Jah Wobble

Hebden Bridge Trades Club 23/3/12

This was always going to be an odd one. I've been a long term fan of Public Image Ltd and intermittently appreciated Wobble's solo work and ecelectic collaborations down the years. I hugely enjoyed his 'Memoirs Of A Geeser' - a high velocity autobiography shot through with deadly humour and a survivior's instinct. I'm no musician but even so can appreciate his influential, self-taught bass technique. His book goes into some detail about his love of the instrument and how he learned it by touch and feel, as an external extension of his inner pysche. This relationship with the bass makes for compelling watching. He's not so much in a zone but he seems to have created an organic relationship with the instrument. He cradles it, the fingers constantly ablur.

Tonight he's re-united with original PIL and The Clash guitarist Keith Levene, himself recovering from long-standing drug issues. They are here to re-create 1979's Metal Box, undoubtedly PIL's finest album - largely responsible for what we now know to have been post-punk.

Hebden Bridge is the perfect setting for this re-creation, a suitably down-to-earth crowd, largely pissed by the time they get going around 9.10pm. The stage is a caged area, barely elevated above the floor itself, and it's sold out with a mixed bag of around 250 ageing punks, the curious and, this being Hebden Bridge, the downright weird.

I'd been speculating how Wobble would address the vocals and after the first warm-up instrumental on strolls Nathan Maverick, in full length leopard skin coat. He IS John Lydon, complete with sneer and shoulders back arrogance. His voice is uncannily like the man himself but he plays it straight - this is no impersonation but a re-creation, neither is it a tribute, but a homage. It's a make or break moment, one that I fear may have me fleeing for the exit, but it works. Levene's shredding guitar sounds magnificent. There is a lone trumpeter who frequently picks out the only melody amid the minor chord wall of sound but the beat is propulsive, veering towards post-funk, if there is such a thing. It works, the songs sound as fresh as ever and Wobble orchestrates it beautifully, seamlessly calling the shots as the songs just keep on coming. His eye contact with Levene is constant, like a Dad leading his errant son through the songs he had once learnt but had since forgotten. Levene seems to gain energy as the show progresses. His frailty gives way to a broad smile and he relishes the opportunity to show off the kind of guitar skills that so heavily influenced bands from the post-punk era.

So we get 'Memories', 'Poptones', 'Chant', 'Theme', 'Careering', 'Albatross' plus a couple of bonuses - 'Low Life' and the first single 'Public Image'. It IS an odd sight, half of PIL and a doppleganger imposter and it's a brave move by Wobble who could so easily have settled for touring with the current version of Lydon's PIL. Ultimately it's about the songs and a great album  - on this occasion faithfully and thrillingly executed.

'Jack Of All Trades' - Bruce Springsteen

Ever more thoughtful and articulate as he ages, Springsteen recently said that 'I have spent my life judging the distance between American reality and the American dream'. Not even the most forensic musicologist could have put it better and there have been many distilled examples of how he accomplishes this in songs that act as screenplays for much bigger issues and themes than the characters in them.This song from the new album 'Wrecking Ball' communicates the pain and ambiguity of an honest, hard working man fighting to make a living in the face of the recession. He has sight of his version of the American dream but daily exposure to American reality is testing his dignity and ability to live by his values.

Like all good art, it is simple yet multi-layered, a deceptively complex song in which every syllable counts. Its component parts coalesce around a traditional song structure but those parts are daringly confident and ambitious. It is a waltz, it is a ballad, it has a brass band, a guitar solo by Tom Morello, it is a lament, it is highly political, shocking even - and lyrically it draws together the sentiments and insecurities of a nation. Not many could attempt to pull this off but he does so by stepping into an everyman persona - the Jack of all trades.

There is plenty of evidence here of Springsteen's notorious perfectionism and attention to detail. The way he exhales on the line 'When the blue sky breaks...'; the noise distortion as the character's anger momentarily gets the better of him; the major chords of the brass orchestration as he is restored to sanity and remembers his responsibilities towards (presumably) his wife; the drum as a heartbeat, stoically keeping him on his righteous path.

There is an instinctive spirituality to the song and which Springsteen anoraks will recognise from earlier songs such as 'Factory' and 'Honest Man' in which characters struggle to maintain their integrity. In this case his hero is God-fearing, the imagery in biblical technicolour. The message is that the faceless men who have stripped him of his livelihood cannot touch his faith - 'that it'll be alright' - and it will see him through these dark times, until that blue sky breaks. It's an important song in an impressive canon of work, one which may well resound across America in an election year.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I saw three Springsteen shows this summer and I'm not alone in thinking they are among the best of his career. He's used the tragedy of losing the gigantic presence of Clarence Clemons to re-invent the E Street Band, not just by expanding its membership but in re-energising himself and his audience with the full throttle stadium-friendly songs of 'Wrecking Ball'. A Springsteen show has always had a quasi-religious element to it, he's weaved a gospel fervour into his performances for many years. This time, it's an overt leap to connect on a soul level with his audience, and it takes a cold cold heart not to go along for the ride.

