mode and that magic feeling you only get when a top bunch of musicians have taken the place with them has broken out and pervades the sweat – soaked air.

That’s the way you do it. GO and see them and that’s an order.

Home and a big breakthrough for me – I’ve been asked to do a ‘cover’ shift on the main Radio Caroline album channel, having produced over 200 shows for the Caroline Flashback ‘oldies channel’ and I am totally made up. But before I lock myself away in the studio and start to understand the way all that works, gig number 4, a short drive across the moors through England’s highest village to Buxton and a visit to the charmingly sedate Pavilion Gardens, where Louisiana blues legend Lil’ Jimmy Reed is on the bandstand.

Now, Lil’ Jimmy is not actually called Lil’ Jimmy Reed. His real name is Leon Atkins but that’s where the kidding stops. This guy learned his trade playing gigs with the REAL Jimmy Reed, you know, ‘Shame Shame Shame’ and all that, and his peers, so it is not unreasonable to assume our man is knocking on a bit. Indeed, he is the dangerous side of 80 and can reasonably lay claim to being one of the last ‘original’ purveyors of Louisiana Blues.

And what a bunch of ‘sidemen’ he presents to us tonight (or doesn’t, he barely addresses the audience at all apart from through his music). On keyboards, Bob Hall, long-time collaborator with Alexis Korner, and a relatively youthful 80, Hilary Blythe on a U-bass, and the drummer with Ten Years After during the glory years, Ric Lee.

Hang on, let me do that again. This guy has played Woodstock. Yes, THAT Woodstock. He’s not going to waste his time.

And he isn’t.

The band shuffle on, looking like a group of retired schoolteachers albeit in a concession to ‘showbiz’ dressed in cabaret-style glittery stage apparel (with the exception of Ric Lee, he’s clearly having none of that old malarkey).

And promptly proceed to light up the stage with some of the best and most authentic blues you’ll hear this year or probably ever again.

We get ‘Hoochie Coochie Man’, we get ‘Caress Me Baby’, we get ‘How Blue Can You Get’, ‘We Get Big Boss Man’…but it almost doesn’t matter what we get. Reed just glides around his guitar with the assurance of a man who has HAD to play for a living for years and years and years, wherever there was a dollar to be earned and the band just roll with it. There are a few hilarious interludes where Reed, who sure don’t say much, tries to let the band know what key to start in by mouthing it across from one side of the stage to the other. Now, communicated like this there ain’t much difference between A,D,E or G, with, as critics might say, hilarious consequences. I’d be tempted to get different coloured paddles and wave them about at the start of each song but that would probably just lose some of the charm. Nope, he don’t talk much. I think I’d also advise against the audience walkabout with the guitar. He’s so stick thin and frail-looking, I was genuinely worried he’d ‘have a fall’ as people say about elderly folks. But then again you also get the impression that Nobody Tells Him What To Do. After the break, where the merch stand is hammered so much they actually run out of CDs, he disappears to the bar for three songs, which is unusual as he’s doesn’t drink, giving the band opportunity (which it didn’t look like they were expecting!) to do a few of their own songs prior to his re-appearance.

But sing….he opens his mouth and the pain and weariness, struggle, soul and strain of slowly lifting himself out of the shotgun shack in which he was born and raised, all fall out amongst a magical cascade of scattergun electric blues. He plays slide with just his fingers. He uses his hands as percussion. What A Player. What A Voice.

As you might expect with that pedigree, the drums are absolutely rock solid and perfectly in context and in fact all the musicians manage to make a telling contribution to the evening’s events without ever drowning or obscuring the business end of it all, which would have been near-sacrilegious.

Make no mistake, this man is the Real Deal and he might well be able to lay claim to the title Last Man Standing. I left the venue thinking that I probably won’t see anything like that again.  And that doesn’t happen every night.

So, four very different live experiences. You pays your money, you takes your pick. But what I will say with total conviction is it is SO good to be able to get out and enjoy a whole range of live music again. What was once a lifestyle, now feels like a privilege. Whatever it is that floats your boat, GO. Just go.

4 for George Thorogood, 3 for Joe Jackson, 5 for From The Jam, and 5 for Lil’ Jimmy Reed.

Photo by Pauline Felstead

Time for an apology here. Things have been so busy here at The Riot House that we misplaced this review for a couple of weeks. Steve Jenner went along to the traditional closing gig of the Leek Blues & Americana Festival and sent us this review of The Achievers and Greg Brice at The Foxlowe. And thanks also to Pauline Felstead for the shot of The Achievers and to JR Mountford and Dave Swarbrook for finding the photo at really short notice. When you read the first paragraph review you’ll see that it’s appropriate that it’s been published the day after the Lord Mayor’s Show. We’re looking forward to October 2022 already. Over to Steve:

It was last night of the proms for the Leek Blues and Americana Festival. It had also been a busy week in radioland; and not really feeling much like it in all honesty I headed for central Leek more in hope than in expectation. The main event had been a couple of weekends back and the town certainly had a feel of ‘After The Lord Mayor’s Show’ about it. However, the Festival had been a triumph over considerable adversity and the gig certainly deserved a show of support at the very least.

