Opening each half we had a few songs from the well known local jazz and blues singer Lorna Reid, accompanied by blues guitarist Neil Warden. Her own compositions, including one penned jointly with the evening's main attraction, with Warden adding the musical flourishes. Reid has an excellent voice, and the songs are pleasant enough, and the final, gutsier, number, with Warden playing slide on lap steel guitar, gave a better indication of what a fine blues singer she is.
Hewerdine self mocking describes himself as a purveyor of mid-tempo balladry, a term that is accurate, but greatly undersells one of the finest songwriters around. He has a huge back catalogue of successful material to draw on, and the evening mixed classics like Dragonfly and Starlight with some more recent numbers from his new album. He has that seemingly effortless knack for marrying striking lyrics with memorable melodies which make you feel even the newer songs feel like old friends. Add in the several numbers that call for a bit of audience participation and you have a show that immediately feeling intimate and welcoming. Boo's wry humour and self deprecation/mock aggrandisement provide plenty of laughs, be it stories of his own disaster, or Eddi Reader getting lost in a Japanese shopping centre.
Fans of Eddi will know that Boo has been her close conspirator for decades, and he's written many of her most famous hits. While his voice is in no way a match for Reader's soaring vocals technically, he sings wisely to his limits in a distinctive tone that's both whispery and plaintive. It's a tribute to his singing ability that his delivery of classic Reader tracks like Patience of Angels never leaves you feeling short changed. Different, not worse.
Hewerdine is a proper entertainer and deserves much wider recognition.
Thursday 12 March 2020
Ross & Ali, Traverse
Multi-instrumentalists Ross Ainslie and Ali Hutton joined by percussionist Paul Jennings and the wonderfully talented Jenn Butterworth on guitar and vocals. Traditional musicians, traditional instruments, modern musical sensibilities. Whistles, bouzouki, tenor guitar and full fat highland bagpipes. Their music is largely self penned, but draws from other sources such as the late Martyn Bennett, and traditional tunes.
What emerges is a complex folk-rock sound that ranges from soft and lyrical to energetically rousing, especially when both sets of pipes come into play. The mix of instruments changes frequently, providing some surprising combinations at times, notable pipes and tenor guitar which turn an ancient sound into something more contemporary. This swapping around, and frequent improvising mean that even largely repetitive pieces have a constantly changing sound. Helped in no small part by the imaginative accompaniments from Butterworth and Jennings.
Jenn also contribute some weel kent songs. Her voice sounded a little strained in the first half, but normal service was later restored and she ended with a superb rendition of Hamish Henderson's Freedom Come-All-Ye. Adding to the entertainment is the banter and there were plenty of laughs, with Jennings' occasional dry asides a highlight.
Great stuff.
What emerges is a complex folk-rock sound that ranges from soft and lyrical to energetically rousing, especially when both sets of pipes come into play. The mix of instruments changes frequently, providing some surprising combinations at times, notable pipes and tenor guitar which turn an ancient sound into something more contemporary. This swapping around, and frequent improvising mean that even largely repetitive pieces have a constantly changing sound. Helped in no small part by the imaginative accompaniments from Butterworth and Jennings.
Jenn also contribute some weel kent songs. Her voice sounded a little strained in the first half, but normal service was later restored and she ended with a superb rendition of Hamish Henderson's Freedom Come-All-Ye. Adding to the entertainment is the banter and there were plenty of laughs, with Jennings' occasional dry asides a highlight.
Great stuff.
Sunday 8 March 2020
Aly Bain & Phil Cunningham, St Mary's Cathedral
The tickets say "Aly Bain & Phil Cunningham", but to millions they're just "Phil and Aly", icons of the Scottish folk scene. They've been performing and recording together for more than three decades, but this concert was a bit special. Less than a year ago Bain, now into his seventies, had triple bypass surgery. While his musical progress since then has been well documented on social media, and the duo have recently been busy recording a new album, this marked Aly's return to live performance in front of a large audience.
That meant less of the fast stuff we've been used to in the past, but there's been no fall in the level of artistry, and Aly's fingers still dance mesmerisingly across the strings. The style is very much from the tradition - there's little of the kind of fiery experimentation you'd see from the likes of Ross Couper - but it's the mastery of that style that shines out, the subtle improvisations and the intuitive communication between fiddler and accordionist. Old tunes from Scotland and Shetland and Canada and Sweden, modern compositions for all over the place, many of them by the guys themselves. Cunningham in particular has written so many stunningly beautiful melodies over the years and it was a request for one of those, The Gentle Light That Wakes me, that closed out the night.
It's not just the music that made this special. Cunningham is famous for his anecdotes (although admitting he'd cleaned up a lot of them given the surroundings!) and Bain for his dry interjections. Together they are one of the funniest comedy double acts around, and the audience's grins are brought on by laughter as much as musical enjoyment. What's lovely to see is that, even after so long working together, they clearly make each other laugh too.
Wonderful acoustics, superb music and a lot of laughs. Pretty much the perfect evening.
That meant less of the fast stuff we've been used to in the past, but there's been no fall in the level of artistry, and Aly's fingers still dance mesmerisingly across the strings. The style is very much from the tradition - there's little of the kind of fiery experimentation you'd see from the likes of Ross Couper - but it's the mastery of that style that shines out, the subtle improvisations and the intuitive communication between fiddler and accordionist. Old tunes from Scotland and Shetland and Canada and Sweden, modern compositions for all over the place, many of them by the guys themselves. Cunningham in particular has written so many stunningly beautiful melodies over the years and it was a request for one of those, The Gentle Light That Wakes me, that closed out the night.
