Three gigs in one week

A recent extended trip to Perth (purposively for a car service appointment but converting a necessary trip to the mainland to do other things too) gave the chance to take in a series of gigs none of which were planned from the outset. These were not my first gigs since the outbreak of Covid-19 but they did provide the opportunity to take the temperature about going back out again in these not-yet post-Covid times but as lockdown measures are being increasingly lifted. Musicians and stage performers have been among the hardest hit by lockdowns, and the roar of the crowd and the smell of the greasepaint needs to be experienced again.

First up was Perth Theatre for ‘An Evening Without Kate Bush‘ – motto: ‘She’s not there / But you are’ – Sarah-Louise Young’s tribute act with a difference. With millions of ‘Fish People’ watching Bush’s videos, many of which come from an era before even MTV, alongside a historic aversion to appearing on stage, overcome in 2014 with tickets even to the extra shows being sold out in 30 minutes, Kate Bush’s draw is still sizable as is the scope for tribute acts.

As Young said from the stage, it’s very easy to parody Kate Bush – dress up in a curly wig, wave your arms around a bit and do some wailing. However, doing all that actually undermines why people come to the show, which is to relive a little bit of magic about a star most attendees hold dear to their hearts and which sees those whose intention is only to parody quickly caught out. What Young’s show does, therefore, is combine those parody elements with ensuring that gig-goers, whether Fish People, those who remember a few bits and pieces from a while ago or those who have little idea of what’s going on or really why they are there, are placed firmly at the centre. She calls early on for audience participation, with the audience having the role of barking out the response in ‘Hounds of Love’, before descending into the stalls to get four women on a night out to go up on stage with her, after some gentle persuasion, to sing the string parts in ‘Cloudbusting’ (Do do do do / Do do do / Do do do do do do do / Do do do / Do do do) and later getting a couple to waltz around each other in a winsomely heartwarming copy of Godley and Creme’s video for Peter Gabriel’s ‘Don’t Give Up’ – a stage manoueuvre which effectively covered up that Young’s one-woman show has no Peter Gabriel in it while still putting fans at the heart of things. She even appeared at the side of our seats with what seemed to be a pair of communicating heads on sticks (sorry: not sure of the title of this one) before dashing back to the stage to make her next move.

At the end of the show, as that white dress is pulled out of her on-stage dressing-up box – everyone knows what’s coming as it’s the only song not yet done – it’s held aloft and then danced with as Young approaches her mic stand, slipped on over the rest of her costume and then. Oh. She’s missed her cue. Someone in the audience starts to sing, falteringly, meeting crucially with silence but an encouraging smile from Young. Others join in and, as the chorus grows, Young gently turns the mic stand around, so that the mic is facing the audience, allowing us to be the voice and her to be the dancer before she joins us for the bridge and the final few rounds: a brilliantly executed move that showcased what the show was about.

Mixing in a fair amount of ad-libbing with the songs that Bush has both written and covered, as well as stories and anecdotes about the influence that Bush had on her as a young girl, is not easy when the show’s dynamism depends on audience participation and when there is no other actor on stage to spark off. Perth, being a little conservative by nature, is perhaps not the most dynamic of places, but the show – both well-attended and well-received – was a success. Young is touring it around England and Wales through the rest of March and into April; and summer shows are booked, too. If she’s appearing near you, go and see her. And do be prepared to overcome that very British reservation and participate!

Second up was a trip into Edinburgh for a couple of family-related reasons but also to catch ‘Seven Drunken Nights‘, a performers’ tribute to The Dubliners on a one-night stand at the Edinburgh Playhouse and now on its fifth anniversary tour. The show takes the form largely of a session in O’Donoghue’s, where the band started out as The Ronnie Drew Ballad Group, with the five musicians, including the grandson of the first ever musician to be allowed to play tunes in O’Donoghue’s, plus attendant barman, interspersing songs written and made famous by the Dubliners with dialogue relating the story of the band told in the style of craic as the musicians rested between songs. Other sections of the show take place in surrogate TV studios for appearances on ‘Top of the Pops’, ‘The Late Late Show’ and ‘The McCann Man’.

I hadn’t realised that people playing music in pubs in Dublin was not really a thing until the 1960s when the Dubliners came along; or that ‘Seven Drunken Nights’ was banned by the Irish broadcaster RTÉ (alongside much of the rest of the band’s material) as a result of the, er, dubious lyrical content. The Dubliners as a prototype Frankie Goes To Hollywood was not a thing I ever envisaged contemplating (interesting side-note: ‘Seven Drunken Nights’ and ‘Relax’ are actually only seventeen years apart). Singing along is compulsory and, while I might have caused some frowning among my neighbours (to whom apologies…) with lyrics to the chorus of ‘Seven Drunken Nights’ and to ‘The Irish Rover’ that were only half-remembered, I did a bit better on ‘Dirty Old Town’, ‘Whiskey In The Jar’ and show-closer ‘Molly Malone’. ‘The Fields of Athenry’ was also beautifully performed and, indeed, accompanied although the selections otherwise tended to eschew the social and political comment for which The Dubliners were also known.

