My Beer Journey–Lockdown Catch-up

Since my last post, we have had a brief respite in Covid restrictions and, while any venturing out of the house has been with immediate family, rather than friends, I did manage to sample some different beers before the latest round of lockdown slammed the doors of hospitality venues closed again. One of those trips out was a hastily arranged visit to Brew York with my wife, instead of a planned one with a friend, so that I could use up my free beer points before the then looming deadline to do so. 

When I hit my 500th individual beer logged on Untappd, my wife asked how many I thought I’d get to by the end of the year. Considering myself to be a conservative (definitely small “c”) drinker and with three months of the year remaining, I estimated 530. I’ve already broken through that, and that doesn’t take into account the duplicates. When I started posting to this blog again, I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go with it. To be honest, I’m still not. I certainly didn’t intend it to be a list of what beers I’d been drinking, so indulge me while I pick a few highlights.

The first few drinks I had post 500 were from my Flavourly subscription. The first was another from Lost And Grounded, and I rated their Bingo Night – Tell Your Friends, pine-y and bitter, slightly higher than the Keller Pils. There really wasn’t much else of note in that box except for Imagine, an IPA from Brehon Brewhouse, which had plenty of fruit flavour cutting through the hops.

My appreciation for Belgian beers was increased by a couple of bottles that my wife had bought me as an anniversary present, both of which I thought I’d had before, neither of which I actually had. The nicest of the two was Delirium Red, from Huyghe Brewery – red by name, berry by flavour and went down like a fruit cordial.

I few weeks earlier, I had placed an order with Siren Craft Brew, one of the breweries that had started popping up on my Facebook feed (because, y’know, it’s not like I’d been checking out sponsored advertising posts or anything). Their range had caught my eye, both for the unusual flavours and the distinctive branding of their cans ad I’d been looking forward to sampling since the delivery arrived. I wasn’t disappointed. The best of what I had was probably a three-way tie between Castilian Lemon & Honey Cheesecake, a sour IPA that tasted just as it said on the can, Pompelmocello, which had a sour punch that was just tempered enough not to make your eye twitch and Broken Dream, an oatmeal stout that I got more of a taste of coffee from than the advertised chocolate. Also nice was On The Bubble, an IPA that somehow reminded me of Lilt, but with added dryness. In fact, none of the ten beers I tried from Siren were bad, although Oats On Oats On Oats wasn’t particularly exciting – not that there was anything wrong with it, just that there was nothing stand-out except for its particularly vibrant colour.

In between the Sirens we visited an Indian restaurant where I was surprised to find something unusual on the drinks menu. Cobra Malabar Blond IPA may not have blown my socks off, but at least it was a change from lager. It was also around this time that we visited Brew York and I continue to be thankful that my hometown has such an excellent brewery/taproom/beer hall and it’s great news that, despite everything 2020 has thrown at all of us, they are expanding, with a new, much larger brewery and a pub in Leeds in the pipework. Apparently we only had four drinks during this visit, the best of which was Chocwerk Orange, a stout created to celebrate York’s chocolate heritage, in particular Terry’s Chocolate Orange (sadly no longer produced here). And yes, it was dark, chocolate-y and orange-y. A small piece of York in a glass. Life is Peachy was so fruity we could smell the peaches as it was being delivered to our table. Another of those beers where the taste hides the strength and probably means you drink it more quickly than you should. We ended the afternoon (at least the drinking portion) with Up In Smoke which may have changed my mind smoked to beers. Or maybe this one was just nicer than others I have tried… Then it was down to the shop to use up the rest of those points and add to the already groaning – by my standards anyway – beer shelf at home.

Since then, it’s been home-drinking and previously bought Brew York cans all the way, as I make my way down said shelf. Some have been favourites that I’ve had before – the likes of the luscious Hey Mango and the equally fruity, if not quite as sour as expected, Katy Berry – others are new-to-me. I forgot to take Espresso Patronum out of the fridge ahead of drinking it, so probably didn’t taste it at its best. Even so, this stout was lovely, with chocolate, coffee and vanilla coming together nicely. A surprise was Rhubarbra Streisand, primarily because I hate actual rhubarb. I’ve had a couple of rhubarb beers before, but this is by far the nicest. An even bigger, and not as nice, surprise came from Big Eagle 2020, which almost literally exploded out of the can. Once I’d mopped up the spillage from the carpet and table I got to enjoy this more traditional tasting of Brew York’s beers. Biggest disappointment for me, though, was Ripple Twister, from which I got very little taste of raspberry and less of ice cream.

As to the near future, it’s not all Brew York. There’s three Flavourly deliveries on the shelf (and another due soon), along with a further selection of Belgian beers. Oh, and I’ve already stumbled across one of my Christmas presents…

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My Beer Journey–500 And Counting

I’m quite meticulous when it comes to the order in which I drink my beers at home. Bottles and cans get put onto a shelf, expanding to the right as deliveries arrive or gifts are received, and are taken off – to be moved to the fridge or direct to a glass – from the left. I guess some might see it as OCD but I justify it as a method of not diving right in and quaffing stuff I’m really looking forward to ahead of others that haven’t quite piqued my interest as much. (There’s currently one exception to this rule, which I’ll come to later.)

A few days ago, the basic makeup of the shelf was: A recent subscription box from Flavourly; two Belgian beers that I had been given as a wedding anniversary present; a selection of beers from Siren Craft Brew; a larger selection from Brew York. All things being equal I knew, more or less, which would be the five hundredth beer that I checked in on Untappd – it was either going to be Delirium Red (I couldn’t remember, and hadn’t checked, whether I had already logged this one) or Broken Dreams, the first beer I would have tried from Siren.

As it turned out, two events occurred that moved that milestone to a beer that was closer to the left of the shelf. Firstly, an unexpected free Friday afternoon meant I arranged a first visit to Brew York’s beer hall in months (much longer than lockdown has lasted) and introduced a friend to the excellent, if slightly reduced at the moment, range of beers available there. A couple of hours later and I was four closer to the impending milestone.

Then, a few days later, another friend came round for the latest in what has been an irregular series of lockdown/restrictions catch-ups. Drinking on a Monday – who would have thought it? We’ve met this guy before in my writings – he’s the gig-buddy I referred to a lot when I wrote about live music and the real ale fan who has (or had…) little time for craft that I mentioned last time out. And this is where that exception comes into play – we take it in turns to pick three or four beers to sample during these get togethers and, for various reasons, when its my turn, I buy ones not currently on the shelf. And so I moved another three closer, sitting at 498, without anything having come off the shelf. Oh, yeah, and my friend admitted that he was beginning to come around to my way of thinking as regards craft, although after telling me that he caveated the statement with, “But, obviously, I’m not going to tell you that…”

Now, it’s here that I’m going to admit to being a little bit lucky. During the two days between those two events, I had drunk two new beers at home. Just two, when it could easily have been four. Anybody keeping up (or, indeed, still reading) will realise that, if it had been four, then I would have hit the five hundredth during the Monday evening and, assuming we drank the same beers in the same order, that milestone beer would have ended up being the slightly disappointing The Italian Job, from Wilde Child – a Tiramisu Milk Stout that I found a little too sweet. It wasn’t by any means undrinkable, but I’ve certainly enjoyed other “dessert” beers more than this one. Of course, in a parallel universe there could have been any number of different outcomes and I like to think that, somewhere, my five hundredth beer ended up being Midnight Sun, from Williams Brothers (arguably the brewery who first introduced my to craft). This was the first beer we sampled on that evening – a dark, rich and spicy porter that starts of with a chocolate-y flavour then hits you with a kick of ginger and which, in my opinion, almost reached the heights of Centurion’s Ghost.

So, what was the milestone beer I hear at least one of you asking (or is it somebody shouting, “Get to the bloody point!”) That honour ended up going to…

…Keller Pils, from Lost And Grounded, based in Bristol. It is a beer that turned up in one of my Flavourly subscriptions and, while I have found those subscriptions to be of variable quality, this beer stood out when I opened the box. For a start it was a 440ml can – a rarity as the selections generally consist of 330ml cans or bottles – with a distinctive (and delightful) label – many of the cans that come from Flavourly have relatively bland labels, Keller Pilsmany of which would get lost among the more imaginative designs and branding that seem to be the norm these days. Lost And Grounded’s core beers have labels with a cartoonish landscape and wildlife theme and they fit together to form one big panorama. Sadly, the other can I have from the brewery isn’t one of their core range, so doesn’t have a similar label. But, enough about the label, what about the beer. I’ve said before, I’m not a huge fan of lager and used to only really drink it when I had to (on holiday, at football matches when “proper” beer wasn’t available, etc) and then it was usually mass-produced stuff. But this was quite nice – I don’t pretend to understand the difference but Lost And Grounded’s Keller Pils, according to an article in Flavourly’s magazine, takes its inspiration from the unfiltered lagers often made by smaller family brewers in Germany – almost, they say, like the lager equivalent of real ale – and involves “spunding”, which naturally carbonates the drink by closing the tank and allowing the yeast to consume the remainder of the sugar, building pressure as it does so. Apparently, sometimes it can end up being more bitter and sometimes more hazy – I think I probably got some of the bitter batch, which is why I enjoyed drinking it more than I thought I would (especially after being disappointed by the Radeberger Pilsner, also from Germany, that I sampled a few weeks earlier and found very bland, despite it being highly regarded).

