Space☆Ritual, The 100 Club, London, May 28th 2010
Space☆Ritual (yes, they use a star) formed out of the ashes of various incarnations of Hawkwind back in 2000, but their roots go right back to the earliest days of Hawkwind in 1969. Sax player Nik Turner (pictured here, courtesy of The Suit), guitarist Mick Slattery and Terry Ollis on drums were in right from the start, and Space☆Ritual keyboard player Thomas Crimble was a member of the band from ’70-’71.
The convoluted tales of break-ups and conflict with Hawkwind founder Dave Brock are frankly too tedious to detail here, but after seeing Space☆Ritual a couple of years ago at the insistence of The Suit, I’m convinced they’re more fun than the band currently called Hawkwind – and fun is what it’s all about when it comes to urban underground space-rock. Just read the band’s ‘mission statement’ from their website:
After light years of travel through hyper-space, learning and experiencing the ancient rituals, the cosmic wheel, the hurricanes and solar winds from a far off nebulae [sic], the great shifting of astromonical tides – the vermillion deserts and jewelled forests of other planes and planets, through electric madness and asteroid storms, black holes, exploding galaxies, supernovae, red dwarfs, influence of anti-matter, fantemattir, through solar flares, past the rabbit in the moon, back again on course now through the galaxies of love and light to beam down to your beloved Terra Earth Base 1.
Returning for a rare manifestation on the material plane at a stabilised energy vibration-point near you – after their long search for intelligent life throughout the cosmos (despite some problems with some Earth cultures) but performing the ritual of uniting the tribes – all beings at different levels of sprititual developement [sic] communicate the groove, joining in the true spirit, aspiring to the flame. The bright white light, the one love, loving awareness, getting higher together, have fun, greet and meet, move seat and feet to the beat, with Space☆Ritual on tour.
Yes, they really are rather bonkers, but their space-rock, sci-fi psych-funk dance fusion is very infectious, and they started with two newer numbers, Walking Backwards and The Right Stuff, to get the crowd going. Then it was into the space nonsense, with Turner shouting out Notes From A Cold Planet, written by Michael Moorcock, author and long-time collaborator of both Hawkwind and Space☆Ritual.
After a rip-roaring Sonic Savages, it was back to the 70s with two songs written by the late, great Robert Calvert, a self-confessed ‘urban guerrilla’, gifted poet and complete fruitcake. His Co-pilots Of Spaceship Earth and Reefer Madness are both barked out by Turner with relish and after 1977’s Spirit Of The Age, Turner declaimed the creepy pseudo-government information announcement Sonic Attack, another Moorcock poem:
Survival means every man for himself.
Statistically more people survive if they think only of themselves.
Do not attempt to rescue friends, relatives, or loved ones.
You have only a few seconds to escape.
Use those seconds sensibly or you will inevitably die.
– Do not panic –
Think only of yourself
These are the first signs of Sonic Attack:
You will notice small objects, such as ornaments, oscillating.
You will notice a vibration in your diaphragm.
You will hear a distant hissing in your ears.
You will feel dizzy.
You will feel the need to vomit…
It’s all a lot of fun, really, especially with the dancing of ‘Miss Angel’, a slightly more clad version of 70s legend Stacia, and for the last song,Hello Boys, Turner invited fan ‘Donna’ onto the stage to dance too.
I bumped into my old mate Spizz (claim to fame: his song Where’s Captain Kirk? was officially the first indie No. 1 single in the UK) and made my apologies for not being able to go to his World Cup punk gig extravaganza thing at the 100 Club on June 19th. Go here for the info and give Spizz a shout for me.
Neal Casal, The Luminaire, Kilburn, May 27th 2010
Neal Casal has been writing songs for himself and others for nearly two decades now, and has collaborated with many too, but he came very much into the limelight when he joined Ryan Adams and the Cardinals five years ago. That band looks to be on hold somewhat, as Ryan has gone off in whatever direction life takes him, so it’s a good time to check out Neal’s solo work.