There were plenty of choices of seats towards the back of the stalls and, while the Playhouse could have spread people out a little better, there was therefore room for those who wanted to make a bit more space for themselves from their neighbours. From my vantage point there, though, the sound could perhaps have been a little louder not only for the dialogue which was sometimes less than audible but certainly also for the songs.

The band are terrific musicians, several, including Ged Graham who wrote the musical, sport befittingly-magnificent beards and the band is really hardworking, featuring no fewer than 70 more shows throughout Britain before the end of May, some twice a day, and from Cardiff up to Darlington and Arbroath down to Brighton via Reading. All the original members of The Dubliners have now passed on and the name has been formally retired – so this is the nearest thing you’ll get both to recreating the atmosphere of The Dubliners in their heyday and, if you’re on the mainland, as they’ll almost certainly be coming to a town near you, the nearest thing you’ll get in the current environment to a proper session in an Irish pub. And far better for everyone concerned than hopping on a Ryanair to Dublin.

Gig no. 3 saw us back at Perth Theatre for Blue Rose Code plus Katie Whittaker in support. This was a bit of a surprise gig since we had intended to be at Western Isles legends Peat and Diesel the same night for the ‘Away with your Wellies’ tour. However, with two of the band going down with the ‘rona (there has been a sizable spike up on Lewis this last week (now also on Benbecula) and community transmission is ‘widespread’), the gig was cancelled (and now re-arranged for the end of April). However, Blue Rose Code – whose own tour has been several years in postponement as a result of CV-19 – provided a more than suitable substitute and need no introduction to avid readers of this blog since one of Ricky Ross’s songs featured on my New Music Mondays series of posts during lockdown a year last December. Indeed, the band kicked off with this very song and a very effective opener it made, too, in the circumstances.

However, I’m getting a little ahead of myself since Katie Whittaker is more than just support. A recognised part of the established Perth Americana set, Brora-born Katie has appeared with local legends Red Pine Timber Company and, in her own right, was well-received as part of Billy Bragg’s ‘Big Bill’s Radical Roundup’ on the Leftfield stage at the 2016 Glastonbury. This gig represents a bit of a departure for Katie since it featured only her own songs (no covers from any of the likes of Etta James and Dolly Parton that have featured on her highlights reels in the past – at least, none that I could spot) and there are whispers of a new album. Despite being audibly nervous as she took to the stage – the gig was close to selling-out Perth Theatre – and in addressing the audience between songs, her warm vocals and gentle acoustic guitar revealed a natural talent for the musical stage and for her material which sees her combine bluesy and soulful numbers with aplomb. This was an enjoyably well-crafted set with strong songs that you want to hear again and Katie has attracted a talented band, particularly the lead guitarist. If that is indeed a new album, it’ll be a good’un.

Ricky Ross is a busy man, featuring as vocalist for Scottish faves Deacon Blue as well as Blue Rose Code and with several radio gigs for Radio Scotland and BBC Radio 2 on the country/Americana scene. Notably, he also visited Bosnia as a part of one of the Remembering Srebrenica Scotland delegations and is well-placed to comment on the role of music during wartime. Indeed, Nick Lowe’s ‘(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding’ featured as one of an interesting choice of covers (including, otherwise, ‘Sunshine After The Rain’ as made famous by Elkie Brooks, Amazing Grace and Elton John’s ‘Benny and the Jets’. There may have been others.). But, in ‘promoting’ a ‘new’ album – With Healings of the Deepest Kind – which was actually released two years ago, the gig also featured plenty of original material among which ‘The Wild Atlantic Way’ and ‘Starlit’, the latter dedicated to those losing their lives during Covid-19, were highlights. The set was an emotional one – inevitably so given Ross’s material and the history of cancellations amidst all that has been going on these last two years – but was well-judged and well-paced and, with an eight-piece band, including Ross himself on occasional acoustic guitar and frequent dancing, as well as a three-man horn section, there were plenty of louder moments among the emotional ones. Ross interacts frequently with the rest of the band on stage, driving greater performances on featured sections, and there ought to be a special mention for the drummer who was absolutely on it all night.

Blue Rose Code are touring throughout the rest of March and, if you’re up for a gig – I know not everyone is just yet and of course cases are rising again as an inevitable result of the removal of lockdown measures and the spread of the virus among children, as Peat and Diesel having to cancel indicates – they’re well worth an evening of your time. If you do feel confident to get out there, mask up, pack your hand gel in your pockets/bags, keep your own safety and those of others always in mind and strike out: not least in respect of live music, the last two years have given us an awful lot to catch up on.