Which just goes to show, sometimes when you really can’t be…sometimes you should force yourself out. Just occasionally it pays and this was just such a gig.

Firstly, Greg Brice. Looking like a cross between a primary school teacher and Manfred Mann, an unassuming presence with vocals in the upper range and an absolutely lovely guitar sound, very mellow and ‘rounded’ but also with occasional sharp and genuine stabs of the blues in there. Very slick slide playing once he’d found the tube, and some of his own songs which stood up well. Definitely a class above what I could reasonably expect at this time of night.

And so to The Achievers. Radio 2 like them. Blues and Americana radio jocks are playing their records all over the place. A mixed bag in terms of presentation, they come from Stroud in deepest Gloucestershire and they look a bit like it. However, off we go and it is instantly promising, a situation helped by an absolutely crystalline sound, well done you knob twiddlers. Bit more volume needed for the excellent lead guitar picker for me, he’s good, don’t hide him away – but they sounded great. Really great, and that’s not always the case in small-to-medium venues.

Anybody who writes a song where the central premise is ‘everybody loves you when you’re dead’ is alright by me. The easy charm and twinkling humour of their frontman and lead singer Steve Ferbrache soon wins over the battle-weary and we’re definitely off and running.

And what a vibe they have. It just rolls. Rhythm section is light and tight and they keep lobbing in sub-Motown fills here and there which are delightful to observe. Songs about unrequited groupies and what it is that gets you out of bed. Tea, apparently, in Leek, according to a significant percentage of the assembled. A few songs are lobbed in taken from their latest album ‘The Lost Arc’. They’re funny amusing, and also a great dance band, which is a trick and a half to pull off.

But is it the Blues? Nope, by their own admission. Does it matter? Nope, this is the closer for the Leek Blues and Americana Festival. But is it Americana, then? Well, in bits. There’s the aforementioned Motown tricks and occasional Gospel-style (I kid you not) outbursts and twangy great country slices here and there and a harp blower of considerable elegance, and Lindisfarne keep bursting through the door accompanied by Little Feat and Jonathan Richman but really, this is a classic slice of Britishana rather than anybody else’s ana. Despite the originality of their songs you keep hearing snatches and throwbacks from all over the place; was that the ghost of ‘Back In The USSR’ I heard somewhere in there…and why do I keep referencing Janis Ian part-way through another of their originals?

Had they been ‘around’ in the seventies, they would no doubt have had half a dozen hit singles along with a few top 50 albums and all the rest of it. And in fairness, in the context of a music industry that barely exists any more in conventional terms, they are, well…Achievers. And they are a bloody good night out. So good they kept me away from the wonderful Reefy Blunt and the Biftas who were playing across the road until very late in their set, who on the evidence of a brief visit before taxi time were brilliant fun, which is always the problem you are presented with as a punter during the Festival ‘proper’ but isn’t that a lovely problem to have? So, a brave and unusual way for the Leek Blues and Americana Festival to go out on for 2021. And if the organisers can make such a decent fist of it in this godforsaken year, then this time next year, Rodney…!  

Oh, I just don’t know where to begin…Accidents Will Happen. In late 2018, this venue played host to the early dates of an Elvis Costello tour which didn’t get much further. He was diagnosed with a form of prostate cancer and despite some lurid headlines, he recovered and here he is back treading the boards many, many years after angry young manhood.

So it seems a little impolite to, well…I dunno.

The support act kind of underlined the problem here. Singer/songwriter Ian Prowse was very hale, hearty, full of verve, vigour and twinkle, a combination of scouse/Irish wit and charm and poppiness. Clearly thrilled to be playing such a big venue with such a ‘name’ he claimed his eight-year-old daughter came out to see him in Liverpool on the first night of the tour; and that was ‘the first time she’d seen him’ which I don’t think is quite what he meant. He also offered to buy everybody a drink if they met him at the merch stand after his set…careful, Ian. Last time one of our lot made a similar claim it cost me thousands. Seriously though he was very listenable as were his fellow troubadours but the lack of a bass guitar can very rarely be compensated for by a keyboard, I reckon. The final song in the set, “Does This Train Stop on Merseyside” is a bit of a stonker as well. Keep eyes and ears open for Ian Prowse. A good listen.

Elvis, on the other hand…the tour is called Just Trust 2020, and we kick off with a ‘sighter’ from the ’81 ‘Trust’ album, “Strict Time”. I usually allow bands one or two to get settled and to let any gremlins work their way out so we won’t dwell on this one much, followed by “Clubland” and “Greenshirt” which, although intense seemed to be pretty much all over the place mix-wise. I know the venue has a bit of a reputation for wayward sound but this was a really wild ride, a sort of rumbling, grumbling mess. It seemed to these ears that the opposite of what should have been the case was the truth; they were playing like they’d only just met. And with former Attractions Steve Naïve on keyboards (lots of them) and Pete Thomas on drums and with a settled line-up in the Imposters, this took me rather by surprise.

