Down where the old folks roll....
 |
| Photo from Sydney Herald by Maria Boyadgis* |
Richard Thompson has always been a bit of a hero to Belgo Geordie, being as we share some things in a common, sooch as, being' curmudgeons, not compromising, having' a talent for saying' the wrong thing in mixed company and being a bit of a charmer in a leg of lamb sort of way. But then the differences make their mark, Mr Thompson is a formidable talent, a cracking guitarist, a wordsmith with silver pen dipped in mixtures of spleen and compassion with a body of work which stretches back into the misty dawns of the sixties. In other words a man with a very formidable shadow. And despite having populated me i-pod with a rare selection of Thompson Tunes, I had niver had the fortunatcy to be in same room with the man when he did his thing...until tonight that is.
So pullin' up me braces and heading' out the door with me good wife, we took the train into the big smoke to see Mr Thompson strut his stuff. Now this City Recital Hall is a grand kind of place an' the wee girl in the ticket office said don't wander off to the pub mind, as Mr Thompson is on stage prompt on 7.30pm. No support for this man! Wish she had told the rest of the geriatric folk rolling in ten minutes after kick off and as Mr Thompson was belting his way through "I Misunderstood", with the oldies saying' 'scuse me as they crushed me toe with customised waking sticks, SUV walking frames and the occasional wheelchair. I thought they were saying sorry but they were joost saying get out of my way.
Anyway rising above the grumbling and shuffling was the man himself. The first hour was solo with miked up acoustic guitar, beret and a range of songs both well known and new and a good line of the crack between songs. Sea shanties, the rollicking invitation to sing-a-long to "Johnny's Far Away", elbowed in alongside the haunting, beautifully crafted Sandy Denny song "Who Knows Where the Time Goes" and buggered if I know the answer to that meself! But he has a deft touch and it was a beautiful eulogy to his friend and muse too soon gone from this earth. The "1952 Vincent Black Lightening" was reprised down the ghost highway, the faint whiff of scorched leather and oil, notes falling from his guitar in sparks and flashes of spinning headlights; loves redemption at the dying of the light. All too soon the hour was up and it was the break with the slow shuffle, exodus towards the glass of wine with complan chasers.
The second half was electric. Not so much Dylan's parting with folk, more like Neil Young's recent performance. Uncompromising. Unwearied by age, edgy, pushing past the boundaries of the familiar. In short Mr Thompson playing as he wanted and in a way that showed he is no slouch on the axe. Ably supported by a drummer with ants in pants and hands (Michael Jerome) and a bassist (Taras Prodanuik) more in keeping with seventies late punk. And the electrics support medicine man sat in on a couple of songs-nice touch. But Mr Thompson's virtuosity is of the kind rarely seen emerging out of folk. No beardy calling on. he is comfortable across a range of styles. Light touch and thrash. Scouring, bitter-sweet lyrics mixed with homages. Walls of blistering chords alongside hauntingly aching melodies, "Al Bowlly's in Heaven", If Love Whispers Your Name' from "Dream Attic". Vocally he strangles a good song in a hoarse and chewed over style that is uniquely Richard Thompson. And although I preferred the first half, I would not have gone without the second for the breadth of talent displayed and generously shared with an audience gladly sat for a night in the palm of his hand. Sadly, not enough young 'uns were present to learn a thing or two, more is the pity. Again all too soon it was encore time and after playing his entire lexicon, it was home time and blearily, we stumbled and creaked out into the Sydney night sated and savaged. It was grand Mr Thompson and I thank you for that.
*Dear Ms Boyadgis you are probably a cracking young photographer and I borrowed this image because not only was all permission to take photographs forbidden to us the audience but you, the 'professional' photographer, ran up and down the front of the stage taking yours and it interfered with the first song of each half...therefore consider the use of this image, your intellectual copyright, as a payment for infringing on me enjoyment of "I misunderstood".
No comments:
Post a Comment