He looks very much the part of the singer-songwriter as he takes the stage with fellow Cardinal and sidekick Jon Graboff (thanks to The Suit for the photo). In fact, his slight physical resemblance to James Taylor goes as far the voice, too, which is rich and warm. He begins with Don’t Mind The Black Clouds from last year’s album Roots And Wings and its fitting lyrics:
Don’t let the people down, you’ve kept them waiting so long,
They’d like to see you now, come on now,
Don’t let the people down, go on and sing them a song,
Don’t let the people down.
Neal said that, as he hadn’t played in the UK for a while, we could see the gig as a promo for Roots And Wings, and we also got So Far Astray, The Cold And The Darkness and Hereby The Sea from that album. This last shows the delicate folkie side of Neal’s work:
But you’ll never know me, if you won’t believe in me,
I’ve been gone too long, but things will be different this time.
You’ll never know me, if you won’t be here with me,
I’ve been blind too long, but now I’m gonna open my eyes.
Most of the music, though, is resolutely West Coast early 70s singer-songwriter, though ironically Neal (like James Taylor) is from the East Coast. He is relaxed and charming as a host, while Jon Graboff, known mostly for his pedal steel work, shows off his chops with some fine acoustic soloing, particularly in crowd fave Grand Island. Other older songs that went down well included Lost Satellite, Traveling After Dark and Maybe California, which teeters on the edge of singer-songwriter pastiche, but the players’ humour and verve see it through.
We were also treated to a number of songs from Neal’s forthcoming album Sweeten The Distance, including the title track and Let It All Begin. It was an entertaining show – nothing flash, nothing amazing, but just a friendly and well-executed journey through some very well-written songs. I was also pleased to see that he’s represented by More Barn Music – and if you don’t know why I like that, check back here…
Dead Meadow, Bush Hall, London, May 26th 2010
So, from thirty quid for a disappointing evening with Hope Sandoval to ten quid for a thoroughly enjoyable evening with three good bands. That certainly put me in a better mood… Opening act Wolf People are signed to the excellent Jagjaguwar label (Black Mountain, The Besnard Lakes, Okkervil River and more), which is reason enough to make me check them out early in the evening, and I liked them – heavy folk-rockish elements beefed up by a big dollop of Sabbath, a smattering of Creedence and even a sprinkling of Golden Earring. I’ll certainly check them out again, at the End Of The Road Festival in September if not before.
Next on was Duke Garwood, a small-casual chap whose appearance belies the dark, weird swampy blues he plays. There’s a lot of Zappa and Beefheart, too, and it’s a heady mix, particularly accompanied by the fierce drumming of Paul May, a big man with a tiny drum-kit.
After a few squirts of dry ice, the trio of Dead Meadow took the stage and launched into their set, backed by a screening of their movie Three Kings. I’d first seen the band a couple of years ago at the Green Man Festival and nodded admiringly at their riff-drenched psychedelic style. To my ears, they sound even better now (despite Bush Hall’s so-so acoustics) and the guitar-playing is top-notch – lots of controlled feedback and wah-wah, and some great solos too.
For a trio, they make a surprising amount of heavy crunching noise, which probably explains the presence in the crowd of quite a number of rock-loving geezers my age and older. Dead Meadow do sound a lot like early Sabbath, so I suppose if you like that old-fashioned riff-based rock, where do you go to hear it these days? Still, we were outnumbered by the younger beardie indie folk-rock crowd, so there was no danger of there being a surfeit of denim, though the check shirt seems to be worn by everyone these days, young and old.
In addition to the fine music, what I could see of the movie looked entertaining, with that late 60s Californian heavy symbolism vibe to it. In fact, the three hooded characters of mystery, wandering through the landscape, reminded me of the hooded riders in Neil Young’s wonderfully bonkers movie Journey Through The Past – and there’s a lot in common between Dead Meadow’s music and Neil’s heavier Crazy Horse output in ’69 and ’70. Which gets a big thumbs up from me, naturally…
And here’s the Three Kings movie trailer for your consideration:
California band Mazzy Star formed out of the ashes of fine ‘Paisley Underground’ bands Rain Parade, the Dream Syndicate and Opal, producing three great ‘slowcore’ albums in the 90s. Their musical roots, influences and bedfellows were many, including the Velvet Underground, Galaxie 500 and My Bloody Valentine. When they fell apart, lead singer Hope Sandoval formed the Warm Inventions with former My Bloody Valentine drummer Colm Ó Cíosóig, reprising much of Mazzy Star’s droning, delicate slowcore style.
