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At the door I had no idea
whether or not the gig had started, so asked for the whereabouts of
Xavier, who was organising the gig. The guys manning the door
helpfully said he was 'in there somewhere' and once I said I was
playing tonight I was waived through without paying. And, with
surprising courtesy, they thanked me for coming along too.
So I passed through the
double-doors and surveyed the dimly lit and smoke-shrouded scene.
Xavier was already on stage with Errol, cajoling the audience with
his rough, gravely voice in a language incomprehensible to 99% of
them: Catalan. I noted the plentiful crowd were, however, paying
attention. A good sign. And they applauded at the right times too.
The dark shape of Errol stroked his guitar with dignity. I wondered
how long they'd been playing for and how much of their set was left
to run. I was due to play a little guitar and harmonica with them
and had agreed to do a review of the evening for Bristol Rocks. Pen
and paper were stuffed into my jacket pocket with a couple of harps.
I was to borrow a guitar.
I quickly reasoned that if I
were called to the stage at any time in the next couple of minutes I
could and should still take the risk of buying a pint. The bar was
bustling but not too crowded, with enough people to create a buzz
and a sense of occasion without the bar-staff being incredibly run
off their feet.
Xavier continued to perform,
Errol playing a complicated series of harmonics, ping-ing his way
around the guitar neck while Xavier made an equally staccato series
of gurgling, chattering and wordless murmuring noises. It all meshed
oddly together and as I ordered my pint the song came to a close, I
thought to myself 'let's see how they liked that' - and, in that
moment of truth: they loved it.
Guinness in hand, I moved
halfway to the stage and sat at the edge of the dance-floor which
seemed a suitable vantage point from which to see where the engineer
was based. Or indeed to see if there was any engineer at all. Xavier
could also see I was there, so he nodded to me to show he knew.
I clocked the engineer
through the murk: stage-left. I shifted and had a quick word, asking
if there were a spare microphone already set up. He went off to ask
and I asked the adjacent table if I could sat down. “Feel free”. It
turned out to be a table-full of muso's. A large bearded man in
white robes was soon declaring to the table that at one time he was
“the only carnivore in the band”. There was atmosphere of peaceful
anticipation, flyers being used for beer-mats, a large collection of
nearly black bananas loosely bound in a sagging plastic bag sitting
on the table, cigarettes turned furtively inward between yellowed
fingers, musicians and their retinues quietly garrulous, but
attentive to the performers.
It turned out that an extra
mic would be no problem.
And Xavier announced that he was “very pleased to be joined on stage
by James Hollingsworth”. So up I stood, shook hands etc and dealt
with the mic stand. A guitar appeared from nowhere (thanks, Jaumet).
We played with the arrangements a bit. These are simple songs, so
they are easy to extend beyond their normal length, Xavier used the
performance space expansively and got the audience involved. Curling
guitar lines around the spaces for one song and poking harmonica
melodies between verses for the other I soon found I was enjoying
myself and all too soon the set came to joyous conclusion.
I grabbed my jacket, my
harps and, of course, my beer, then wandered off, many greetings and
briefly uttered but sincere plaudits - the night was buoyant. I sat
down with Jaumet, whose set I'd missed - a talented songwriter who
sings passionately in his native Catalan. He spoke in broken English
and I spoke in broken Castillian. We understood each other enough to
agree on an international reality: liking the chicas.
And here was the first
evidence of any overt anti-war feeling I'd witnessed at the event.
Jaumet wore a Tarantino-inspired bright yellow t-shirt with two
words in a hard, black font: 'KILL BUSH'. Just a joke, we agreed.
Then Alien Stash Tin took to
the poorly lit stage, Xavier acting as compare. There was that
white-robed chap, singing front-man with an electric guitar. He was
Jon Wisbey, also presenter of The Bristol Community FM Rock Show,
and he looked like a rock-and-roll Gerald Durrell in a cassock. A
drummer, Bruce Morgan; another guitarist, Dave Seward; and A.J.