There has been a lot of collaboration brews in my Flavourly boxes recently, some more enjoyable than others. One of the reasons I took up a beer subscription was to discover new breweries that maybe don’t have the social media presence that others do – my Facebook feed seems to get adverts from the same half-dozen-or-so breweries over and over again. On the basis of their Keller Pils (and, hopefully, the American Pale Ale currently sitting in the fridge waiting for my on-call stint to come to and end) I may well be dabbling in the output of Lost And Grounded again.

In the meantime, here’s to the next five hundred.

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My Beer Journey–A Novice’s Story

I’ve liked a pint for almost as long as I can remember, but I can’t remember in enough detail to record the early stages of my journey accurately.

I do remember trying a can from the family fridge while my parents were out – it was some sort of lager and I ended up pouring most of it down the sink. I also remember ordering a half of Theakstons from the bar at the York Theatre Royal, almost certainly while attending a Mike Harding gig there, which means I was probably under-age at the time. But nothing beyond that springs readily to mind. Until…

I guess my regular drinking started at The Tiger Inn in Haxby. My first girlfriend (later fiancée, wife and ex-wife) lived opposite the pub and I used to cycle over from Acomb to see her. It’s a Sam Smiths pub and therefore serves arguably the most Marmite of beers, but I like it and it has the added advantage that it was, and still is, cheap. Eventually I moved to Haxby and The Tiger became my local, the only destination for post-squash Friday evenings, Saturday “a quick waiting for the takeaway to be ready” drink and Sunday quiz nights, as well as a couple of charity events. Sadly, while The Tiger remained a favourite watering hole for years, a lot changed in a short time and I have only had one drink in there in something like four years. But that’s a story for, maybe, another day.

From there, as I got slightly older – but, perhaps, not more mature – and, having started work, had more disposable income and a wider circle of friends, I did the whole drinking-until-you-fell-over thing which led, inevitably, to the “I’m never drinking again” thing (repeat, literally, ad nauseum). I did a few brewery tours – Sam Smiths. John Smiths, Theakstons, Black Sheep and, much more recently, York Brewery – but only when they were organised by somebody else, usually work trips, although I seem to remember visiting the Black Sheep Brewery again for a friend’s stag do. Away from York, I’ve done pub-crawls in many other towns and cities around the UK, again mainly because I was working in them at the time.

More recently, as I’ve got well into middle age, I’ve started drinking to enjoy the drink. I still like to visit different pubs and try different beers but it’s definitely with much less of an aim to get drunk. I’m not saying I haven’t got drunk – a couple of afternoons coming up to Christmas with relatives would belie that idea – but, these days, I’d rather stop at the not unpleasant buzz you get after a few drinks. I’ve also attended a few beer festivals, although only in two actual locations, which again gave me more opportunities to try different beers.

The one constant in all this is that I have, until recently, very much been a “bitter” man. That first, some might say stolen, taste of lager seems to have set me up for the rest of my life. Lager is something I generally only drink on holiday and that’s because you don’t usually have  choice. It’s only very recently, in the scheme of things, that I have discovered “craft” beer. Ask me what craft beer is, though, and I’d be hard-pressed to tell you. I have one beer-loving friend who will barely touch the stuff (“real ale” all the way) and another who champions it at every opportunity. Some craft seems to me to be real ale on a smaller scale. Others would, apparently, send some CAMRA members running to the hills. (Blueberry Muffin flavoured beer, anybody?)

So, this is why I admit to being a novice when it comes to beer and why, like some of my other interests, it has become an interest at least in part through osmosis – remember the friend who champions craft beer? – although, at least partially, the blame for my interest could be said to go back to Brew York opening and my piquing my curiosity just a few short years ago, enough that I partook in the crowd-funding scheme they launched in order to fund their expansion into the building next door, now their excellent beer hall. It’s probably a mark of how limited my journey has been so far that both my favourite brewery (Brew York) and my favourite beer (York Brewery’s Centurion’s Ghost – I’ve always had a penchant for darker, stronger beers) are both local.

While I have always liked trying new beers and, being honest, rarely find one that I dislike so much that I wouldn’t drink it again (even if, at the same time, there are very few that I have actually drunk again), 2020’s Covid-inspired lockdown has given me more opportunity to spread my wings. Previously trying a new beer usually meant whatever was on the bar that I hadn’t tried before – some pubs were better for this than others, particularly locally. When pubs were forced to close, I joined a monthly beer club. Maybe not the best one available (I’ve had one box which contained beers that the club had collaborated on with a company that sells ingredients for home brewing…) but it has introduced me to breweries I hadn’t heard of before. I’ve also ordered direct from other new-to-me breweries. I prefer ones where you can buy properly mixed cases, or make up your own case by choosing individual beers, that way one delivery can allow me to try many different beers. As lockdown eased slightly, we started inviting my gig-buddy over for drinks on a few evenings. He’s the real ale fan, who has now also developed a taste for Belgian beers, so my horizons have been expanded again.

I started recording my beers on Untappd well before lockdown. Between December 2015 and December 2019, I had recorded just under 400 individual beers. At time of writing (August 2020 is drawing to a close) I am approaching 500, with about 50 that I have yet to try sitting in the fridge or on the shelf. I have also recently go brave enough to start leaving notes about the beers. I might not know what I’m talking about, but who reads them anyway, eh?

Which, conveniently, leads me back to my novicity… I like beer, but I don’t know much about it. I couldn’t tell you the difference between a Stout and a Porter, a Citra or a Pale, an IPA or a NEIPA and I definitely don’t know how to describe a “mouthfeel”. But, let’s face it, knowing nothing about live music didn’t prevent me from writing about it for years, so I might (just might, no promises, or threats, depending on your point of view) drop the odd blog post about drinking. Maybe my thoughts on the output of breweries I try, or what was in my subscription box. Perhaps, as lockdown eases further, thoughts on different pubs or a reminiscence from the days when The Tiger was great.

Until then, assuming there is a then…

Cheers all

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Chris de Burgh–The Barbican, 17/10/19

“Here’s a song you’ll all know.” It’s an oft-repeated phrase at gigs which usually leads me to chuckle internally. The things is, I go to gigs because I like live music and like to discover new music. Quite a lot of the time, I know hardly anything about the bands I see, nor am I as familiar with their output as most members of their respective audiences.

Even Chris de Burgh, a household name (maybe not so much now) compared to most of the acts that I have seen, was almost a blank slate to me. I don’t think I’ve heard any newly-released music from him since he released The Lady In Red, back in 1986. And for the record, I have nothing against that song and have never really understood the populist disdain for it. I did have one – maybe two – of his albums on tape way back when, and I do remember playing it almost to destruction, but it is a mark of how much he had dropped off my radar that, when talking about it with my wife, I got the name of it wrong, calling it Runaway rather than The Getaway. Off course, I’m fully aware of A Spaceman Came Travelling, but even then I invariably forget who sang it when it comes up as a quiz question.

So, I was quite surprised to actually recognise the song that everybody would know. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been, given it was Toto’s Africa

Anyway, de Burgh’s current tour sees him playing two albums in full, along with what I think was described as “a few favourites”. Guess what, I hadn’t heard (or indeed, heard of) either album, so this was me discovering new music, albeit by a long-time performer. First up was a full rendition of 2010’s Moonfleet & Other Stories or, more accurately the eighteen track, including narrations, Moonfleet portion of that album, a concept piece based on J. Meade Falkner’s 1898 novel of smuggling. With the stage decorated with barrels and lanterns and de Burgh and his band (I wasn’t planning on writing this, so didn’t note their names when he introduced them later, apologies) wearing various items of faux period dress, the set had an almost theatrical feel, helped by the fact that a backing track featuring a whole host of strings appeared to be in use. There were a few bits of between song talking, mainly to explain the story (although that was allowed to unfold mainly through the songs themselves) but with asides about the rugby world cup (I didn’t even know de Burgh was Irish) and the occasional snippet of political commentary, acknowledged with good humour from the crowd.

