(Review photos by Jerry E.)
It began
inauspiciously: had we encountered three witches and a cauldron between
car-park and Town Hall, I’d not have been surprised! Even inside, the wind
howled and thrummed in the rafters and the curtains behind the stage wafted
ominously!
It was a good
turn-out though and from the off the audience, having unwrapped more
layers than I’ve seen since returning from a visit to Estonia, was rapt – “too
rapt” during Dinah, according to Mick! He urged applause and, solo by solo,
they “un-rapt” to the extent that he seemed almost to “tut” after one unseemly
bout of premature Mick-adulation before he’d finished his solo! “There’s no
pleasing him,” said Emma.
But we were pleased by Douce Ambience in which Giles “did
something contrapuntal” (it’s legal in Bishop!) and by Feuille d’Automne and Nuages. During the quiet,
melancholic coda to this last, the wind made its presence felt as “fifth
member” of the band: for the most part, fortunately, the strumming guitars and
tapping feet managed to drown it out. Music conquers all?
When introducing
the players Mick clarified his rhyming references to Emma as the “ship’s
porcupine,” which explanation I will not go into here. I did notice, however,
that by the second-half intros she was simply “Miss Emma Fisk”. Simply brilliant
on her solos, if you ask me, as indeed were they all at various points in the
gig.
Many of the
tunes were familiar to me: Hun o Pani
Naschella; Songe d’Automne; Artillerie Lourde; Minor Swing and the breakneck Stompin’
at Decca. Later there followed: Sheikh of Araby; Veish a No Drom; Mira Prau
(?) and Les Yeux Noirs. As well as
these old friends, there were at least two which were entirely new to me: Cigano Bolero and Blues for D.R., both
Mick originals and both very welcome additions to what is already a great
repertoire. Cigano (= gypsy in
Portuguese) Bolero had Giles Strong
taking the lead while James Birkett strummed a soft Latin rhythm and Emma
Fisk’s violin was softly lyrical. A beautiful tune! Blues for D.R. had a slow opening such as Django might have
produced after a sabbatical in the Delta before going up-tempo in another
wind-cheating blast.
And, through the
soothing encore, Dans mon Endroit
Tranquil, the wind was still ironically vocal but we scarcely noticed, rapt
still (O.E.D. - 1]completely fascinated 2] filled
with an intense and pleasurable emotion).
My friends, guitar-enthusiasts both,
bought CD’s before they left – with only a few hints from Mick and the “Big
Lad” on the door! It really was that good.
Jerry
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