I hadn’t seen either Mazzy Star or Hope Sandoval before, so I was expecting much, especially given the £30 ticket price. I joined Al the Manc for a few pre-gig ales and we took our places before the show, pleased to hear Danny Whitten’s Look At All The Things over the PA. But that’s when things took a turn for the worse. A really annoying voice came over the PA telling us that there would be strictly no cameras and no flash photography – twice. Oh well, we haven’t had many superstars at Bush Hall before… The gig started well enough, with a nicely sung version of Bert Jansch’s old song Courting Blues:
Green are your eyes
In the morning, when you arise,
Don’t you be afraid to lie
By me, my love,
Your father will not know.
Hope has collaborated with Bert before and appeared on his 2002 album Edge Of A Dream as well as guesting at his 60th birthday bash a few years ago.
The sound remained resolutely slow and dreamy and I was put in mind of the Velvet Underground fronted by Nico – only Hope is a better singer in the traditional sense – but there was little in the way of variety as the evening progressed. And my worries that Hope is a bit of a diva were slowly confirmed as she hid her face from the audience and sang without expression.
My humour wasn’t helped by the light show and backdrop, which showed a series of Velvets-like images, bubbles and projections, but which repeatedly included scenes from one of those nuclear blast films from the 50s with trees bending in the blast (see left). This, as far as I know, has nothing to do with the music or the lyrics or the bands attitude to anything in particular, so why show it? How about some pretty shots of brightly coloured napalm blowing up a few Vietnamese villages? I remember Crass showing these nuclear images on stage many years ago, but they were singing Nagasaki Nightmare and warning of the dangers of war. What was Hope’s excuse?
Her website goes some way towards explaining her stage manner:
Hope is a very shy and private person, and doesn’t seem to enjoy the popularity very much. ‘For me recording is better,’ says Sandoval. ‘Live, I just get really nervous. Once you’re onstage, you’re expected to perform. I don’t do that. I always feel awkward about just standing there and not speaking to the audience. It’s difficult for me.’
Well, I’d suggest she’d be far more relaxed on stage by dropping all those annoying camera announcements and by trying to engage with the audience. Oh, and if you don’t like performing, don’t charge 30 quid either…
Nina Nastasia, Café Oto, London, May 23rd 2010
My presence at this gig is all down to one song – Jim’s Room, Nina Nastasia‘s opening number from her 2006 album On Leaving. When I first heard it, I was bewitched and listened to it again and again. It still has a strong effect on me – the spooky violin, the sparse guitar and the almost casual vocals. It’s an amazing sound and one helped into existence by Nina’s producer and recording engineer, the brilliant Steve Albini. I hadn’t had a chance to hear her live before, so I made sure I got down to Café Oto early enough to get a seat and a pale ale.
Violinist Matt Szemela hushed the sell-out crowd by playing eerie violin as Nina took the stage and began. We were treated to songs from throughout her catalogue, with three songs from her second album, The Blackened Air, from 2002 – I Go With Him, Little Angel and Oh My Stars – and several from her latest album, Outlaster, due to be released soon. The first of these new songs, What’s Out There, reinforces Nina’s almost middle-European café sound – strong vocals, a confessional style and fine guitar-playing – which is pretty good for an LA-born resident of NYC. The lyrics have a spook to them that never overwhelm the songs or tip them into goth territory, but emphasise a darkness to her music nevertheless:
Oh window, window,
I have to smash you out,
A light above me,
A light above me,
And still I don’t feel safe.