After a brief interlude, during which the stage was cleared of the maritime detritus, the quintet reappeared, redressed in more contemporary outfits, this time to play through Into The Light, from 1986. This set had a more modern feel, with a full light show. Again, I expected to know none of the tracks, so it was a little surprising when, a handful of tracks in, I recognised the opening the The Lady In Red – I would have put money on this track being at least part of any encore. Even more surprising – remember, I’ve never seen de Burgh live before – was the fact that he wandered off stage just after starting singing the track, appearing a few seconds later to make his way up one set of the Barbican’s steps, across the walkway between stalls and balcony and back down to the stage on the other side, perfectly timing the walk to match the length of the song, while being greeted by adulating fans, mainly women, shaking hands, hugging and accepting kisses on the cheek. Subsequently, I have seen this part of his act described, in the past, as “toe-curling”, but I can’t say I share that view. Maybe some in the audience did, but those who rushed to greet him and a good part of the audience who were standing or swivelling round in their seats to watch seemed to approve, if the “ooh”s and “aah”s were anything to go by.

With band and singer reunited on stage, the set continued with the rest of the album, the highlight of which was a stunning finale of what I believe was the triptych of The Leader, The Vision and What About Me? at the denouement of which, de Burgh’s comments about their being more lunatics in the world who could start a nuclear war and how dangerous they were was greeted with heartfelt applause.

A brief, solo medley, which included a snippet of A Spaceman – Ooooooh, it’s him who sings it…, saw de Burgh’s twelve string guitar finally allowed to be heard – I love the sound of a twelve-string but this one, while being used as rhythm guitar for a good portion of the night so far, had been swallowed up by the noise of the band. Then the band returned and de Burgh announced that it was “time to join us”, inviting the audience to leave their seats and stand right up to the stage. Many did and anybody in the first few rows who wanted to remain seated must have lost their previously good view as audience and singer were suddenly a matter of inches apart. Further back from the front we stood, clapped along and danced (or maybe shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, hopefully in time with the music) as the band played those aforementioned favourites, including that cover of Africa and two of the tracks that I remember from that taped album – Borderline and my personal favourite, Don’t Pay The Ferryman, again a track I would have bet would be encore material. I still find it amazing how easy it is to remember lyrics from songs you haven’t heard for many years. As it was the encore was fully new to me, except for a brief reprise of one of the tracks from the opening set. Two and a half hours of music later we were done and I left the venue having been thoroughly entertained.

I don’t know exactly what it was… the audience, who, while enthusiastic didn’t seem to go over the top in their appreciation like some I have seen at the Barbican; the music – being unfamiliar with most of the source material, I can’t say for certain, but pretty much every track felt like it was a live rendition with the musicians being allowed to stamp their own interpretations on the songs, rather than the “by the numbers” versions that Belinda Carlisle’s band had played a few weeks earlier; the songs themselves; the overall performance – at seventy-one de Burgh still has a powerful voice and yet is soft-spoken during his entertaining spoken asides, keeping them to a minimum while still giving a sometimes humorous insight into his writing and life …but, surprisingly, given my predilection for more progressive- or heavy- than pop-rock I came away thinking that this was one of the best gigs I had attended in some time. Not bad for one I almost forgot to go to.

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York’s Little Festival Of Live Music–Black Swan, 31/03/18

It’s a wet and cold Easter Saturday and, despite having taken a week off from work, I’m finding it difficult, for various reasons, to fit in doing things with the family. The girls aren’t normally into music (at least not to the extent that I am) so I thought my suggestion that they accompany me to the Black Swan to attend the latest acoustic and folk mini-fest put on by York’s Little Festival Of Live Music (the little-ist festival the the biggest name) would be met by scorn and the usual, “you can go” response. Instead we all headed off to the bus stop for an appointment with six and a half hours of the finest music that festival director Ellen could put together. And I really do mean “finest”. I make no secret that I try to support this festival whenever I can (sadly, not as much as I used to be able to for the main event in September), partly because of the charity aspect of it – this one was raising funds for The Island, a mentoring service for young people in York – but also because Ellen, through sheer hard work, determination and mainly self-publicity, has built this award-winning festival up so much that the calibre of musicians who want to appear is generally second to none for this level of event. And that seemed borne out today by the fact that, despite initial worries that only a handful of people would turn up, throughout the day the Black Swan’s beautiful events room was full to the brim, with people standing outside the door and queuing up the stairs for some time waiting for space to become available. Indeed, by the final act, we were being asked to shuffle our chairs around so that a standing area could be generated at the back of the room. It wasn’t just the numbers attending that helped made the day a success, though. It was the fact that the audience were both attentive – at times you could almost hear a pin drop in the room – and willing to participate in the sing-alongs that cropped up through the various acts.

As per my last posted write-up, I wasn’t planning to do this (I’m supposed to be retired from music writing, remember…) so I made no notes during the day and am relying on memory. You aren’t going to get a blow-by-blow account of every song played and story told but I hope what follows gives some idea of just how good an afternoon and evening was had. I hope that whatever “facts” I have remembered, I have remembered correctly.

The afternoon started with a short set from Scarlett Gordon who showed a musical maturity beyond her years. Kicking things off with a cover of Bowie’s Starman, she initially seemed a little nervous (but who, at just ten years old, wouldn’t?) and wasn’t quite able to cover up the few mistakes she made. The next song, also a cover but whose title and original artist I forget, was simpler in style and really allowed Scarlett’s vocals to come through and, with that, her nervousness seemed to evaporate. But it was her own, self-penned tracks that really impressed – 3 am  and Hole In My Paper, while short, were delightfully written, played and sung with growing confidence. There’s musical pedigree here as mum is Angela, of Mostly Autumn and Odin Dragonfly (among others) fame and it will be interesting to watch Scarlett grow as an artist.

Multi-instrumentalist Angela is also on quarter of the line-up of Leather’O, who took to the stage next and provided a set of mostly instrumental tracks featuring guitar, mandolin, flute and a variety of whistles, with the occasional accordion thrown in. The set was a mixture of their own self-penned material – including a track inspired by a tourist on Skye asking, in a pub just opposite the Talisker distillery, where they could buy some gin – and arrangements of other musicians’ tunes (none of whose names I can remember, I’m afraid). As usual with this band the music was lively, foot-tapping stuff with hints of Celtic and gypsy influences and was brought to life by the various introductions telling the stories of where the tracks came from or what their inspirations were. Their opening track seemed to generate some humour on stage and it was only at the end that guitarist Bob explained that, during rehearsal, they had decided to shorten it but, on stage, half the band had forgotten that fact and there required some musical shepherding to pull everybody back together. It’s testament to the musicianship that, as he remarked, I don’t think anybody would have noticed if he hadn’t mentioned it. I certainly didn’t. The band also joked that they were prone to outbreaks of spontaneous democracy while on stage and this seemed to happen for their last track, which might have started out being planned to be one thing until Angela could be heard asking if they were not doing something else, getting agreement from the rest and inviting Scarlett back to the stage as second guitarist.

Somebody had to be my least favourite act of the day and, with the greatest respect, I’m sorry to say that it was Toni Bunnell, another local multi-instrumentalist and folk singer. However, with a line-up this good, being least favourite doesn’t necessarily mean that there was anything too wrong with her set. Personally, I thought the song about the Grenfell Tower disaster, while sympathetic, was perhaps too soon and, in a strange way, too close to home. While folk songs have a tradition of telling stories including those of human disasters, this one just didn’t seem to fit. (Although, thinking about the lyrics, in hindsight I may have misunderstood the song’s message.) Much better was the song Toni had been asked to write about Stroma, the now-abandoned island off Northern Scotland. More poignant was the fact that the person who had asked her to write it was the last person to be born on the island. I’m afraid I don’t remember much more about the songs from her set, except for the wonderful array of instruments she seemed to have squirrelled away across the front of the room – as well as guitar, Toni also played what  think was a bouzouki, dulcimer and hurdy gurdy, the latter two of which I had never come across live before.