It's not just the music that made this special. Cunningham is famous for his anecdotes (although admitting he'd cleaned up a lot of them given the surroundings!) and Bain for his dry interjections. Together they are one of the funniest comedy double acts around, and the audience's grins are brought on by laughter as much as musical enjoyment. What's lovely to see is that, even after so long working together, they clearly make each other laugh too.
Wonderful acoustics, superb music and a lot of laughs. Pretty much the perfect evening.
Thursday 5 March 2020
1917
"Suspension of disbelief"
'The temporary acceptance as believable of events or characters that would ordinarily be seen as incredible. This is usually to allow an audience to appreciate works of literature or drama that are exploring unusual ideas'. (Phrases.org)
Corporals Schofield (George Mackay) and Blake (Dean-Charles Chapman) are summoned from a brief respite in the sun to see the general. He needs a message taken urgently to a unit which has orders to attack the Germans at dawn, assuming the enemy are retreating, but now there's new intelligence showing it's all a trap. If the attack goes ahead 1600 men will be massacred, including Blake's brother.
The young soldiers are told there are no Germans between their start point and the colonel they are seeking, but, as the more world weary Schofield points out, if that's true then which have they been given grenades to take with them? He proposes caution and not leaving until dusk. But Blake is insistent. His brother is one of the 1600 and for him it's personal.
They set off across a muddy, cratered, body strewn, desolate landscape, soon filthy, always afraid. The German trenches they come to are empty (and far better equipped than their own hovels), but still dangerous. The mission quickly runs into a string of obstacles and incidents that slow them down, and eventually result in Schofield having to complete the mission on his own. And things get more and more difficult from there. Fights, falls, explosions and an unanticipated swimming session. A baby. And rats. Lots of rats.
It's stunningly filmed, long single shots following our protagonists through every agonising moment, the experience up close and personal. Some heavy handed strings as they entered the first line of German trenches suggested the soundtrack might prove intrusive, but from then on it's the perfect accompaniment, helping to ramp up the tension and enhancing the often spectacular images.
Mackay carries the bulk of the movie and he's superb. His Schofield is hardened, determined, compassionate and partly dead inside. He'll be a star for decades to come.
There are several weel kent faces popping up in cameo roles, the best by far being Andrew Scott's wonderfully cynical lieutenant showing them where the lads can get out through the barbed wire, telling them to go past the dead horses, with the bonus that the stench will guide them back if they get into trouble.
But I return to my opening paragraph. A film that goes to such lengths to accurately portray the horrors of war surely lives and dies by maintaining the viewer's belief in that reality. By the final 15 minutes I was having doubts. Would one man really experience, let alone survive, so many calamities in such a short period (the film only covers about 14 or 15 hours of real time)? When a man who's emerged sopping wet from a tumultuous river experience is able to hand over a bone dry envelope, complete with entirely legible letter inside, all credibility was gone. My disbelief had been unsuspended.
And that's a shame, for this film has so much going for it - performances, cinematography, music, atmosphere - that I wanted to like it, but came away disappointed. Maybe I'm too much like Andrew Scott's lieutenant?
'The temporary acceptance as believable of events or characters that would ordinarily be seen as incredible. This is usually to allow an audience to appreciate works of literature or drama that are exploring unusual ideas'. (Phrases.org)
Corporals Schofield (George Mackay) and Blake (Dean-Charles Chapman) are summoned from a brief respite in the sun to see the general. He needs a message taken urgently to a unit which has orders to attack the Germans at dawn, assuming the enemy are retreating, but now there's new intelligence showing it's all a trap. If the attack goes ahead 1600 men will be massacred, including Blake's brother.
The young soldiers are told there are no Germans between their start point and the colonel they are seeking, but, as the more world weary Schofield points out, if that's true then which have they been given grenades to take with them? He proposes caution and not leaving until dusk. But Blake is insistent. His brother is one of the 1600 and for him it's personal.
They set off across a muddy, cratered, body strewn, desolate landscape, soon filthy, always afraid. The German trenches they come to are empty (and far better equipped than their own hovels), but still dangerous. The mission quickly runs into a string of obstacles and incidents that slow them down, and eventually result in Schofield having to complete the mission on his own. And things get more and more difficult from there. Fights, falls, explosions and an unanticipated swimming session. A baby. And rats. Lots of rats.
It's stunningly filmed, long single shots following our protagonists through every agonising moment, the experience up close and personal. Some heavy handed strings as they entered the first line of German trenches suggested the soundtrack might prove intrusive, but from then on it's the perfect accompaniment, helping to ramp up the tension and enhancing the often spectacular images.
Mackay carries the bulk of the movie and he's superb. His Schofield is hardened, determined, compassionate and partly dead inside. He'll be a star for decades to come.
There are several weel kent faces popping up in cameo roles, the best by far being Andrew Scott's wonderfully cynical lieutenant showing them where the lads can get out through the barbed wire, telling them to go past the dead horses, with the bonus that the stench will guide them back if they get into trouble.
But I return to my opening paragraph. A film that goes to such lengths to accurately portray the horrors of war surely lives and dies by maintaining the viewer's belief in that reality. By the final 15 minutes I was having doubts. Would one man really experience, let alone survive, so many calamities in such a short period (the film only covers about 14 or 15 hours of real time)? When a man who's emerged sopping wet from a tumultuous river experience is able to hand over a bone dry envelope, complete with entirely legible letter inside, all credibility was gone. My disbelief had been unsuspended.
And that's a shame, for this film has so much going for it - performances, cinematography, music, atmosphere - that I wanted to like it, but came away disappointed. Maybe I'm too much like Andrew Scott's lieutenant?
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