And come the first of the ‘Hits’, the towering majesty of “Accidents Will Happen”, another problem seems to emerge. Occasionally in later life, singers will not be able to hit particular notes. But this doesn’t seem to be the problem here…his vocal range still seems to be there…but the timing is all over the place and sometimes he just seems to be ‘chasing after’ the song; which is a problem for the sharp, angular, quick-fire demands of many of his older hits. His singers/dancers throw themselves about all over the place to give the impression of concerted, rhythmic responses to the music, but they can’t throw me off the scent. I dig in for an evening of irregular but profound wincing. Great, great song, though.

And then “Better Watch Your Step” and a clutch of others…but I’m SO distracted by now. It isn’t just the timing…he’s Very Flat on occasion…then he’ll throw in one of those soooo Elvis vocal trills and you’ll forgive him…and then for the next 30 seconds he sounds like he’s in the wrong key…the mix is beyond muddy and…I’m not sure he can actually hear himself. Can he hear himself?

“I Don’t Want To Go To Chelsea”. Love the song. She’s last year’s model. It’s a killer. Band layer it intensely but he’s chasing the song again…why? I can’t sing but I could probably read the lyrics so they’d actually ‘fit’ the song… all over the place…

…into one for the 2018 album “Suspect My Tears” and possibly because it was written when he was an older man, he does actually get this one to ‘fit’ and glory be, the mix slowly starts to get a bit tighter and more ‘approachable’. After which I’m treated to Elvis telling me he hates me in “Radio Radio” complete with bonkers ‘Farfisa’-style organ and intense and angst-filled playlist envy. Sorry Elvis. Just not radio-friendly, that one.

“Watching the Detectives” is, though. Backlit in eerie green, Costello as ‘spook’ comes to the fore and, at this juncture, it is important I mention the guitar playing. His various ancient and weird-looking guitars and barrage of foot pedals are no doubt very necessary for despite the barrage of keyboards Steve Nieve bounces around behind, there is only one guitarist and it is EC. And the guitar sound is universally excellent, very subtle and supple where required, very sharp and incisive in ways which the interesting but wayward voice now seems less than.

Sitting down at the piano we get the ‘country’ section of the show, including a quite rambling and off-key “Good Year for the Roses”. Always a broken heart/broken voice job, this seriously pushes the boundaries on that particular concept.

From that to another from the 2018 album “Look Now”, “Burnt Sugar is so Bitter” a song co-written by Carole King and this is a right old work-out on a song which tells one of the oldest stories in songwriting in a typically direct way. This worked really well, Steve Nieve’s rattling, empty ‘ice rink’ organ sound giving a hollow, almost ‘Northern Soul’ feel. And speaking of which…”High Fidelity”, a hit from the ‘soul’ album “Get Happy”, which once again, seems to leave his voice behind. Otherwise, just great. But…

“A Whisper to a Scream” jerks us back again to “Trust” and it is an intense delivery, which then melts in to the sublime “Alison” from the first album recorded for about six quid in 1976/7 depending on who you talk to. This is gorgeous and even though the voice does that wandering thing again there are moments within this when all is forgiven, just to hear it ‘live’ again; especially when that folds seamlessly into a marriage with Motown beauty “I’m Gonna Make You Love Me”. Every tune is working to a crescendo now and it would be spectacularly unfair to point out that despite the compromising of songs by a meandering voice, the audience are really warming to this and 80’s FM radio A-lister “Every Day I Write The Book” arrives right on cue and as described in the brochure.

And then “Pump it Up” nearly blows the roof off the place. At the end of it, this guy is a showman. Nobody is going to leave this venue feeling like they’ve been short-changed, I will say that much. And as is the current vogue for encore avoidance, the band stay on the stage and soak up well-deserved applause for a strong and professionally-delivered set. Not their fault the old lad’s struggling to hold a tune on occasion now.

And our final tunes for the night are the “Give Peace a Chance” section of the show and who can blame him? Certainly not I when this commences with “Shipbuilding”. Written by Costello and long-time Madness producer Clive Langer, I have to say I FAR prefer Robert Wyatt’s tremulous, fragile version but I’m here tonight and I’ll take this….but he’s off wandering again and he can’t point at not being able to live with the pace of the song here…and it’s all a bit so-so until he finishes the song on a shimmering, jazzy ‘When we could be diving for pearls’ which just seems to hang in the air and really does force listeners to face the compromises we make with the world in order to be ‘of’ the world.