Next up was an act that initially appeared to be a novelty act and yet turned out to be the revelation of the day. Earlier I had seen a couple of people in the pub dressed as what seemed to be Norse villagers. Let’s face it, that’s not unusual in York but perhaps not as prevalent as during the Viking Festival, which had been and gone. Heading downstairs to replenish my group’s liquid refreshment, I was passed by these people as they hauled a variety of instruments up the stairs. It turned out that this was Bruni, a four piece who perform their own interpretations of Norse folk songs. With a mixture of tracks, including some putting the band’s musical arrangements around traditional poetry and others written completely – in Old Norse no less – by the band, the foursome beguiled the audience with some stunning music and beautifully haunting vocal melodies. Harps, violin, hurdy gurdy (yes, another one – you wait nearly fifty two years to hear an instrument and then two come along at once…), a variety of wind instruments – including both the biggest and smallest recorder-like instruments I think I have ever seen – and a selection of percussion were used to fill the room with harmonies the likes I have never heard before. From the first track they reminded me of Clannad at their most traditional – a mix of the music they produced for the Robin of Sherwood and Harry’s Game TV series – but they were better. Like most of the acts today, the origins of the music was explained, bringing it even further to life. Musically, the Norse seem to have a fascination with death, but even that couldn’t detract from the beauty of what we heard from this band. I have no idea what sort of venues or events Bruni normally play at but I really hope that I come across them again soon.

The gentle and infrequent between songs humour from Bruni – reduced to Dylan explaining that a track’s musical arrangement was created by, “Sarah on the harp” didn’t give the audience much of a clue when the three girls all had harps in front of them – was worlds apart from the garrulousness (and I mean that in the nicest possible definition of the word) of David Ward Maclean, whose stories seemed to take up half the time allocated to his set. Not that that matters – I could happily listen to him tell stories for hours, although his songs, another mix of covers and originals, were equally entertaining. While this festival brings together artists from different backgrounds and genres, it is testament to the local (and not so local) music scene that most of them know and interact with each other, so it is little surprise that David has a rambling story about headliner Edwina Hayes and an old jacket of his that, while bearing no relevance to whatever song came next, delighted the audience with its telling. It’s also testament that people in the audience were willing to travel from Bradford – OK, it’s not exactly the other side of the country, but this is for a small event – to see the man play. Some vocals are described as “whisky-soaked”, in David’s case this is literally true. As I pass him on the stairs before his set, he is explaining to Ellen that he’s just going to get a whisky and “have a fag” and said whisky is almost part of his act, in much the same way that it used to be for comedian Dave Allen, until it is replaced by something “twice as beautiful” – a double, provided by those Bradfordians. David’s set was brought to a close by a duet with Edwina Hayes on a song that they have been singing together for, I think they said, ten years – a lovely number about York’s Holy Trinity Church and a bench in its grounds dedicated to a warden who “loved this place”, prompting another story about a future churchyard, filled with benches dedicated to people who also loved it.

I have seen Nick Hall before, but always as half of Plumhall and not for a fair bit of time. With wife Michelle (literally the other half) off touring Europe he’s flying solo tonight, but still performing songs from their Thundercloud album, including the title track, as well as new songs from an upcoming album and a handful of covers, including Sinaloa Cowboys, a Springsteen song that I failed to recognise (probably because it’s on my least favourite Springsteen album) and the ubiquitous-at-these-sort-of-events Bob Dylan cover – don’t ask me which it was but you can guarantee that I would have preferred it to the original… Again there are humorous interludes – jokes about not being further away and not trying to be Ed Sheeran when he switched to tenor guitar and a story about writing a song about how much he missed Michelle while on tour with Magna Carta leading to a punchline about how he is still waiting for her to write a song about missing him. Another story inadvertently sets up an ending in Edwina Hayes’ set. But the humour never detracts from the power of his songs, particularly in the likes of the brilliant Remember My Name, a track about slavery. It was Nick’s set that brought out the singers in the audience, even if his choruses were sometimes so long that he told us it would be OK if we just sang the last word. Superb stuff and I’m looking forward to the new album.

Last year I finally got to see Edwina Hayes live, after trying and failing a number of times previously. Now, in the space of a week, I have seen her twice more, albeit one of those times was performing as part of the Boss Caine band during last week’s album launch. Tonight she’s the headline act on a bill full of headliners and, while much of her set is the same songs as that first time I saw her, it is no less entertaining. There’s an unavoidable and lovely sweetness to Edwina, both in her between song interludes (that speaking voice…) and her vocals, which you can’t help but like. Even her self-deprecating humour – Nick wrote a song in a truckstop in the desert, I learned this one outside services on the M62 (sic) – is lovable. Given that, it’s shameful that I can’t remember most of the songs from a set that included solo work, songs she had written for and performed with other acts and the odd cover. The only one I can remember with any certainty is Waiting For The Guy To Die – a cover that I have a history with (Edwina dedicated the song to me (!) that first time I saw her) and which reduced my teenage, K-Pop-loving daughter to a mess of shaking shoulders as she giggled her way through the very funny lyrics. It definitely wasn’t all jokes, though, as Edwina invited us to sing along to the chorus of a beautiful song inspired by a family member. Another highlight occurred when Edwina invited her friend Stevie to take her place – and guitar – on stage for a great rendition of Kenny Rogers’ The Gambler. This set, and the evening, was brought to a close by another duet, this time with Nick Hall back on the stage for a slightly more rockier (for want of a better word) song. Six and a half hours had flown by.

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Boss Caine–The Crescent, 24/03/18

It’s happened! I’ve been to a gig that has inspired me to come out of retirement, if only as a one-off. I didn’t know at the time so, with no notes taken on the night, what follows may be a little scant on detail (some may say less wordy) and I’m going to break my own cardinal rule and only write about the headline act.

It had been a long time – too long a time – since I had seen any formation of Boss Caine play live. The last time was towards the end of 2016, supporting the Christians. According to my gigs list, the last time I saw them as a headline act was way back in 2014, at the Basement. It’s strange, to me, that an act that I can genuinely say I love, and one that was such a staple of my gig-going for a while, had dropped off my radar so fully. But there was no way I was missing tonight’s gig – full band run-through of the latest album, the very long-awaited Loved By Trouble, Troubled By Love.

It says a lot about main-man Daniel Lucas, who pulls talented musicians into the Boss Caine collective, that The Crescent played host to a very sizable audience which, along with music-lovers like myself, included a cross-section of the Who’s Who of the York music scene, as well as friends of the man who had travelled the length and breadth of the country – some without telling him they were coming – to see him play tonight. It also says a lot about him that he seemed very much blown away by the support. Increasingly buzzing on social media in the lead up to this gig, Dan seemed more at ease on stage than I ever remember seeing him before, joking with band members (and there were plenty to joke with, the band at times tonight verging on double-figures…) and asking for “Hell yeah”’s from sections of the crowd who had travelled more than ten, fifty, one hundred, two hundred miles to attend the gig. Admittedly, some in the audience could have been a bit (by which I mean a lot) more respectful, especially given that Dan himself is a huge proponent of the crowd being quiet when the musicians are playing. Having said that, one song (I forget which) towards the end of the set brought the crowd to near silence.

The new album has been so long coming that, even though the set-list was predominantly taken from it, a large chunk were as comfortably familiar as a well-worn pair of shoes. The likes of Evidence, Lady MacBeth and Star Crossed Lovers have been in the live set for some time, and I found myself silently singing along to all three. The melancholy that Boss Caine seems to be known for (and which puts some people I know off) was still in evidence, but overall this was a much lighter performance. Of the new songs, the title track of the album, with Edwina Hayes sharing vocal duties, was a revelation – a Boss Caine song you can dance to, who’d have thought it? Rounding out the main part of the set, Smoking In My Backyard – a live staple for even longer – included a chorus sing-along from the audience, egged on by the band’s trumpet player, who jumped off stage to encourage us to join in.

The Boss Caine line-up varies from gig to gig and, even though it was billed as full-band for tonight’s show, that tradition continued from song to song. From memory, the only members on stage for every song were Dan and Bradley Blackwell, the latter switching from bass to double bass for one song. Of the rest, Amy Greene, provided backing vocals and percussion for most songs, but even she had to be encouraged back to the microphone for the last two songs – Dead Man’s Suit and personal favourite Leaving Victoria a sort of encore addition at the end of the main set. (Despite cries of “More!” after over and hour of music there was no actual encore.) Keiran O’Malley was the only other familiar face to me and his violin playing seemed more restrained, and yet still effective, tonight.

A friend and local musician who I was talking to at the gig (not during the set) had already heard the album – I picked my copy up on the night and it’s currently on rotation as I write this – and told me how good it was and how the Boss Caine sound had progressed, leading him to wonder what the next album would be like. He mentioned a fuller sound, with bigger compositions and his speculations went down the Bruce Springsteen route. Now, I am in no way saying that Boss Caine and The Boss are on a level but it did get my brain working overtime during the set and I couldn’t help but see Amy Greene as, in a musical sense, Patti Scialfa to Dan Lucas and the addition of that trumpet, while a different sound to Clarence Clemens’ sax, couldn’t help but increase the image of the collective as a Yorkshire E-Street Band (although that moniker has already been taken by another brilliant brass-filled band), even though O’Malley is usually more of a visual foil to Dan than the trumpet player was tonight.  Maybe, just maybe, there is more comparable between the two than those shared four letters.