Travelling hopefully…

Monday this week found me heading back to the mainland, ahead of a trip to London on Wednesday (I like to be on time). This was not my usual trip, since high winds had prevented the Lord of the Isles from its usual dock at Mallaig on Sunday, diverting instead at the last minute to Oban, and this was the planned arrangement for Monday, too, since the winds were at least as high again. Going into Oban was a new route for me – I know Oban well (it has a good distillery with a generous tour) – but I had never before travelled into Oban from Lochboisdale and, seasoned ferry traveller that I am, and fortified early on against the swell by one of CalMac’s black pudding and fried egg rolls (and a granola fruits of the forest yoghurt, in the interests of a balanced diet of course), I was looking forward to the trip.

In particular, I was looking forward to catching a glimpse of Tobermory’s famous painted houses lining its waterfront: the route into Oban flows through the slim Sound of Mull separating Mull from the Morvern peninsula and I was anticipating being able to take a few good shots, especially with the weather clearing rapidly to blue as we entered the Sound, from a cloudy grey and misty Uist, and with increasingly good quality light. In reality, the Sound is a lot wider than it looks on the map and Tobermory’s harbour turns out to be well shielded from the channel by a rocky outcrop: distracted also by a church on the Morvern side* located typically remotely, i.e. with no obvious access, I didn’t see the waterfront until the very last moment and then only in retrospect, and for literally a few seconds through a slim channel to the south-east before the houses disappeared from view (serves me right for looking forward only to a glimpse!). Still, here’s my best shot:

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Oban is somewhat handier for Perth than Mallaig, being almost 50 miles closer and a journey more or less due east along the A85 (although I was travelling (initially) by the lower branch of the West Highland rail line down to Glasgow and thus my journey took me along two sides of a triangle. The joys of public transport…) Nevertheless, the question of financial ‘compensation’ arose given that CalMac provide some sort of refund where travel arrangements are disrupted, albeit for technical breakdowns. I did lose the return portion of an advance, non-refundable Citylink ticket from Mallaig to Perth which I booked last time I left Perth’s fair city but, aside of that, I don’t think I’d be bothering even were I eligible.

Firstly, the notion of ‘compensation’ for public transport ‘failures’ is a peculiarly Tory (specifically Majorite) policy which sits very oddly with the ethos of the delivery of a public service (and which also ends up starving public services of the financial resources for improvement, thus increasing the likelihood of future failures). People on public transport try very hard to deliver me from A to B and I’m usually very grateful for their efforts and their hard work. The ‘right’ to financial compensation is also a highly individualistic response to what is ultimately – and which needs to remain – a collective problem, and that ain’t no solution at all.

Secondly, I might accept the notion of compensation – in general – where it entails some actual inconvenience – but delivering me closer to my actual destination (and, ultimately, some 20 or so minutes quicker than my original route would have done) is stretching the definition of ‘inconvenience’ (pace the lost bus ticket). Furthermore, I think I’m also pretty grateful for those who decide that the challenges of docking a sizable ferry boat safely in Mallaig is potentially more traumatic than it’s worth when the wind is gusting to over 40mph (the approach to Mallaig harbour along the rocky shoreline ordinarily leaves me wondering whether actually jumping over the side and wading ashore, surely getting no more than my knees wet, is a seriously viable option – it looks no more than about 70 yards from ship to shore).

And, thirdly, seasoned traveller that I am, I’ve always taken the view that the journey to arrive at a destination is worthwhile in itself – that travelling is not a means to an end but an opportunity for enjoyment in and of itself. This was a new route and, therefore, an opportunity to experience something new. Travel stoically, and with a good book, is a good motto – and Madeleine Bunting’s esoteric, thought-provoking search for a definition of home, not least in a time of nationalisms, is a terrific companion, not least on this journey (if here undertaken somewhat in reverse).

So, no, I don’t think I’d be claiming ‘compensation’, thank you very much.

So, then – Perth (one more time). And just a day too late to join Sunday’s counter-demo against the SDL, which I would absolutely have done had I been here at the right time. Fascist b&stards. Not in my Perth.

Much later edit: It was St. Columba’s Chapel, on the Drimnin Estate, originally erected in 1838 and restored just over five years ago.

Things I’ll miss about Perth…

The sun having not quite yet set sees me still in Perth, continuing to pack boxes with useful stuff and filling PKC’s recycling dumpsters with my rather less useful stuff. Following my previous post about missing bits of Perth, here’s a slightly indulgent post listing a small selection of things in this same direction (and avoiding the rather more obvious touristy stuff you can get up to in Perth’s fair city):

1. The Kirkside. Perth’s not blessed with really great pubs but this is a gem. Now with beers from Perth’s Inveralmond Brewery, including occasionally Thrappledouser, which featured in a BBC quiz on ‘delicious but faintly ridiculous beer names‘, there’s good beer and good company – and Tina and the current owners, and Geoff and Michael before them, alongside the staff and the regulars, have always offered friendship as well as being really good neighbours.