Pearce on bass completed the line-up for the evening (they were
missing keyboards for the night) and they quickly got into their
stride, reminiscent of Dumpy's Rusty Nuts, Hawkwind, Santana, Gong's
Flying Teapots and Cream, with twin-lead guitars and drawled
bluesy-rock harmonies.
Their performance hit the
right spots not through virtuosity but with the knowledge that music
is the space between the notes, a mature restraint drove their
sound, lending itself well to the oppressive “I'm Watching You”,
which built up like a tribal beat, musically demonic.
But they soon turned this
groove completely on its head and became full-on funky, with the
other guitarist taking the lead vocal “When you reach for the Sky,
Time passes you by.”
The crowd received them with enthusiasm, and the night continued to
pick up, choruses resonating with the theme of the night: “It
doesn't have to be this way!”
Then AST played “America -
Just say 'No'!” which was explicitly dedicated to anti-war
demonstrators and began with a short version of Hendrix's “Star
Spangled Banner” before launching into a crunching riff which
brought some of the crowd lurching to the dance floor.
Having fully claimed the
stage they dedicated a tune to “the boys who, having joined up,
suddenly find themselves in Belfast or Basra.” As I write, I
remember hearing an excellent radio-play telling how a US soldier
felt bad about killing civilians in Iraq. I heard how he confided
this to his padre who told him that it was all right to kill for his
government as long as he didn't enjoy it. But he still wasn't happy
and eventually exclaimed “I don't remember anything in the bible
which says it's all right for me to kill people for my government!”
In a similar outburst came the refrain of this song: “Fuck you, I
won't sing no more soldiers songs!” Utter disillusion.
But, instead of engendering
despair, there was a distinct warmth to the atmosphere in the room
because, after all: we can understand this disillusion and part of
the reason why events like this work is that it concentrates a mood
of compassion. Music is a unifying force and the purpose of the song
seemed to me to be an outlet for frustration - a kind of sympathetic
catharsis. I've no idea if any member of the band had ever served in
the armed forces, but they clearly wanted to reach out to those
soldiers who have come to suspect they are fighting an unjust war.
So, against the War, but not
against the Soldiers, then.
But did anybody at the gig
seriously think that they were going to stop the war by attending
the gig? Of course not, though I didn't speak to everyone. It was
nevertheless effective for two reasons: morale-building and
fund-raising.
I found this on the Stop the
War Coalition website:
APPEAL BY TONY BENN,
PRESIDENT OF STOP THE WAR COALITION
"We depend entirely on your
donations to fund our anti-war activities: demonstrations. public
meetings , vigils, people's assemblies, etc. However large or small
a donation you make will be much appreciated and is very necessary."
- Tony Benn
This coalition did not
spring from a particular political agenda, it is simply a collection
of people who agree on one thing: they wish to stop the war
currently declared by the United States and its allies against
'terrorism', whilst, with compassion for the innocent, they condemn
the attacks on New York on 11th September 2001.
So Alien Stash Tin completed
their terrestrial visitation, and made their exit passing in ragged
glory to the left-hand-side of the stage. Back in the box.
Chat. More Guinness. Clunks
and feedback from the stage. Scribbling. Sounds of the crowd booing.
Why? Was this some kind of tradition for the next band on? Or was it
simply taking too long for them to set up and sound-check? They
seemed confidently defiant, exchanging bantering back-chat for the
impatient baying while knobs were twiddled and necessary adjustments
made.
Finally, moving from ragged
glory of Alien Stash Tin, Xavier introduced the raucous glory of The
Get Outs.
A power-trio of Keith Bowers
on bass, Matthew Colley on drums, scything Gibson SG guitar and
vocals of David Edgar evoking the spiky-pop rock of Squeeze with the
brashness of The Clash, The Ramones and, dare I say it, the tribal
chanting of Adam and the Ants. It was melodic, intense and rocking,
with a full sound despite being 'just a 3-piece'.