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2016 In Review–Part 1, The Gigs

It’s not news that the past year saw me take a massive step back from my (admittedly somewhat minor) involvement in York’s music scene, taking the decision to stop writing up each and every gig I went to. The time and effort involved were proving to be too much for the limited engagement those blog posts were getting and I was getting tired of being “expected” to go to gigs. I did eventually reach the three-hundredth “review” that I promised when I announced my impending retirement and, but it wasn’t the gig number three hundred chronologically, nor did it instil in me a desire to start again on either a full or part time basis. Since then I have dabbled with small snippets of writing, mere teasers of what could have been full articles, posted directly to my Facebook page as and when the words came to me while at gigs and, if anything, they have cemented my own opinion that what I had been writing wasn’t that good and that there were much better wordsmiths out there. Those snippets are, in my opinion, much better than anything I ever wrote in longer form and I know that I could never maintain that quality over a longer piece. I will continue to post them as and when my muse strikes me, but few people will see them. Certainly fewer than would have done a year ago, as I also took the opportunity to have a Facebook friends cull, removing most of the musicians who had, I assume, sent me friend requests simply because I had written about them and stopping accepting such requests. If I haven’t interacted with you in real life…

But all that, obviously, hasn’t stopped me attending gigs and I always intended to continue with these year-end summaries. After all, I’ve got to justify paying for the domain name somehow.

Let’s start, as always, with the statistics – 2016 saw me attend 36 gigs (2015 – 41, 2014 – 38) and seeing 85 performances from 81 individual acts (2015 – 96/88, 2014 – 119/96). The gigs took place in 7 venues (2015 – 8, 2014 – 11), all in York and including 2 that I hadn’t been to before. As usual, Fibbers was my most-attended venue, with 19. The Duchess and The Basement saw me 5 times each, The Crescent 3 times, The Cottage Inn in Haxby twice and The Post Office Club and The Little Festival Of Live Music in Parliament Street once each. As always, there were gigs I didn’t manage to get to for various reasons (cancellations, family events, clashes and the dreaded “not being able to swap an on-call night – the latter particularly annoying as it meant I missed Hope & Social for the first time in years…)

A quick word about the main venues. This year saw the inevitable closure of The Duchess as it, along with all other businesses there, were forced out of the Stonebow building due to its impending renovation. It’s a shame – even though I didn’t see as many gigs there as at Fibbers, it did put on some crackers and there seemed to be acts that had been “exclusive” to that venue. Blackbeard’s Tea Party have already played in York at a different venue but I wonder whether acts such as Von Hertzen Brothers, Nerina Pallot, Hayseed Dixie and Aynsley Lister (just four off the top of my head) will be seen in these parts again. The Crescent probably didn’t set out to be a replacement for The Duchess, but it has filled a gap left by the closure. It’s very similar to The Post Office Club, in that it is located in an old (possibly still going, I’m not sure) Working Mens Club and your walk through the main bar to get to the back performance room. It can be fitted out with chairs and tables, or left open for well-attended “dancing” gigs. Its main downside, however, is the temperature – it can be very cold, which can’t be much fun on stage. I don’t think it’s any secret that Fibbers sometimes has an issue with noise bleeding through from the Bier Keller next door. I’ve heard enough audience members moan about it and seen acts rearrange their sets, dropping quieter songs. There has been a mostly successful attempt to counter this, with one door being blocked off and the last few times I have been there it hasn’t been an issue. It’s worth pointing out, though, that the Keller almost certainly helps Fibbers keep going financially (as does the early curfew to allow the venue to change to a club later in the evening), although whether it also ends up being one of the nails in its coffin remains to be seen. The Basement remains a steady venue with perhaps its only downsides being its size and the price of drinks.

As to the music, well this year seemed to be in part dominated by classic rock, with FM, Bernie Marsden (ex-Whitesnake), Heaven and Hell (Dio tribute), Diamond Head, Praying Mantis and Y&T all putting in appearances. Once again, I was surprised (and slightly annoyed for them) that York-based band Morpheus Rising couldn’t pull a larger crowd in their hometown. On the heavier side, the annual event to mark the end of the Viking Festival saw Týr come down from the Faroe Islands with support from slight more local Aloeswood and Darkest Era – all, possibly, too heavy for my music collection but well worth seeing live.

There was blues rock in the form of Stevie Nimmo, Ben Poole, Band of Friends (Rory Gallagher tribute), Federal Charm, Aaron Keylock and the annual appearance of Chantel McGregor. But it was Nashville trio Simo who stole the show in this genre, with an explosive live performance which included instrumentals of prog-proportions.

Speaking of prog… that was, of course, my main focus, with the now-defunct Messenger, the ever-energetic Von Hertzen Brothers, Halo Blind, Howard Sinclair, The Moulettes, Mostly Autumn, Celestial Fire and Soma Crew all putting in good Shifts. Stand-out performances, however, came from The Heather Findlay Band (who I saw three times) and Odin Dragonfly (a welcome return and a chance to see them twice) and Gong, a long-standing band who I knew very little about before seeing them in November. Their music was complex, confusing and challenging – just what prog should be.

It’s well known that I’m a sucker for a female voice, in almost any genre, so it was nice to be able to see some superb singer-songwriters from around the world or femme-fronted bands more local to home this year. Highlights were the alternative country of Canadian Lindi Ortega, Norwegian folk/pop singer Frøkedal, Brit Nerina Pallot, psych-pop from Merseyside’s She Drew The Gun, Hull’s Carrie Martin and the acoustic rock of young York trio Little Resistance, the final act to perform at The Duchess.

As usual, there were some relatively big names playing our smaller venues. I was impressed by Reef, who packed out Fibbers but The Coral (who did the same) had less of an impact on me. A surprise highlight were The Christians, and not only because I didn’t originally have a ticket for their gig. The eighties soul/pop group produced an entertaining set, featuring songs that were familiar as well as others I had forgotten about and and emotional tribute to the Liverpool 97, with frontman Garry also amusing the crowd with banter and wry observations on how fame is fleeting.

And then there were the local acts, some of which have already featured above. Alt-country duo Mulholland launched their album at the Basement with the help of a host of musicians who played on it and a couple of great support acts – The Bronze who I like more each time I see them and The Lungs who I saw for the first (and hopefully not the last time). Perennial mainstream favourites of mine also launched their album at the Basement with another brilliant performance. Blind Eye returned from Manchester for a headline gig at Fibbers which saw the place buzzing. I finally got a chance to see Joshua Burnell and his band and was extremely impressed with their mix of folk and prog. Sam Griffiths proved once again what a talent he is when he supported Eef Barzelay (who, I suspect, is an acquired taste) and York Music For Refugees put on a charity gig at the Crescent featuring Rachel Croft and The Dan Webster Band, who I had seen before, along with new-to-me acts Bramble Napskins, who had the crowd dancing, and Stillhouse who could well be my new favourite local band.

Of course, that’s just a taste and there were many more, headliners and support acts both, but, as is traditional in these posts, I have picked five favourite gigs.

5 – Vesper Walk @ The Basement 1/7/16. I love Vesper Walk so this was always going to be a candidate, but it was made special by a full line-up of truly alternative styles which also included York’s Flora Greysteel and Brighton’s Mishkin Fitzgerald. It was a brilliant night of thoughtful, slightly strange music and performances (and in no way hampered by the fact that I was also watching Wales play in the European Championships on my gig-buddy’s phone.

4 – John Otway and Wild Willy Barrett @ The Basement 2/4/16. I nearly didn’t get to this gig and it’s thanks to its promoter that I made it. These were names I was aware of, but that was all and I had no idea what was to come. A superb mix of music and hilarity from two veterans of music, one of them a one-hit wonder who also has an entry at number 7 on the BBC’s All Time Favourite Lyrics poll. This would have been my 300th write-up but there was no way I could have done it justice.

3 – Red Hot Chilli Pipers @ Fibbers 30/4/16. Another gig I nearly didn’t go to, until I was offered a couple of cheap tickets. This is not a tribute act but a fully-fledged bagpipe band who play “bag-rock”, covers of classic tracks from all sorts of genres, while (again) entertaining with humour. This was the first gig that my daughter attended with me and, having made me stand right at the front, she can now answer the age-old question about what a Scotsman wears under his kilt…

2 – Gong @ Fibbers 27/11/16. After a great support slot from psych-droners Soma Crew, the current line-up of Gong (urged to keep going by founder member Daevid Allen even as he was suffering a terminal illness) produced a brilliant set of prog rock. I can’t add much to what I’ve already said above, except to say that, prior to the gig, I was slightly worried that Gong’s music might have been too surreal for me (based on what, I don’t know). How wrong I was.