Which, of course, rumbles straight into a spirited, very ‘dashing’ rock ‘n’ roll version of “Oliver’s Army” which ‘only’ got to Number 2, combining fairly ‘confrontational’ lyrics with the sort of piano that wouldn’t have sounded out of place on an Abba single. Part of our ‘Should have got to number 1; God, where were you?’ club repertoire, anyone would have been excused for thinking that was that, as it could well have been, but pacifist’s corner ended very appropriately and rather touchingly with Brinsley Schwarz’s “What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding” and that was indeed it, standing ovations all round the crowd no doubt shuffling off into a cold night warmed to the cockles by the memory of familiar tunes played stirringly….and how many of them would recall great acres of vocal creakiness the following morning?

Absolutely well worth going to see but an increasingly flawed masterpiece as the vocals struggle to live with the songs he’s created, I’d like to think he was throwing stuff about when he got off stage because he couldn’t hear what was going on or he’d just had an ‘off night’. But. Maybe it is Twilight Time.


To paraphrase rock snapper Allan McKay, ‘in the unfortunate event of Armageddon, the only survivors will be rats, ants and the Technics 1200 record turntable. And Dr. Feelgood.’

Starting out from Canvey Island in 1971, much has been made of the ‘no original members’ thing over the years. But you can trace the ‘blood line’ through this band going Way Back. As members have left or died, they’ve been replaced. Nothing ‘tributey’ about that. That’s reality. That, in part, is why I published “Rock ‘n’ Roll Twilight” in the first place. Bass man Phil Mitchell and drummer Kevin Morris have been with them since 1983, and so both recorded and toured extensively with main man Lee Brilleaux. Guitarist extraordinaire Steve Walwyn has been with the band since 1989; and even relative ‘newbie’, vocalist and harp player Robert Kane has fronted the Feelgoods for over 20 years, celebrating his 1000th Dr. Feelgood gig as long ago as 2007.

So let’s have none of that ridiculous sniffiness. As George Michael once said, ‘listen without prejudice’ (though admittedly that didn’t turn out well).

First though, a bit of a larff.

John Otway and Wild Willy Barrett first entered my flat by stealth when in 1977 Polydor Records sent me a copy of a single called “Really Free”. Like many record labels they were desperately casting around for ‘punk’ acts to sign in ’76/77 and picked this lot up from Pete Townsend’s Track Records label as they were basically taking what amounted to a scattergun approach but amongst the dreck this decidedly odd little single stood out. We gave it some plays, radio picked up on it and within what seemed like five minutes the duo were ‘On Top Of The Pops’ in time-honoured fashion and it became a ‘proper’ top 40 hit in the days when that meant Selling Stuff. The only problem being that as far as his musical partner is concerned, John Otway is a Complete Prat. A most unlikely ‘pop star’, he took the fast route back to obscurity by winning an international gurning award on Top of the Pops, and famously making a complete ass of himself by unsuccessfully attempting to hurdle a PA stack on BBC 2’s ‘The Old Grey Whistle Test’ TV show and ending up with his knackers in a splint. It could have been A Lot Worse.

He then proceeded to pay for the rest of his ticket back to nowhere by releasing a full-on, big-production ballad, “Geneve”, which completely stiffed despite the record company spending eye-watering amounts of money on promoting it (and record companies don’t forget that sort of error of judgment in a hurry) and, to further compound spectacular failure, not telling his musical partner WWB that he had neglected to give him a ‘name check’ and it was in effect a solo record for no other reason than that he did SO want to be a ‘proper’ ‘pop star’. Mr. Barrett was on his way to a gig at the time with Mr. Otway when he heard it introduced on the radio. Strangely enough, he didn’t turn up to play the gig that night and the duo had the first of about 27 ‘splits’ thus far.

Back on stage together and both now either 70 or pushing it, on first appearances it is difficult to resist the conclusion that for some strange reason the ghost of author Roald Dahl has dyed his hair black and decided to tour with a grumpy version of half of Chas and Dave. And a Wheelie Bin. More later.

However, be that as it may, we are treated to a spirited gallop through ‘Louisa on a Horse”, their second single, sort of accompanied by a scraping, raking fiddle contribution by Barrett. This is followed by ‘The Hit’, which they make a monument out of, informing the assembled ‘this is as good as it gets – the bar is over there!’ and stopping part way through in order to drag five minutes out of the thing. By which time, half the audience are in hysterics and the other half are wide-mouthed and not necessarily in admiration.

“Beware of the Flowers” features Barrett on Wheelie Bin. When he wishes to make a contribution to proceedings he opens a brown wheelie bin which is strategically placed by his side which contains an FX machine from which emanates ‘rock guitar’ noises and other things, brilliantly timed with deceptively well-rehearsed comedy in the opening and closing of the bin (no, really! Very funny indeed. I will take the recyc out with some trepidation after this.)