The three shows - San Sebastian, Sunderland and Hyde Park were studded with so many highlights  - from the grace and enthusiasm of the Spanish audience, the roar of Sunderland at the idea of shooting the bankers on sight to a lonesome Thunder Road in London, reprising his first live song on British soil in 1975. Despite the 13-strong band, these shows lost none of their spontaneity - his energy levels remain as high as ever but his instinctive knack of pacing saw a stretched-out 'Backstreets' merge into a gut-churning The River in Spain. 'Point Blank' in Sunderland came across like a confession in front of 50,000 people.

Strapping in for the greatest hits encore is to witness an audience like no other. It's an experience impervious to rain, cynicism, to any negativity (even curfews) and as near to living in the moment as I can get, the equivalent of charging from an energy source that transmits only positivity and the feeling that it's more than just OK to be glad I'm alive.

Whatever the superlatives  - cinematic, wide-screen, transformational  - there are live shows and there are Springsteen shows. He turned 63 today - anyone who saw him this summer will just go WOW at that.

First Aid Kit

Manchester Club Academy 25/02/12

Rolling into Manchester off yet another junction and appearing just where we wanted to be at the appointed time felt great. I had a spring in my step anyway from hearing this Swedish sibling pair's latest album and the amzing harmonies, the love-lorn lyrics and retro country folk feel. There's always room for more of that, especially when it's executed with such untainted simplicity.

Just the two of them and a drummer means that the gorgeous pedal steel of the record is not in evidence but this is all about the voices and especially that of older sister Joanna Soderberg. With influences as overt as theirs (the third song in is entitled 'Emmylou' and Joni Mitchell isn't far away in 'Blue') there is no hint of Swedishness in either their singing or spoken words, and Joanna is like Linda Ronstadt in her prime with a range that straddles a delicate falsetto and a big booming lower register, underpinned by the seamless harmonies of the younger Klara.

It's a typical 'new country' crowd, with plenty of older types who, like me, have had their appetite for live music regenerated by the guilt-free nostalgia of young bands discovering their own identity by delving back to the likes of Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris. It's also a very noisy crowd and the volume is gradually turned up to counteract the hubbub at the back of the room. Only for an unamplified 'Ghost Town' do they get the quiet needed to allow the pastoral messages of their lyrics to penetrate and after that it's business as usual as people go back to their animated conversations.

I close my eyes and focus on the music. This enables me to by-pass the antics of a couple of idiots with cameras in front of me and eventually I'm able to filter out the background noise. 'In The Hearts Of Men', 'The Lion's Roar' - these are sophisticated songs with observations on life that should come from older hearts than these twenty somethings. The purity of their voices is etched with a world weariness that can only have come from a close scrutiny of the Nashville tradition but it's because of their youth that the tales of broken marriages ('This Old Routine') lack emotional authenticity. As beautiful as their sound is, there is a depth required that can only come from putting more years on the board. Still, this is a chulish point when set against the talent and the confidence - even with the least attentive of audiences they were unphased and undoubtedly set for bigger things on festival stages during the summer.

Real Estate

Brudenell Social Club, Leeds 17/02/12

I've stopped wondering how it is these young men in skinny jeans find their way to making music that harks back to an era well before they were born. It didn't used to happen. Maybe there's just less music to go round these days as all the chord sequences get used up. Maybe it's down to parents or older siblings with impeccable record collections and the commercial realisation that there is a huge market out there if a band can generate cross generational attention. This theory is reflected in the demographic at the Brudenell tonight. Boys and girls young enough to be my offspring and grizzled old fogies who have worked out that this is the closest they'll get to The Byrds (they even play a song called 'Younger Than Yesterday'). It's sold out and sweaty - and when the Brudenell does sweat there is no alternative but to resignedly stew in it.

Which is all doing Real Estate a disservice because they sound absolutely fresh and up to date with an energy and a determination far removed from the bloated egos that dogged some of the '60s groups who pioneered the early American guitar sound in the wake of The Beatles.

Their trademark is an atmospheric guitar effect that owes as much to Johnny Marr as it does to Roger McGuinn. A swell of major chords builds crescendos which create blissful, oceanic soundscapes that transport the songs in waves. It is underpinned by a propulsive and deleriously repetitive bass that lends heft and muscle to the floating voice of Martin Courtney. The drums skitter and then thud as momentum builds. The poppier tunes from their latest album 'Days' ('Easy', 'It's Real') sit nicely alongside their earlier, more indulgent work ('Suburban Dogs', 'Green River'). The music is clean cut and summery but underscored with a frightening professionalism - they are rehearsed to the hilt but the looseness of the song structures convey an instinctive, natural feel. Some of it feels improvised but is undoubtedly not.

They play for just over an hour, which in this unlikely February heat is probably no bad thing. Keep the audience wanting more -  no doubt they inherited that foolproof showbiz mainstay from the likes of the portly David Crosby who, if he's managed to see this band, would, I'm sure, approve.