Between songs, by contrast, she’s chatty and funny, and even invites support act Stuart Silver onstage to tell a long (and very funny) anecdote about a French toilet… Two other songs from the new album, You Can Take Your Time and You’re A Holy Man are as good as anything she’s done before, and stand well next to two of my favourite songs from On Leaving – Our Day Trip and Settling Song:
Sleepy-eyed you wait for tomorrow
And I know that you’ll marry some day
And I can only lie down as your mistress,
Because I gave you away,
Our innocence lost in the plan.
The appreciative audience demanded several encores from her, as she complained jokily about the unusual heat of the evening, saying that two of America’s greatest traditions are iced drinks and air-conditioning. The final encore, Our Discussion (The Matter Of), comes from You Follow Me, her album of collaborations with Aussie drummer Jim White. Her powerful confessional style puts me in mind of the less whimsical songs of Kristin Hersh, one of my favourite female singer-songwriters, and Our Discussion… closes the evening on a defiant and triumphant note:
But we do not talk of feelings
And with you I can’t pretend.
I don’t believe in the power of love,
I don’t believe in the wisdom of stone,
I don’t believe in a god or the mind,
And I’m not alone.
We’ve seen Jon Boden as lead-man and singer for folk megagroup Bellowhead and fiddle-playing partner of Jon Spiers in the folk duo Spiers and Boden, but his solo outings and those with the Remnant Kings are quite different. They feel more… well, serious. He’s still good-natured and bantering on stage, but the music seems to dig a bit deeper. There are fewer humorous numbers and more songs which explore more serious themes.
Songs From The Floodplain, the ‘concept’ album he released last year, is an intriguing, fractured look at a post-apocalyptic Britain where the oil has run out and people have gone (willingly or not) ‘back to the land’. Don’t be put off by that ‘concept’ tag – it’s an excellent and thoughtful collection of well-written songs, with a firm footing in the folk tradition. Why it wasn’t even nominated for ‘Best Album’ in the Radio 2 Folk Awards is baffling – though Jon did win the ‘Singer Of The Year’ award.
The concert started with two members of the band playing two Edison phonographs with delicate wax cylinders. There were military tunes, solo popular songs and folk songs, all spookily crackly and faint. These phonographs were played intermittently throughout the evening, giving a dreamlike ‘olde worlde’ feel to the futureworld numbers from the Floodplain album.
The band played expertly all evening and include fellow Bellowheader Sam Sweeney on percussion and fiddle (sometimes almost at the same time, impressively) and David Angel on electric guitar, while Boden himself plays fiddle and concertina. The Floodplain songs are quite oblique and require careful listening, but the listener is rewarded by an emerging picture of a very different world, despite some familiar landmarks:
From the fool to the wise man,
From the floodplain to the dam,
When hard times come knocking,
We do what we can.
References to ‘Up beyond the bypass, overgrown with weeds’ and ‘I cut the grass again today, the diesel’s getting low’ reminded of Talking Heads’ (Nothing But) Flowers:
There was a factory,
Now there are mountains and rivers…
There was a shopping mall,
Now it’s all covered with flowers…
If this is paradise,
I wish I had a lawnmower…
This is much lighter than Boden’s songs, but similarly summons up a future dystopia. In fact, that’s not quite accurate, as it’s unclear from Boden’s songs if this future world really is a terrible place, or if the human upheaval of going ‘back to the land’ is significantly worse than the adjustments and compromises we have to make in modern life anyway. His post-apocalypse is no pastoral idyll, but it’s not Mad Max either, and this uncertainty makes the whole project more compelling.
The Floodplain songs were mixed in with both songs from Boden’s previous album, Painted Lady – Blue Dress and Josephine (the latter nicely followed a Napoleon song but not, I think, The Bonny Bunch of Roses, though it did feature a dialogue between young Bonaparte Jr. and his mother) – as well as standards including Hard Times Of Old England (the Copper family’s ‘state of the nation number’) and Danny Deever, one of Kipling’s Barrack-Room Ballads:
For they’re hangin’ Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,
The regiment’s in ‘ollow square — they’re hangin’ him to-day;
They’ve taken of his buttons off an’ cut his stripes away,
An’ they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.