They then make a spirited but ill-judged attempt to pay tribute to Rolf Harris’s “Two Little Boys”. I always thought seeing as Rolf had done a cover of Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven”, Robert Plant and his mates might have at least returned the compliment by having a shot at said tune, but no. It is left to Otway and Barrett to right a historical wrong. Which isn’t a good thing, necessarily…

Otway then explains the reasons for the 27th split being Barrett’s refusal to play encores so the audience are encouraged to go for the compromise which is that they’d stay onstage whilst the audience make a whole load of noise and then they’d do “Geneve” as a ‘not’ encore. During which shenanigans Barrett takes a tenon saw and tries to cut the acoustic he’s playing in half (whilst playing it), then assaulting it with a hammer before stomping all over it for no apparent reason. Then and once again inexplicably a set of bagpipes disguised as Bagpuss come into play. Otway then sweeps off like the ‘star’ he ‘is’ and Barrett is left onstage to offer the mangled cheapo acoustic, which cost him £30, to the first member of the audience to stump up £33 (inc artistic ‘tax’) as a charitable donation at the merch. Ermm…….I was only massively entertained. Never left a show which has Otway in it anything other than grinning like an idiot. And this was no exception. Folk meets pop meets rock meets country, somewhere around the crossroads marked English Eccentricity.

But let us not delay too long here as this is all about the Feelgoods. On the band march at the allotted time, to a Friday night ‘full house’ welcome and straight away you can see they’ve clocked this could be Very Good Indeed. There is already a sense that we’re Having It.

We start with a whole bunch of ‘oldies’; “Drives Me Wild” as a ‘sighter’ whilst they bring Robert Kane’s mike forward a bit in the mix, “No Mo Do Yakomo”, I Can Tell” where Steve Walwyn lets that flamethrower Telecaster loose for the first time tonight, “Been Down So Long” and “Down by the Jetty” which once again reminds the assembled what a wealth of great R and B songs this band have in their locker which very rarely troubled the UK singles chart (but goodness me, they shifted some albums).

The next segment of the evening’s proceedings features Steve Walwyn on slide guitar with some great blues vocals and harp stabs by Robert Kane. This guy is a great rock singer by any measure but can he sing the blues….it is no surprise he was with The Animals 2 before he joined the Feelgoods. Anyone who at any point found himself in Eric Burdon’s shoes is, we can perhaps agree, none too dusty, but the band reel off a vinegar version of Elmore James “Dust my Broom”, “Rollin’ and Tumblin” and of course whilst you’ve got the correct weapon to hand, “Back In The Night”, their mid-seventies jukebox shaker which introduced a whole bunch of Brit rock fans to the Joy of Slide, if Rory Gallagher hadn’t already done so.

This, then, is the first of the ‘juke box hits’ section of the show as we gallop in rapid sequence through a jumping, pulsating “Roxette”, taking a few minutes out for a slow blues band showcase in “Shotgun Blues” where all the band members show what they can do. Steve Walwyn makes a claim to be the best guitarist Dr Feelgood ever had (and not only the longest-serving) at this point (controversial, I know; when you’re talking Gypie Mayo and Wilko Johnson as the primary contenders) and Phil Mitchell’s rumbling, sinuous bass is absolutely killer here, and then we’re off to shake that jukebox again as we blast through a rabble-rousing if slightly misfiring version of “Milk and Alcohol”, and a spirited rip through the thoroughly ‘wired’ “She’s A Wind Up” followed by the sharp, ‘all elbows and knees’ jerkiness of “She Does It Right”.

Everything they do has that precision of the heavily-gigged professional rock act. This is no occasional run out, or a 20-date travelling circus. This is what they do and what this band has done, in venues of this size and bigger and smaller, since 1971. That’s nearly 50 years. And I shudder to think how many gigs the band has done in that time.

After that and in a perfectly-judged set there’s a mélange of what should have been a massive radio drivetime hit “Going Back Home”, “Down At The Doctors” (Got to number 48 on the UK singles chart…….hellowwww…..!) “Gimme One More Shot” and they’re off.

And of course they’re not going to get off that lightly. We do indeed get one more shot and it’s a spectacularly dense and intense “Mad Man Blues” followed by the flip side of Roxette back in 1974, the ultimate encore machine, “Route 66” and then they ARE gone.

Never mind all the sniping about who’s who. These lads are rapidly becoming a national treasure in a world of phonies and one-trick-ponies. From the greasy sleaze of the ‘sneaking out the back door with a grin’ stories to the workaday, careworn, bluesy lyrics, from the red hot and rocking juke-box smashes to the smouldering, powerful blues workouts, this is the way to celebrate the end of the working week alright. Need a shot of Rhythm and Blues? Go see the Doctor. He might be considering retiring. Or he might, in some incarnation, just go on for another hundred years. Because Dr. Feelgood is a sort of collective; a sort of ‘idea’, born largely out of the energy and vision and drive of one Lee Brilleaux. But despite the fact that Lee isn’t around to see how well his insistence the band carried on after his death worked out……why stop now?

Postscript: And in the pub across from the venue afterwards, the esteemed and venerable Nook, we fell across the lucky man who is now the proud possessor of a sawn – off acoustic guitar. They didn’t event throw in the tenon saw for his £33. 