1 – The Heather Findlay Band @ The Post Office Club 25/7/16. I’ve chosen this as my number one for a number of reasons, not least of which was the company I was in. Not only were there a few regular gig-buddies, but I had convinced both my wife and daughter to attend (or, it might be said, to let me attend, given it was on my daughter’s birthday…) This was the first time I saw Odin Dragonfly this year and it was great to see them back and even better to hear they have new material planned. The Heather Findlay Band impressed with a set comprising Heather’s solo work along with songs from Mostly Autumn and Mantra Vega and Heather’s performance reminded me just how good a vocalist she is. It was a very similar gig to the December one at the Crescent and, while the latter was made more poignant by appearances by Heather’s sons and Angela Gordon’s daughter, this one was a lot warmer.

Posted in Live Music, Year in Review | 1 Comment

Jon Palmer Acoustic Band–The Cottage, 10/07/16

I’m not sure why, partway through this evening, I decided to start making notes but, since I did, I might as well use them. I’m also not sure whether this signals an end to my (so far) brief retirement from gig write-ups, or whether it will be a one-off. Chances are it will be somewhere in between, probably leaning more towards the latter.

I’ve always tried to be a champion of local live music and you couldn’t get much more local than tonight. In fact this was the second time in three days that I had walked to a gig at The Cottage Inn in Haxby. The first was Dos Paulo, a blues duo who were playing in the pub itself (very good but, typically for pub gigs, playing mainly to people who were chatting) but tonight was different. Two Sundays a month, the local community radio station, Vale Radio, put on gigs in the pub’s function room, primarily to record for broadcast during the week. Having already mentioned this month’s in my YorkMix column, and having had tonight’s headliners recommended to me, it was only fair that I wandered down to try it out.

There’s probably a chance of a few new readers (yeah, like I have many regular readers) and so, before I start, it’s worth noting a few things about me. Firstly, I rarely listen to the radio and even more rarely listen to music on it. Generally I’m a Radio Five listener or, occasionally, Planet Rock, so can’t comment on Vale Radio. In terms of music, I listen to a fairly wide variety, although I admit it’s not as wide a choice as some people I know. I’m by no means a folk aficionado – apart from some fairly traditional stuff, it’s unlikely that I could accurately categorise folk music itself, nor at times distinguish it from Americana and the plain old singer-songwriter labels. From my point of view there are, broadly, three categories of music – that which I would buy, that which I would happily listen too (recorded or live) and that which I have no interest in. The first two categories sometimes, but not always, overlap. Folk and, in fact, many acoustic acts fall firmly in the second category and there has to be something very,very special about them to entice me to purchase CDs, mainly because I know that, while I might enjoy an act enough to see him/her/them again, those CDs would rarely get played at home. I’ve posted to this blog for the past few years, focussing mainly on music – and generally referring to the posts as “write-ups”, rather than “reviews”, because I don’t see myself as a critic – with no formal training in writing beyond my all-too-distant time at school, and with no personal knowledge of the technicalities of music. My last attempt at playing an instrument came in my second year of secondary school, when I bravely strummed a single chord on an acoustic guitar when the music teacher pointed in my direction and I freely admit that I couldn’t hold a note – any note, let alone the right one – if I was given a bucket to put it in. In fact, one might argue that I am in no way qualified to write about what I, now occasionally, do…

But that’s enough about me. Let’s move onto the venue. The Cottage’s function room is, it turns out, very good acoustically – there wasn’t a lead, amplifier or microphone in sight tonight (expect the one being used to record the gig) and the sound was brilliant from where I was sitting. I’ve been in the room before, for celebrations, and knew that it had its own small bar. Tonight, however, that bar was closed and a chalk board directed us through a “Staff only” door towards the main bar. Now, it might have been a failing on my part, but I didn’t think that made it easy to get a drink – I can understand why it wouldn’t be possible to man the room’s bar, but the rapid-fire change over between acts barely left the small but enthusiastic audience time to draw breath, let alone nip next door to get a pint in. Personally, I thought it would have looked rude if I’d got up and disappeared halfway through a set. Which is a shame, not only because I would have quite liked a pint of Guzzler but also because I believe the room is being provided free of charge, with the landlord hoping to male a bit of extra money on bar takings and very few people seemed to be making the journey.

The evening started off pleasantly enough, with Vale Radio’s resident folk DJ Tony Haynes kicking things off mere seconds after I arrived. Playing an autoharp and accompanied, on violin, by a lady I assume to be the “Aunty Pat” mentioned in a Facebook post after the event, he opened with a song that was achingly familiar and yet took me a few minutes to recognise. I’m used to the more rambunctious version of Whip Jamboree performed by Blackbeard’s Tea Party than the slower, quieter version heard tonight. Not that that made it any less enjoyable. A pair of a capella songs followed, first from Tony as he sang his own recently award-winning song, Tommy’s Remedy, a sombre affair inspired by the final scene of the Blackadder TV series. The second half of the set was handed over to Pat, who also performed one song without accompaniment, singing with a pleasant sounding Gaelic tone, before playing a slow and sombre tune on the violin.

Next up was Mick O’Hara, who I think Tony said had come down from Edinburgh, where he has hosted regular folk nights for around seventeen years. The four songs in his set were all covers, and I think I’ve identified all of them. Indeed, I knew one (and would never have classed it as a folk song). Opening with Widdecombe Fair (Show Of Hands) and continuing with Richard Thompson’s God Loves A Drunk, he broke up the set with an age old Van Gogh joke before breaking into Don McLean’s Vincent, a song that was harmonised by the next performer, who was sitting just behind me, providing a presumably unplanned stereo effect. Mick’s final song was One In A Million, Chris Wood’s ode to the chip shop worker Peggy Sue. Yes, really.

The impromptu harmoniser was up next. Annie Curren also provided us with a set of covers, starting off with another song that I knew and, again, wouldn’t have classified as folk. Also, if Annie hadn’t introduced it, it might have been another that, under her tender ministrations, I wouldn’t have recognised immediately – this version of Paul Simon’s Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes was stripped back musically and seemed to be slowed down as well. I’m not a big fan of The Beatles and their music falls firmly into the “I can listen to it” category, which might explain why I didn’t recognise Annie’s version of I Love Her. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard the original. Joan Baez’s song, To Bobby – written in 1972 to try to entice Bob Dylan back to political activism – was next and was performed in a haunting style. Her version of Paul Grady’s The Island was more powerful and then it was time for the second Richard Thompson song of the evening as Dimming Of The Day brought her set to a close with some great vocals and a lovely voice.

It was with the final two acts of the evening, however, that my interest was piqued. Carrie Martin, we were told, had recently started performing again after taking time out to bring up a family and she had played the main stage of the Beverley Folk Festival earlier this year. The diminutive singer proved to have a fantastic voice and started her set with an expressive rendition of Both Sides Now, probably my favourite Joni Mitchell song. (It is, perhaps, a mark of how much my music-buying has changed that, back in the day, a handful of Joni’s albums featured in my then vinyl collection, a collection that barely reached two hundred albums at its peak, yet not one appears in my four-figure CD collection.) The rest of the set was made up of Carrie’s own songs. Purple Heart, a song about trying to get to sleep, featured strong guitar work, while new song Woman In Me, which brought the set to a close, included a nice melange of guitar styles. It was Carrie’s other song, though, that really caught my ear. Even as she introduced it, Tony seemed to sit up and take notice, asking if he could accompany her on a bodhran. The Dancing Dragonfly is about “Things that make you go wow”. And that’s just what it did to me. It’s a beautiful song about beautiful things and, clichéd as it may sound, was performed beautifully.

If I had one complaint about the evening it would be directed towards the people who chatted throughout the brief interview that Tony did with Jon Palmer prior to the his band’s set. It, along with the set, was being recorded for broadcast during Tony’s show but it would have been nice to hear it while I was in the room. This was definitely one of those times when it wasn’t even polite to talk while the band wasn’t playing…

With the interview out of the way, the Jon Palmer Acoustic Band took to the “stage” – tonight as a five piece having left the drums (and, presumably, the drummer) at home – and performed a very enjoyable, foot-tapping, at times rollicking, hour long set of folk of the more rock-y variety, for the most part played on two guitar, a double bass, a violin and a mandolin, with occasional whistles thrown in and all the members providing backing vocals to Jon’s lead, making some nice harmonies. The songs varied between having a sort of “hometown” feel, such as the likes of Brown-eyed Northern Girl or being about personal experiences, like one about changing jobs (I didn’t catch the title). That latter showed off each band member in a short not-quite solo section before a short a capella section with audience clap-along accompaniment. There was also a political side to some of the songs – I Stuff Their Mouths With Gold was about Nye Bevan and his legacy of the NHS while, later in the set we were treated (and I do mean treated) to Eton Mess, a song about the government (now, just a few days later, changed almost beyond recognition) that Jon admitted on the night would need re-writing soon. As it was it featured some very funny lyrics about the likes of Jeremy Hunt and David Cameron – my favourite was along the lines of “didn’t remember what he oughtta/first the poor and then his daughter”.