It was a fine show, although The Suit was unimpressed, particularly by the gig finishing before ten o’clock. I pointed out that they started at 7.45 and had no support – and that the pub would still be open for a couple of liveners, so The Suit, Astral and I went to the Hole In The Wall to see off the rest of the evening.
And so to Cecil Sharp House, home of the English Folk Dance and Song Society and very much the ‘headquarters’ of English folk music just as Lord’s Cricket Ground is of English cricket a mile or so away. And like Lord’s, it’s steeped in its history. The twin pillars of the English folk revival of the early 20th Century were song collector Cecil Sharp and composer Ralph Vaughan Williams. It’s largely as a result of their efforts, and those that followed them, that we have an archive of traditional English music – admittedly partial, but still invaluable.
Cecil Sharp House was opened 80 years ago and is a wonderfully atmospheric building, part institute and part library – reflecting the kind of early 20th-century optimistic institution for self-improvement that has almost disappeared. Indeed, the whole EFDSS side of folk music is frequently derided for looking backwards, being enslaved to the tradition, being stuffy and so forth. While it’s true that a lot of its people are getting on in years, there’s no denying that younger folkies (much younger than me) have found the resource and support of EFDSS to be unique and invaluable. The EFDSS is what we make it.
The launch of The Owl Service’s new album gave a chance to showcase some other acts (and their friends) on the fine Rif Mountain label, brainchild of the indefatigable Steven Collins. Due to demand, the event had moved upstairs to the large Kennedy Hall, which is a marvel of wood, mural, glass and curtain. Dom Cooper, mainman with The Straw Bear Band, kicked off the evening with a well-sung pair of a cappella songs, The Bitter Withy and Nottamun Town. These were appropriate choices, as both reflect an aspect of Rif Mountain’s attitude that I admire – they are firmly in the tradition, but both songs are peculiar and surreal, allowing the modern interpreter space to give them a sprinkling of strangeness to attract the ear that’s perhaps deaf to ‘As I walked out, hey nonny…’
Next on were Jason Steel and Nancy Wallace, who performed four of the songs we’d heard at the Green Note recently – I Will Walk With You, Polly On The Shore, Blackwaterside and Goodnight, Irene. Nancy’s singing was fine, as was Jason’s playing, but his mike was playing up. In fact, dodgy sound became the theme of the evening, which is mildly irritating, but forgivable – this felt like a party among friends rather than a formal recital. And at £5 for a whole evening’s music (including a free limited edition CD), who’s complaining?
They were followed by Cumbrian pianist and singer Jen Ord, who performed a few of her own songs as well as standards The Cuckoo, Dashing Away With The Smoothing Iron, I Live Not Where I Love and the shape-shifting tale of lust and passion, The Two Magicians. Her playing is extremely competent and her singing fine, but there’s a little too much polish and performance for my tastes.
Then came Roshi Nasehi, a young Welsh-Iranian singer and pianist who celebrates her Iranian roots with an engaging ‘torchsong’ style. 
Finally, The Owl Service took to the stage – all eleven of them on this occasion, which took some doing and which resulted in quite a few sound glitches and fluffs. The playing was spirited and fun, but I’m not entirely convinced by the strength of the lead singers. With that much sound behind, you need a lusty performer or two to keep the song on track.
They played lots of standards that I guess are on the forthcoming album (I wasn’t taking notes), topped off by a rousing performance of Willie O’Winsbury. As we left, I helped myself to an owl-shaped home-baked biscuit, and very delicious it was too.
I first came across Randy Newman when the 1978 controversy about the song Short People reached as far as the grubby pages of the NME. When I heard the record, I loved it – a hilarious and scathing satire on prejudice and stupidity. Alas, this wasn’t the reaction in much of the USA (and perhaps elsewhere), where the irony just whizzed right over the heads of millions. The hysterical backlash became almost as entertaining as the song and I wanted to find out more about Newman. On hearing Sail Away I was hooked by his brilliant, scathing songwriting and fine playing:
In America you’ll get food to eat,
Won’t have to run through the jungle
And scuff up your feet,
You’ll just sing about Jesus and drink wine all day,
It’s great to be an American.