Reckons it is going straight on e Bay. 

And I say – ‘Cor Baby, that’s Nearly Free.’
 

The first proper gig; it should be memorable, shouldn’t it? For some of us it’s the start of a lifetime of queuing in the rain twenty minutes after doors while the drummer gets his floor tom sound right, of missing the last train home and paying £60 for a cab and of explaining that you just spoke to the band’s manager twenty minutes ago and you are definitely on the guest list, besides the singer’s a mate of yours. All of those frustrations are forgotten when the sticks click and the band hits their groove (sorry anyone that doesn’t have a drummer, but you know what I mean).

Do you remember the first time?

I certainly do, and I made a reference to it on this very website nearly eight years as part of an appreciation of the wonderful Nick Lowe. Here’s the unedited album version.

It was the East Midlands in the mid-seventies: a time of industrial unrest and political instability. The UK had been in the Common Market for a year and in the US, Nixon was living on stolen time (he resigned almost six months later). On Monday 25th February 1974, none of that mattered; I was going to my first proper gig, to see a proper band that I’d seen on the Whistle Test and had already released five albums. And they were playing at The Civic Theatre in Mansfield of all places. I’m pretty certain the sixth forms from all of Mansfield’s grammar schools were in the audience, after visiting the pubs with the most lenient bar staff. Fair to say there was a sense of expectation.

With hindsight, I can see that there wasn’t a huge budget for the tour and that support bands were picked up locally. It makes financial sense, and a local support will bring along some of their fans to swell the audience and that’s a good thing, yeah? The support band this time was a local rock covers band called Care, whose singer lived on the same estate as I did and who were popular with the local biker gang. Any alarm bells ringing yet? They played their set, got a great response from their own fans and were actually pretty convincing. So, after a quick break to top up the alcohol levels it was on to the night’s headliners.

By this stage, following the 1970 Fillmore hype and the bad feeling it generated with the rock press, Brinsley Schwarz as a band were back on creative form but commercially pretty much finished. They had some great tunes were a superb live band on their night. What they weren’t, crucially on this night, was a heavy rock band; you would colour them moody blue rather than deep purple. The majority of the audience had paid to see Brinsley Schwarz and were perfectly happy to hear their well-crafted and crisply-performed soul-inflected pop/rock. Not the leather-jacketed fans of the support band; from the opening of the set they bayed menacingly about the lack of red meat and thud and blunder. The natives were restless and hammered; not the best combination.

The inevitable happened a couple of songs in when Mansfield’s finest mild boys took advantage of the lack of security to invade the stage in protest at the lack of power chords and screaming vocals. Everything happened surprising quickly and suddenly the stage was engulfed in greasy leather. It looked like a fairly even match between rockers and roadies until one deluded delinquent took a lunge at Nick Lowe, who was sporting his Gibson EB bass; and then he wasn’t. The rocker was wearing the headstock of the bass in his mouth and nose and spitting blood and teeth. Game over; Brinsleys 1, Mofos 0, shortly followed by the ignominy of the rockers’ retreat and vaguely threatening noises.

The roadies went back to the day job, got the stage reset for the band and the gig went ahead as if nothing had happened. The band were on good form and did the business for the rest of the set and then everyone went home happy, apart from a few broken bikers. As first gigs go it was memorable; a bit of underage drinking, a support band with a lead singer that I knew, a full-scale stage invasion and a great set from a band that I really wanted to see. And it happened in Mansfield of all places; I didn’t think for a second that forty years later I would be watching Brinsley Schwarz (with Graham Parker) and Nick Lowe (with his band and Geraint Watkins) at gigs in London, but that’s the way it panned out. That first gig showed me a way out of a small provincial town and the events of that night still influence my life now.

As I mentioned at the beginning, I wrote briefly about that gig eight years ago and a couple of interesting things happened. Someone else who was at the gig contacted me via a website comment and we’ve met up for a couple of beers in London, then Ian Gomm, who was the guitar player in Brinsley Schwarz, contacted me to say that the band never actually knew why the stage invasion had happened and were a bit concerned about getting a kicking outside. Unlikely; the rockers had probably retreated to their base in the Midland Hotel to compare war stories and intimidate the under-age drinkers that hadn’t gone to the gig.

 

 

It’s a streaming wet and murky day in the Moorlands – and it pretty much doesn’t matter which set of Moorlands you’re in, it is giving way to a horrible ‘don’t bother’ kind of night.

Graham Parker doesn’t need telling this. He’s just played the first date on a solo UK tour celebrating the release of an acoustic version of his best-selling UK hit album, ‘Squeezing out Sparks’, in Exeter and has spent six hours swapping one set of Moorlands scenery for the Staffordshire Moorlands. For tonight he’s set to play The Foxlowe Centre in Leek. And despite a nasty ‘tour cold’ and having to survive recording a near-on half-hour podcast and radio interview with Mr. McKay and I following the sound check, this sprightly, twinkly 60-plusser is in fine voice when he hits the stage.