2. Marek and Magda and staff at Cafe Tabou for top quality food and drink and customer service, and for delightful anticipation every time I step in. And for Innis and Gunn on draught.

3. Terrific curries – especially the Murgh Handi – and top traditional service (including lemon towels – much appreciated!) from Ifty and Imran, the extremely friendly front of house people, of Nawaab (a fine family restaurant located in a beautiful building, too). Food served with a flourish and a sense of occasion. Good luck, guys.

4. Pizzas from Duo‘s wood-fired oven (and Old Engine Oil, too, with an ITK recommendation from The Bluffer’s Guide to Beer).

(Perth, being a member of the Cittaslow / slow food movement, does have really good restaurants!)

5. Perth’s wonderful floral displays, especially at the top of the wonderfully-named Needless Road just outside the city, and all around the city centre. Even in late summer, the old, and loved, City Hall is still beautifully adorned:

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6. The view as the evening sun shines on the red sandstone of the building which now houses Katy’s Company bridal shop (and formerly Kippen Campbell, solicitors) and which is properly known as the Kirk Session House of St. Johns, built in 1910 (the Session House would be the place where the church elders gathered to govern the affairs of the Church and, perhaps, to collect funds for the poor. The reference in this link to the Session House being used to keep a watch over the graveyard is also interesting although, in Perth’s history, the graveyard had long gone by 1910. It may of course have been part of the function of any previous Session House located on the same spot, or otherwise nearby.)

7. The rather lovely tune that the Carillon at the historic St. John’s Kirk plays every day at 3pm (I’ll be missing the 8am alarm call followed by a bottom-heavy and somewhat ponderous Greensleeves rather less, though).

Speaking of which, here are just a couple of other things I’ll not miss:

1. Trudging across town, overloaded plastic carrier bags in hands struggling to contain various items of glass, plastic and paper, past some no doubt bemused shoppers and tourists, to do my recycling. It’s not a long walk – probably about half a mile distance from my flat – but PKC really do need to get recycling initiatives properly sorted out for us town centre residents, in the absence of which it’s certainly not easy being green.

2. The sights and sounds of plastic rubbish bags, guts spilling out after well-targeted attacks by assorted gulls and crows, when walking through the city streets early on residual rubbish collection days (Tuesdays and Fridays). PKC absolutely need to get that sorted, too.

Perth’s been good to me. I’ll be back – not least for one more trip in the middle of next month – but, after that, more likely only as a visitor rather than a resident. Exit (pursued by a double-headed eagle).

Sunset on Perth

IMG_20170818_204322Sunset on Friday night, taken with my low-pixel smartphone (hence the grainy, somewhat impressionistic approach) just before quarter to nine, looking west along South Street, Perth (South Street runs east-west; neither is it the most southerly road in Perth’s grid system; and it leads to the middle of Perth’s three bridges over the Tay. There must be a reason for this name, although I’ve never yet been able to establish it…).

I am currently in Perth and will be here for the immediate future as I have just managed to sell my flat, courtesy of the hard-working folks at Next Home, and there’s a lot of stuff (an awful lot, given that administration of my paperwork has never been my strong point) to pack up and shift out (I’m expecting record tonnes of paper recycling being achieved by Perth in this quarter!). On top of quite a bit of incoming editing workload, in addition to two major ongoing projects, I’m going to have my work cut out over the next couple of weeks. I bought the flat at the tail end of 2008 and, in terms of central Perth prices for flats, as well as in terms of economics, it’s been pretty much a lost decade (even if not one of lost equity) – although my story might well have been a little different had PKC got on with redeveloping City Hall (which my flat overlooks, and which was key to the original decision to purchase it) rather than wasting much of the intervening period fighting Historic Scotland over its demolition. Now those plans are – at long last – starting to crystallise, with the decision as to which architect to go with being announced last Wednesday, I wish the new owners better luck with their investment!

Since the sale, I’ve had many people question whether I’ll miss the place – and I will, I guess, although I’m not sure it’s possible to miss a building, only the people and memories that have populated it and given it life. By my reckoning, my flat in Perth is the tenth place I’ve lived in and built memories in during my life (of 53 years, and counting) and, being well underway with the eleventh, I do wonder how many more there’ll be. Certainly I’ll be missing Perth (and city centre living), and Southern Fried, but I’ve been living away from here now for a year, and people change, and move on; and it’s the right time to finish off this particular chapter and continue actively writing the new one – in which direction, of course, the sale proceeds will (hopefully quite soon) come in very handy.

In the meantime, if anyone does have a use for Red Dwarf VHS tapes, do give me a shout…