I’m not sure if Newman was accused of being a slave-trader as well as a hater of short people, but his wonderful back catalogue shows him to be a biting but sensitive commentator on American life. He also writes heart-breaking love songs, such as When She Loved Me (sung by Sarah McLachlan) from the Toy Story 2 soundtrack. Indeed, it’s through his soundtrack work that I suspect many younger people know him these days – Toy Story, Toy Story 2, A Bug’s Life and Monsters Inc. were all elevated by the presence of his music. Newman is one of the ‘greats’ I’ve never seen live before, so I’ve been looking forward to this show for a long time – it was originally scheduled for 18 months ago, but Newman had to pull out due to ill health.
As the lights went down, Newman sauntered onto the stage (which was bare except for his grand piano and stool), looking old for his 66 years, but with a glint in his eye. He started into It’s Money That I Love, a perfect example of one of the major thematic strands of his music – Americans Can Be Amazingly Shallow And Only Respect Money. The theme is picked up by more of tonight’s songs, notably The World Isn’t Fair and I Love LA, and highlights one of the great tensions in Newman’s work: he’s been one of the sharpest and most pertinent critics of America and its ways in the past 40 years, but he’s resolutely in love with America and its people too.
Sure enough, we get the acidic songs aimed straight at the hearts of bigots, ignoramuses and racists – Yellow Man, Short People, Birmingham, Political Science and Rednecks – but I admire Newman’s fine sense of history in laying much of the ‘blame’ for racism and genocide at the door of old Europe. Sail Away, The Great Nations Of Europe and In Germany Before The War detail the hideous faults of the Old World, but Newman doesn’t let America off the hook. In fact, he suggests that the new start promised to immigrants by the New World is a nice dream, but a dream nonetheless – we’re all to blame for the sins of the world.
His acerbic outlook is demonstrated by a few of his amusing between-song remarks. As the stage turned a lurid yellow for Yellow Man, he suggested this was the special ‘hepatitis lighting’ and when talking about his late father, he said, ‘… but I think he’s still watching us from… down there somewhere…’ Despite this lovable prickliness, what struck me again about tonight was just how many great love songs he’s written – and how many of them detail his own faults and weaknesses. Living Without You, Love Story (You And Me), Losing You, I Miss You (written ‘for my first wife when I was married to my second’) and Feels Like Home are all poignant and finely observed meditations on love, betrayal and loneliness.
Throughout the show, Newman’s piano-playing was wonderful – from rolling bluesy ragtime to chugging rock and delicate ballads – but his voice is cracking here and there these days, which makes the evening more poignant. The musical giants of the late 1960s are now old men and women, but artists like Newman still have the craft, humour and poise to detail those changes just as brilliantly as they sang of the upheavals in the world all those years ago. A memorable evening, with an impressive 33 songs in all, finished off by the ‘hit’ from his very first album, I Think It’s Going To Rain Today:
Scarecrows dressed in the latest styles,
With frozen smiles to chase love away,
Human kindness is overflowing,
And I think it’s going to rain today.
OK, so now for a review that won’t mention any song titles… I didn’t bother making any notes and, in any case, although I’ve listened to Dinosaur Jr over the years – and been to at least a couple of their gigs – I’ve never bought any of their records or paid them much attention. Which is fine – we can’t all be obsessives, or even fans. So I don’t know any of their song titles. Of course, I could cheat and check on the Internet for a setlist and go on at length about this song being better than that song and so on, but you wouldn’t want me to cheat, would you?
I got there in time to see support band Built To Spill, as I’d heard good things about them from online compadres whose judgment I trust. I wasn’t much impressed, though, despite wanting to like them. They’ve got that heavy American indie sound, as if The Cure early on had ditched Robert Smith and shacked up with Lemmy. There were some groovy Crazy Horse-style jams, but they weren’t to my ears soulful enough. Mainman Doug Martsch has expressed his displeasure at having to write lyrics and sing, so why not just play instrumentals, then? To be fair, the tempo picked up towards the end of their set, but the offhandedness was offputting, and I don’t feel they have enough of a sound unique to themselves to be anything other than part of the pack.