He follows a short and perfectly fine set by Stephen Wilson Jnr and once he takes the stage, always a slight and quite unassuming figure, you’re once again reminded of the ‘nakedness’ of the solo acoustic performer. No ‘The Rumour’-style brass section to ‘lean on’ here. The songs either do the job, and the performer can ‘sell’ them, or they can’t.

It kind of helps, though if you’ve got a body of work spanning decades which includes 3 UK top 40 single hits, and 4 top 40 UK hit albums. “Squeezing out Sparks” got to number 22 on the UK album chart and went Gold in a number of territories and is the most ‘stripped down’ of the albums which troubled the UK chart, so that kind of helps as well, as does the knowledge and experience which comes from touring, incessantly, for more years than seems possible and guesting recently on tour with the likes of vinyl single chart-toppers Stone Foundation.

He kicks off with “Fool’s Gold” from 1976 and the album “Heat Treatment”. It was a great song then and is a great song now and Parker’s nasal rasp is the ideal vehicle. His voice does indeed sound needle sharp and his acerbic and self-deprecating wit between songs is an object lesson in how to entertain when you ain’t singing. He follows this with “Chloroform” from 2005 and the album “Songs of no Consequence” and we’re off and running. He already has the near-sell-out crowd eating out of his hand.

He candidly admits “Waiting for the UFOs” is probably the weakest song on “…..Sparks” but plays it anyway (Why, Graham? This has, in fairness, dated a bit) before a triple of “Every Saturday Nite” from recent album “Cloud Symbols”, “Stick to the Plan” and “Black Honey” all of which are played with humour, verve and panache by someone who knows how the tread the boards. He’s nobody’s idea of a world-beating guitar picker, but he’s perfected the art of using alternately a large acoustic and a Telecaster (not to mention a kazoo!!) to accompany himself to a perfectly appropriate effect, especially the acoustic, which he plays with a choppy, rhythmic style which ‘drives’ songs along. Another recent song in “Bathtub Gin” leads into the album opener on “….Sparks”, “Discovering Japan”. Often used a set opener when playing ‘full band’ gigs, this once again proves what an unusually-structured but striking piece this is in a live setting. Well into the ‘back nine’ now, he helter-skelters through to a paint stripping version of album title track “Howlin’ Wind”, which heralded the start of Parker’s recording career back in ’76, “Back to School Days” and a positively desperate-sounding ‘Stick To Me’. This was always a great song which all but disappeared under the ‘kitchen sink’ production which was thrown at it when the album was recorded and indeed it didn’t ‘do’ anything like as well as it should have done due to alleged cack-handed record company shenanigans (“Mercury Poisoning”, anyone?) and then a celebratory bundle of “White Honey” a top 40 UK hit on ‘The Pink Parker’ EP, “Is The Sun Out” and a blisteringly angry version of the new red vinyl single, “Nixon’s Rules”, which is ripping up a few trees as a searing critique of Britain’s failed and increasingly discredited drug policy.

He leaves the stage to rapturous applause to head off in to the next night on his UK tour, nursing a heavy cold but in the secure knowledge that man flu is temporary, class is permanent. He remains one of the few artists to emerge from the era of the ‘new wave’ with an ever-increasing appreciation of his qualities as a song writer and a performer; a reputation which, at the time, was probably ‘disguised’ and certainly under-appreciated by the demands of a very strange time. Bizarrely enough, as an artist, his time is probably Right Now. And it appears to me, watching him onstage in Leek tonight, that he’s clocked this. Go GP.

The things we do for love?

Almost, but not quite.

Mrs. J is extremely partial to the velvet vocals of the Lighthouses and even though I cannot pretend to be a diehard fan I know an airplay tune when I hear one. My musings at the end of my recent review of an Al Stewart gig where I briefly allowed myself to consider how much brass the aforementioned’s “Year of the Cat” has made me, personally, over the years shrinks into complete insignificance compared to the recorded output of these guys.

I’ll have made more out of these than The Beatles, The Stones and The Who put together, and then some, and it is, of course, mutual. The Lighthouses have, or had, that uncanny knack. You could programme them anywhere, anytime, as often as you like and nobody is ‘tuning out’.

And therein lies the reason for my disquiet and sense of apprehension upfront of tonight’s gig. I really WANT to like them. And in this sort of circumstance you either get affirmation or very real disappointment. I am very worried that the crystal recorded quality of these songs as finished productions won’t cut it, live, in a largish, seated and rather soul-less theatre.

Well, let’s see…..a very pleasant curry upfront certainly meant I was very much ‘in the mood’ as support act Georgie wandered onto the stage. She’s a local lass, apparently, and this is the first night on the tour she can sleep in her own bed, she tells us. A solo singer/songwriter and tidy guitar/keyboard player, she does her stuff to an audience who are somewhere between polite and appreciative. She’s got a couple of decent songs, as well, which she wisely saves for late on in her set. Vocally, a bit like Sandy Thom meets k.d. lang in Nottingham. Excellent pitch, but there’s a lot of her about. Needs a ‘killer’ tune to break out and so far I don’t hear one, pleasant enough a listen though she is.