Along the way they also played Haul Away, a traditional sea shanty that Jon wrote a couple of months ago, with great multi-part harmonies and the violin of Wendy Ross (dare I say a Yorkshire Stevie Nicks…?) coming to the fore in the mid section. New song Vagabonds And Rogues, a story song about a woman who liked those types of men, was, if I heard correctly, slightly fruity with the lyric “Gave Maidenhead a whole new meaning”. After the lively The Silences In Between, which showed how tight the musicianship was during a short, staccato instrumental section, Jon took up what I think was a tenor guitar for the powerful This Is My Country, another political song that referenced mine and steel workers, asked what happened to compassion, described a (metaphorical) cold wind blowing over the land and pointed out that the people in charge don’t know they’ve been born. After the seriousness of that song, Barleycorn Way lightened the mood again by celebrating all things folk without being a folk song, playing with the genre and having fun doing so. After a false start – “John Barleycorn said…” looks to the band. “What did he say?” – the song opened slowly but then livened up, with the chorus explaining “This isn’t a folk song because nobody dies and nobody drowns and nobody gets lost in the vale” and the ending being a vibrant, whistle-imbued affair.

The remainder of the set was made up of:

Where The Mountains Meet The Sea – a song inspired by the Scottish Highland clearances which gave Jon the chance to sing the words “Nova Scotia” which, he explained, are nice words to sing. This song also brought about an energetic clap along that belied the audience size.

A “whisky song” that I, apparently didn’t note anything down about except the word “slow” and I’m not sure whether that was the title or my description of the song itself.

Another Friday Night In A Northern Town, described as an “Otley song”, it was just that – a song about going out in Otley on a Friday night that seemed to give a name check to many of the town’s pubs and included another impressive instrumental section.

Overall this was a very entertaining evening and one that didn’t make me wish I’d stayed in and watched the football. The turnout was, I suppose, disappointing, but for me this was live music on my doorstep and, while I might not become a regular, I will be keeping an eye out for who is playing these nights and certainly wouldn’t rule out a return trip sometime soon, and maybe even a trip to the bar (if there’s a long enough break in the music…)

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On Putting Not Quite Music Journalism To Bed

Having announced, back in December, that I was going to stop publishing gig write-ups, I had always had the intention of writing a final piece that explained why. As it happened, a busy period at both work and home meant that I put it off until now, which is probably a good thing as I’ve had a chance to think about my reasons and realised that, if I had written this a few weeks ago, they probably wouldn’t have been the same as they are now.

Unless you have followed my writings through Facebook, you might not even know that I had given up. Yes, I had mentioned it on the “About Me” page of this blog, but how many people read that? And I know that there are some people who follow the blog directly or just pop in now and again to see what I have been writing about, so it’s only fair that I let them know I have given up, rather than just disappearing off the face of the internet.

To recap… I announced my, at the time, impending retirement the day after my birthday. One of my friends (also a contributor to a number of write-ups, having allowed me to use his photographs in them, as well as my partner in the short-lived “Words From The Street” project, which I am still incredibly proud of), as part of wishing me a happy birthday told me to “keep writing, keep rockin’” adding to that a quote from Lester Bangs. Being completely frank, it was probably the wrong thing to say to me at that time. Just the night before, for no specific reason that I can remember, I had been thinking about giving up and, when I mentioned that to said friend, his response was:

It’s your birthday…..you can do what you like today….but as you only ‘think’ you came to a decision last night you can sober up tomorrow and ‘re-think’. Your contributions are valued by (a lot) more people than you realise.

Being the ornery Yorkshireman I am, I think that spurred me on to make the final decision and, as I said, the day after I announced that I was retiring, with the aim of getting to three hundred write-ups before I did, just because that felt like a good number to go out on.

I never did get to three hundred – that would have been an incredibly entertaining gig by John Otway and Wild Willy Barrett that, quite frankly, deserved a write-up. However, that busy period meant that, it would be at least three weeks after the even that I could have got the piece written and I simply wasn’t prepared to wait that long. So I called it a day one short of my target.

So why have I retired? That’s a very good question. And I came up with a number of reasons many of which, as I say, have changed in recent weeks. In some cases they now feel like excuses rather than reasons. One – the feeling that I was starting to be expected to go to certain gigs just because of the fact that I wrote them up – actually feels downright spiteful in the cold light of day. Having thought about it at various times over the last few weeks, I think I’ve come up with a reason and that is because the write-ups (or at least my feelings towards them) were becoming less about the music and more about me.

It took me a long time to accept that people – some that I knew, some (presumably) knew me and others who could probably have passed me in the street without knowing who I was – thought my write-ups were good. I rarely did and, if you were able to look back easily enough, you would see that I rarely tagged bands on the early write-ups, only doing so if I thought the piece was good enough. Later I tagged most bands (unless I didn’t actually like them) but was still rarely impressed by my own articles. There were some I was proud of – the last time I saw Hope & Social, for example – but I was constantly trying, and usually failing, to come up with a different format, while still maintaining the detail that most reviewers (<cough> York Press <cough>) fail to come up with. You will also notice that I constantly refer to the pieces as “write-ups” rather than “reviews” – I never thought myself critical enough, or even knowledgeable enough, to be a reviewer, but I could tell you what happened and which bits I enjoyed.

The problem was that, getting down that level of detail – researching set lists, looking up lyrics to work out what songs had been performed, checking artist histories, not to mention the actual writing – takes time and I was spending more time writing articles than I was at gigs. Each piece took, on average, two to three hours, sometimes more. Let’s say I went to thirty gigs in a year (it’s usually more than that) – that’s about four solid days I would spend writing about them, as well as working full time, having other hobbies and a family. I was also spending more time at gigs wondering how I could say something different about a performance/song/quip than a band member made and making notes, than I was actually listening to the music. It sometimes got to the point where I had a backlog of four or five write-ups to try to find time to complete. It also got to the point where I would finish a write-up, publish it and then sit with my laptop out, constantly refreshing my WordPress statistics page until I saw that somebody had read it (or at least visited the page…)

And that’s another thing. In the quote above, my friend suggested that a lot of people valued my contributions. Well, actually, being honest, a lot of people might have valued some of my contributions but, towards the end, most of my write-ups were being read by no more than a handful of people. Imagine spending three hours writing a piece then seeing that only six people had read it (more accurately, visited the page). Imagine spending your time saying nice things about a band with just a few tens of Facebook likes and then that band not even acknowledging you had done so. I know, things like that shouldn’t have bothered me, but they started to do so. And that’s what I mean by it becoming more about me.

This whole thing started out as a bit of a laugh and, I guess, it grew beyond what I expected it to. I was never doing this for fame – when I started out I didn’t even realise you could see how many people had visited your blog – and I certainly wasn’t in it for any any sort of reward. It was always nice to be acknowledged by being invited down to review (their choice of word, not mine) gigs, but I always refused guest list entry from the bands themselves, preferring to support the bands and the venues, even if the few pounds I spent on a ticket wouldn’t make that much of a difference. In the interests of transparency it’s worth pointing out that I did accept a few cheaper ticket prices and the occasional guest list entry from a promoter or two. Since I started writing, the local music scene has changed (and continues to change). Local bands that appreciated the write-ups have become increasingly rare in the venues I frequent, moving more to the pubs and bars (not ideal places to listen to music) if not disappearing altogether, while I seem drawn more towards touring bands that I wasn’t aware of just a few short years ago, along with a few much bigger names that have visited York recently. Of those two categories, the former probably play so many gigs that they have dozens of reviews written about them, while the latter are hardly likely to scour their won Facebook pages to see which amateur has tried to say how good their gig was.

So, I decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Ask yourselves – if you spend hours doing something and very few people were bothered, would you carry on doing it?