Now I know what people mean
when they say JEBO play too loud.
Entertaining and full of
humour, David Edgar delivered the lyrics of “Beer Can” with
incredulous vitriol “Why don't you do it your own fuckin' way? Who
gives a fuck what they all say?”
Between songs, the momentum
continued, “someone said turn the guitar down: fuck that shit!”,
immediately followed by a more jubilant track during during which
Xavier beckoned me to listen to him bellow in my ear “They love this
kind of stuff in Spain!”
And they love it in Bristol
too, I quote the crowd directly ”We love you!” No interpretation
required. The dance-floor was rammed and jumping so I couldn't see
the band at all while I sipped by beer and wrote.
They got louder as the set
went on. Songs punched from one to the another, riffs gave way to
riffs and once between songs came a Queen reference “Deee doddy
doddy doh!” sang David a capella and the crowd sang back: “Deee
doddy doddy doh!” Etc. But it was a flattering-joke-reference and
Freddy's ghost was undisturbed by presumptuous challenge. David's
voice is hard and exudes a confident, reckless punk swagger, but
with a tight, musical control which occasionally reminded me of
Glenn Tilbrook, always staying within his limits, never flashy but
definitely spiky. He uses it well for its primary function: to
communicate energy.
He dedicated 'Drowning' to
Patrick and Rachel, “Anyone good at counting?” and someone shouted a
staccato, Ramones “1, 2, 3, 4!” and they were off again.
Their last song “Brand New
Start” had a Wilko Johnson Rhythm and Blues beat with nice
bass-guitar melodies. The crowd joined at every available mic for
the choruses, so they were finally visible and they left the stage
in triumph, the applause as raucous as their set.
So the sweating room had an
opportunity to relax and cool down while the bands changed over.
After the release of The Get Outs' set there was an amiable
atmosphere, the night was in full-swing but still a whole set
stretched out between the comfortable present and the distant time
to leave.
Xavier grabbed the mic
again,thanking Jesse the sound-man and all the musicians for giving
up their time for free, especially since it was a Friday night on
Bank Holiday.
There were jocular murmurs
of the Flash Barry Hand as the Flash Harry Band took went to their
posts various. Rog Slade - Lead guitar and vocals; Pete Watson -
Lead vocals, fiddle, guitar; Vicki Burke - Saxophone, flute, whistle
and vocals; Chris Mitchell on Bass; and John Furlong - Drums.
Tantalising little slide guitar licks forked out of the hubbub, the
bass thumped, brief and bluesy guitar wails and screams broke the
banter and then suddenly it was a folk gig.
Rocked-up jigs, violins and
harmonies poured from the PA, and I wondered where the drunk bloke
with the squeeze-box had got to because for a while they sounded a
lot like K-Passa.
Little iambic lines laden
with love-lost hooks “Just can't see me living in a world without
her”, and complex twists, turns and syncopations seemed to drop out
of nowhere, or was it the Guinness? It was all infectiously
danceable and very well-played. The dance floor began to fill pretty
quickly, so I couldn't see much - hang on wasn't that a sax in there
somewhere?
They rocked and they reeled
and fused jumping folk music from around the western world, with
Country/Bluegrass/Cajun rubbing shoulders with Folk-Rock Fairport
and pipey Irishness. And they used these ingredients to make Dylan's
'Highway 61 Revisited' their own.
Before I left, with the
Flash Harry Band still ramping up the energy of the room, Xavier sat
beside me gushing “I looove to see people enjoying themselves!” He
gesticulated wildly to indicate the bustle of humanity amid the
whirling music, “Tonight is an expression of humanity - we are
showing solidarity against the system!” He was also pleased that
after paying £100 for the PA, there was still £76 left over to go to
the cause, making the night a success in every way.
So it was a small event. So
the war obstinately continued in spite of it. So people used it as
an excuse to have a good time. But so what? So say I. |