To The Lighthouse. Well, not exactly, yet and we’re given a time-consuming photograph backdrop ‘scene set’ to a sort of audio ‘drone’ which for me outstays a welcome by some considerable time. On they come, finally and serve up “Salvation”, a new one, as a set opener and it is your classic set opener, nothing more, nothing less, but the sound is muddy and Tunde Baiyewu’s vocals are struggling to be heard. This is followed by a mid-paced chugger with tidy Stevie Wonderesque keyboard tricks from Paul Tucker on “Blue Sky In Your Head”.

An early pearl is the gorgeous “Loving Every Minute” which is severely compromised by the backing singer just seeming ‘off’ somehow, Didn’t sound right to me, but let’s stay with the programme……

I’m sure the Lighthouses mean to be sincere on the inter-song raps, but they do really overcook it at times, with stories of raising kids and all that. So much so that the lead up to ”Put My Heart on You” doesn’t exactly have the desired effect on me.

By now, I will admit to feeling mildly irritated rather than entertained so when they kick into “Lifted” with the instantly recognisable Spanish guitar figure at the start, it is something of a relief. ‘I know what you’ve come for’, says the singer and he’s right, because as the night passes it becomes clear to me that these guys had excellent A and R and record company support. They absolutely picked the best songs as singles. Sadly, though, the hits do scream ‘HHIIIIITTTT!!’ at you extremely loudly so I don’t think it was a difficult job for the A and R bod to go ‘That’s the single’. And it isn’t just familiarity.

“Lifted” is a full-on radio singalong tune any day of the week. Nobody switches this off, ever. It does, indeed, ‘Lift’, and, to be fair, the audience are up on their feet for the first time. BUT – and unfortunately…….it doesn’t seem to ‘work’ live. I mean yes, everybody is up etc etc. but……in the cruel lights of the Concert Hall, the song is exposed for the one-line hook it pretty much is. The ‘trucker’s gear change’, the little ‘breakdowns’ in the song, all beautifully locked in by the studio with all the trickery a decent producer can bring to bear, are laid bare by the live performance. It’s just a bloke walking around the stage bleating one word, pretty much repeatedly. And “Run”, which follows, is breathtakingly ordinary.

“Raincloud” is a great song, though, and always was a bit of a fave of mine for coming out of an ad break with. You don’t have to say anything, the powerful piano shapes along with slightly eccentric percussion tricks, a bit off the beat, just draw you in and the chorus, combined with the Gil Scott-Heron style instrumental break are a delight.

Which is a shame, really as we lose the piano figure and the subtlety in percussion in the swirling, slightly mad, pseudo-Gothicky mix the whole thing seems to be wrapped in.

“Ocean Drive” is a really transcendental summer radio tune. About as close to a British Brian Wilson moment as you’re going to get, this one is pure escapist fantasy. We all know life isn’t like this but for two and a half minutes or so, most of us are prepared to suspend disbelief; and they do pretty much nail this. And “Lost In Space” is similarly such a plaintive radio-friendly tune; but tonight there just isn’t enough ‘Space’ for Tundi Baiyewu’s voice to touch and warm the listener; it is just squeezed too much by everything else that’s going on. And despite the warm accolades for the rhythm section from the two main Lighthouses, I thought they were that unforgiveable sin for a rhythm section; they were obtrusive, often as a deep, vibrating rumble, all sound and fury, signifying nothing. And completely at odds with the delicacy and lightness of the songs themselves.

“Who Gonna Save Me Now… by now, I am starting to feel uncomfortable. Another ‘ordinary’ tune, as is “Clouds”, but of course they have a set saver in “High”, which has graced many a person’s wedding/funeral/fave playlist, etc, etc and really you can’t go wrong with it…but once again, in a live format, those ‘trucker’s gear changes’ really do grate.

They encore with “Street Lights in the Rain” and “Free” and “One” but by now I have lost all patience with them. They are falling over themselves to congratulate the audience on their good taste, especially Paul Tucker, who is nobody’s idea of Mr. Showbiz and really, is best just not saying anything.

So, by the time we stream out onto the pavement, I am at serious odds with most of the audience. They feel ‘Lifted’, I feel like I’ve been resprayed magnolia. And my worst fears are confirmed. Clever though some of the songs are as studio confections, they do not translate that well into a live setting. The songs that were hits were hits for a reason. And their medium is FM (and, no doubt, digital) radio. They are best heard once every six hours or so…..or you do start to feel slightly….magnolia.

But the audience loved them, and the body of work is there, and we have done each other a lot of good over the years, so I’m going as far as 3 stars. But I don’t feel good about it.