I hadn’t seen Dinosaur Jr for about twenty years, but in my memory they’re associated with 80s bands like Swans, Sebadoh, Mudhoney and the Butthole Surfers. All of whom were fine for a good show, but whose legacy is not so clear. They probably influenced slightly later bands like Nirvana, the Pixies and Pearl Jam to an extent, but they themselves have faded from view. So I was intrigued to hear what it all sounded like twenty years later. And the answer was: much the same.
I’d decided to wear earplugs for this show, as they can play very loud indeed. I’m a big fan of loud music but I don’t want to go deaf just because I enjoy a gig or two… This was only the third show I’d worn them to – the other two being noise-drone merchants Sunn O))) at Koko last year, and My Bloody Valentine at The Roundhouse the previous year, at which gig I saw two people in tears and one flat out on the floor because it was so loud. I took the plugs along for the Lou Reed Metal Machine Music evening the other month, as Laurie Anderson had called the show ‘ear-bleedingly loud’, but she must have a different sonic tolerance to me and they remained uninserted.
Guitarist and singer J Mascis, bass-player Lou Barlow and replacement drummer Kyle Somebody-or-other came out to a cheer and plugged into the alarmingly tall set of amps. The first few songs were slow and grindier than the rest of the set, reminding me of the more hardcore elements of early Sonic Youth, and of Year Of The Horse-era Neil Young. As things speeded up, there were suggestions of Bob Mould and a heavier version of The Ramones. The crowd were now getting into it, with lots of moshing and a bit of crowd-surfing, but the punked-up songs sounded samey to me after a while – get a good heavy riff, punkify it, add some manic drumming and a solo in the middle, then speed your way to the end. As with The Ramones, this is all very much fun and dumb, but can be wearing after a time. So yeah, I enjoyed it, but maybe I’ll leave it another twenty years.
The Neil Young Appreciation Society has been around since 1981 and I joined shortly after that. The Rust List and the online news and views on Thrasher’s Wheat may have supplanted it for up-to-dateness, but the NYAS’s quarterly magazine Broken Arrow is still the only place you’ll read in-depth features about all aspects of Shakey’s music. The Editor was down in London and met up with The Suit, the Browne Bluesman and me to check out Neil-nut and musician Dave Henderson’s two sets of Neil Young covers at the Ace Café on London’s North Circular Road.
The Ace Café is a venerable mecca for petrolheads of a certain vintage, and although the place is clearly meant for ‘rockers’, they sell merch for ‘mods’ too, which seems strange. Maybe after 45 years the warring teenage tribes have declared a truce, realising that their similarities have always been greater than their differences.
The café is unusual in having a full licence – not that I was complaining, but it feels slightly strange drinking a pint of Flower’s at a melamine caff table, staring at the vinegar and ketchup. Dave did an early evening acoustic set, kicking off with well-crafted versions of Old Man and Good To See You, and was then accompanied by sympathetic bass and drums on fine renditions of Out On The Weekend, Buffalo Springfield Again (which had a nice funky feel to it) and Harvest Moon. I was tempted to ask the café’s cleaner for a broom to do the Larry Cragg part on Harvest Moon, but I’m frankly under-rehearsed in the cleaning-implement-playing department…
We then had a break of nearly three hours before Dave’s electric set, so we carried on supping the Flower’s while various bands – good, bad and indifferent – played on. Dave came back with the band for the last hour and launched into Cinnamon Girl and Southern Man – the latter featuring some good solos, soulful and Neilish. Dave’s voice is at times uncannily like Neil’s and you can forgive him the occasional lyrics flub – hey, Neil often forgets his own words, so maybe it’s more authentic to be less than precise.
The hits then came fast and furious – Cortez The Killer, Ohio, Powderfinger, an excellent smokin’ Change Your Mind and finally Like A Hurricane, complete with more fine solos. The mods never showed up, so we rocked happily into the night. Here’s a video of Dave and the boys performing Southern Man last year:
A Gig's A Gig 