Add to that a few situations which I have looked at in a different light and seen that I may just have been in the wrong – having one local musician saying it was insulting for me to say that he had put more effort into one piece of his act than another; being asked, through my daughter, by a fellow audience member to turn off the device I was making notes on because it was distracting them; getting into an argument at a gig because the person next to me talked all the way through the support act (nope, I maintain I’m right about this one…) – and I think it was time to start taking other people’s feelings into account. I could never maintain the level of detail without taking notes. Anybody who writes (and those who don’t) is allowed an opinion even if they, perhaps, express it badly. But if those things and similar are causing upset or distress to others, it’s time to stop.

I’ve said elsewhere that I’m not ruling out a return to writing, maybe on a smaller scale than before, perhaps covering every gig I go to once again, but that won’t be for a while. I still intend to post my end of year reviews at very least Am I missing it? Yes, I think I am, a bit. Am I enjoying gigs more now that I’m not constantly reaching for my phone to jot down a note, a lyric or a thought, now that I’m spending more time listening to the music than I am thinking about it? Yes, definitely.

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Blind Eye–Fibbers, 01/04/16

Tonight reminded me of those halcyon days when I first started attending local gigs, with my then-regular gig-buddies. Evenings where York bands would headline a bill of three or four bands, some of which we might have come across in the past, others that were brand new to us and, inevitably, some that weren’t up to the standard of the rest. But we didn’t care because it had only cost us a few pounds, a bargain, to get in. Even better, given the apparent decline of those sort of evenings in recent years, was the fact that tonight was at Fibbers and that it was well-attended.

I’m kind of a “shadow fan” of Minster Conspiracy, who opened proceedings tonight. By that I mean that I’ve only actually seen them twice before but that I can’t help but be impressed both by the amount of talent for their ages and by their work ethic. They seem to pop up everywhere, having played, amongst others, in Parliament Street and Gibsons, at Haxby Carnival and even opened at Fibbers for the mighty RSJ, and there’s bigger and better coming up, with appearances at the Grand Opera House and York’s Apollo Festival already scheduled for later in the year. Tonight they opened with a rocking instrumental introduction to a song that, throughout, felt achingly familiar and yet which I couldn’t identify. Later we were told that it was Rollercoaster, an original and the fact that it felt like I should have known it goes some way to showing how good it was. Musically, anyway. Unfortunately Ellie’s vocals were mostly swamped, in particular by Morgan’s drums, which were way too loud in the mix (just like those of many other bands). It was only during the chorus, when she really let rip, perhaps losing tone slightly, that we could hear them properly. The rest of the set comprised of covers, most of which I wasn’t familiar with so can’t comment on how their interpretations compare. Catfish and the Bottlemen’s Kathleen was followed by One Republic’s Counting Stars, and Ellie’s quieter acoustic guitar opening, along with my familiarity of the song, meant that the vocals came across much more clearly. As the song finished, Blind Eye’s Harley Daniels rushed on stage to drum up support for the band. Not that the venue was empty, but most people were hanging back and the front of stage was empty. Harley encouraged the crowd to move forward, which many did. I can’t imagine how it must feel on stage when you are performing to people who are not only up close (many acts do that) but many of whom you will know and recognise. Still the band seemed to be growing in confidence and what I, personally, saw as the sound issues were being overcome. The next track was a return to more of a rock style but musically less overpowering and then came the slower, deeper guitar sound of 30 Seconds To Mars’ The Kill before the set finished with the much livelier Don’t Stop, originally by Five Seconds Of Summer. Tonight Minster Conspiracy may have shown their influences to be bands typically favoured by people their own age (my daughter would have loved it) rather than mine, but I’ve also seen them cover Bon Jovi and Guns ‘n’ Roses and the fact that I only (vaguely) knew one song from tonight’s set definitely won’t put me off seeing them again.

Next on stage were The Blinders, a rock trio from Doncaster whose fast and furious opening soon calmed down. Facebook only lists the trio’s names, not what their roles are so I’m guessing that it was Thomas Haywood providing guitar and angry vocals, with Matt Neale at the back on drums and Charlie McGough on bass owning the front of stage while managing to look both casually disinterested and yet still fully engaged. Their next two tracks got increasingly darker, the first musically interesting with sparse vocals while the more-spoken-than-sung vocals of the next gave the impression of a protest song before it morphed into a faster, rockier in-your-face instrumental section before fading back to a slow, dark ending. The fourth track had a Black Sabbath-esque opening and, by now, it was becoming apparent that this set should have come with one of those “Parental Advisory” stickers that (in my opinion) too many CDs come adorned with these days. I’ve nothing against any level of swearing, except that if it’s overused it loses potency, and that’s the impression I was getting from this set. Not that that was going to spoil my enjoyment of the music. The end of this track saw Haywood practically leaping across stage to twiddle with amplifier controls, perhaps searching for that mythical “11”. Up until now there hadn’t been too much to distinguish one song from another but that hadn’t stopped the crowd from bouncing along to an energetic and competent performance. That was to change with what I think was the epic final song of the set, although I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that it was three or four songs segued together. It was a much longer, sustained performance with loads of variation. I hesitate to say that it had a “prog-gy” feel about it as I doubt that’s a label that this band would be happy with but, whether it was one track or four, for me it was a hugely impressive end to the set and didn’t need Haywood’s “sorry for taking so long” apology as the band left the stage.

Liverpool’s Sugarking were up next and, being honest, I wasn’t sure what to make of them. Frontman Kyle Taylor, with his long leather coat and hair that reminded both me and my gig-buddy of the cover of David Bowie’s debut album, seemed to be trying just a bit too hard to show that he was in a band. His vocal tone was clearer than the lyrics he was singing during their short, sharp opener with its big sound, in particular, once again, from Gregg Scott’s drums. Again there was similarity between tracks, with the second track (Runaway?) sounding very like the opener, although with a nice screaming guitar section in the middle. Sol Murphy’s bass rumbled around the venue during the next song, with both him and Taylor moving energetically around the stage during an instrumental section. Brand new song You’re Not Alone had a more subtle opening  and were there smiles of relief on stage as it ended? The opening to 1967 was brash but the song contained the best vocals of the set, with a slight drawling tone to them. There was a nice riff throughout, although it led to a more bass-driven ending. After Close To You came Count The Stars, with its pounding drum opening. Mid-way through Harley Daniels appeared once more on stage to add tambourine and backing vocals, seemingly very at home in the middle of this band. At times, the vocals during Pleasure Of Being Offended reminded me of Oasis, but over a much heavier sound and then the set was brought to a close with a faster track called, I think, Saturday. The overall impression was of a brash, raw sound that wasn’t wholly unpleasant but didn’t really do much for me. Another reviewer describes Sugarking’s sound as “very much bedded in the high-tempo rock style of the 90’s and early 00’s” and it might be the fact that I never really got into that that meant I couldn’t find a way to easily relate to this band.

Blind Eye now class themselves as a Manchester band but they started out in York and this was very much a hometown gig, with an audience of appreciative fans. If Sugarking gave the impression of trying to hard to look like rock stars, the same couldn’t be said for Blind Eye and yet they have a palpable stage presence, despite the three members having very different personas. Marcin Ellingham is quiet, almost reserved and he plays in a much less in-your-face style than a lot of guitarists. Joey Leyland on drums but sporting a t-shirt which declared that he would rather be playing guitar is all smiles as he beats out rhythms that never overpower, as well as providing backing vocals. And Harley is a confident, quintessential frontman who knows how to engage with his audience. “There’s no place like Yorkshire!” All that from a band that was only founded four years ago. With lasers now added to tonight’s light show the band opened with the most subtle, yet still rocky, sound of the night before moving on to a cover of Stevie Wonder’s Superstition which managed to be rocky and funky at the same time, Marcin’s scratchy guitar line leading into an impressive instrumental ending. If previous bands had been energetic Vultures took it to another level, with both Marcin and Harley literally bouncing across the stage. This song included a change of guitar sound midway through and led into a drum solo from Joey. The tight performance and clear vocals of the next track (We Stare At The Sun?) received a great reception from the crowd. Other differences between this band and the others was the amount of variation between tracks and the fact that, while the music was loud, it seemed more controlled and with more discernable tunes. The next track was an older one that Harley explained hadn’t been in the set for years. It slowed things down but was just a bit too brash to be called a ballad. And I, with its much more anthemic sound, felt like a set-ender but there was still more to come. That track that followed was faster and had a more defined “indie” sound. It had the crowd bouncing in front of the stage and Harley bouncing on it. “I want to see you all jump,” cried Harley as he introduced Blood And Diamonds and the crowd obliged for a track that included the best guitar line of the set – no, actually of the night – and a stunning, powerful instrumental ending to the set. I suspect it was this track that made me declare Marcin’s playing as “Santana-like” the first time I saw Blind Eye. That time they were, like Minster Conspiracy, in a tent in Parliament Street. Tonight they were very much worthy headliners.

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