Here's a nice little YT clip, thanks to JuneJuneJune for it

Dawes

Manchester Academy 3  - 18/01/12

I'd seen Delta Spirit, I'd seen Deer Tick. So when I heard that the lead singers from those bands had formed a 'supergroup' called Middle Brother with their counterpart in a band called Dawes I guessed it would be a safe bet that his band would also tick the right boxes. They also seemed well connected, with members of Wilco and the Heartbreakers guesting on their records and they've backed Jackson Browne and Jonathan Wilson. Anyway, I had to go see them. The latest album, Nothing Is Wrong, was one of my favourites of last year.

The smallest room in the Manchester Academy right at the top of the building has plenty of space to spare. Curiously there are some small children in attendance, just next to us about six feet from the stage. The vintage analogue amplifiers, the Hammond organ and the lived-in guitars that are strewn across the stage look like they should belong to a band of grizzled veterans, and not some 20 somethings on one of their first tours of the UK. This is the clue to their music - country folk rock that smartens up the 70s California sound that seemed to come and go just as Joe Walsh joined The Eagles and everything lost its innocence.

They have a great energy about them. Taylor Goldsmith is an endearing front man, all smiles and not a little like The Boss as he lunges forward towards the edge of the stage with a low slung guitar. His voice is confident and full and the songs allow him plenty of space to express his careworn lyrics. The sound is unashamedly retro - a gorgeous Hammond swell fills out the guitar and drums - Griffin Goldsmith is quite a sight, feeling every beat with outrageous facial ticks, jumping from his stool at the merest brush on the snare - he also has a voice as good as his brother's and you can tell the two have harmonised since, well, birth.

They are having a great time and the chilly crowd warms up towards the end. The album opener  - 'Time Spent In Los Angeles' - closes the show and it's just a great, feel good song - deserving of an open Chevy and the Pacific in the background rather than the dingy brickwork of a student union in northern England. An incongrous encore of Paul Simon's 'Kodachrome' draws a line under a fine, fine gig.

I leave imagining how much better they'll be in a year or so's time. They are outstanding musicians who are bound to improve as they play to bigger crowds. For now, there is something endearing about the goofy stagecraft and the wall to wall smiles, the sheer pleasure in what they do.

Another trip back across the frozen Pennines, with those damn speed restrictions in place, zips past like we're roller skating past Venice beach (no, really).

Off The Wall - Lee Ranaldo

Michael Chapman

Brudenell Social Club, Leeds  - 9.02.12

Benign hyprocrisy becomes me, it doesn't invoke any guilt. So I can happily make my way to my favourite music venue to mingle with learned musos, grizzled folk veterans and guitar afficionados and nod along in the right places, all the time looking as if I am cerebrally attached to the thought processes of people far cleverer than me. See what I did there? What a hypocrite.

The name of Michael Chapman was on the edge of my consciousness. I knew of his existence. It took a conversation with the highly professional musician Hans Chew last year to bring him into focus. So a New Yorker turned me onto a guy from my home town of Leeds (Hunslet to be precise).

The re-release of his 1970 LP 'Fully Qualified Survivor' and the announcement of his show at the Brudenell seemed the time for me to explore his work more fully and goodness me what an album it is. Mick Ronson's guitar lends it an unmistakeable Ziggy Stardust sound and the gravelly passion in the Chapman voice brings an authenticity that is neither folk or rock, just the personal genre of a man writing and singing about what he knows. No surprise that another of his albums is entitled 'Millstone Grit' - the stone out of which they built Leeds Town Hall.

It's another freezing night and the Brudenell is sparse. No matter, within minutes I'm talking to two people I've not seen for 15 years, just as my gig buddy for the night (Mark) arrives.

Chapman is a sprightly 71 and the stage is just him and two acoustic guitars. His playing is other worldly. I have no technical insight into his style or method but the complex and multi-layered soundscapes he conjures are hypnotic and beguiling. The atmospheres invoke worlds I have never visited and the smoky drawl of his half-spoken vocal speak of many lives lived. In between songs he takes us down some tales of life on the road and the many places he has been. He describes (without bitterness) how Jimmy Page used his song 'Kodak Ghosts' as the template for 'Stairway To Heaven'. As he plays it, they seem identical and I can't be the first to wonder how and why a lawyer has never been involved in proving so.  'The Twisted Road' he dedicates to peers and friends he has lost along the way. There is a warmth and humour to the show  - despite his observation that he gets more nervous playing in his home town than anywhere else.

I suppose he is the fully qualified survivor - but he wouldn't have known that all those years ago. The reception he gets from the quiet and knowledgable crowd is enthusiastic  - 90 minutes of stellar guitar exhibitionism that remains inherently natural and modest.

I'm pleased to have seen him, and to have put another small building block in place in my ongoing quest for guitar credibility.

http://www.michaelchapman.co.uk/index.htm