Twenty nine years is a short time in rock'n'roll, folk'n'roll or FM as David Hughes might call it. Nearly three decades ago Fairport Convention were playing the Cherokees '69 Club. Tonight it is the octagonal Medina Theatre. Time like a label to pigeon hole Fairport Convention ceases to tick during their three hour plus evening of earthly delights.
The music starts early, 7.30pm, and even though this is the last day of their 31st tour the entourage are still giving it stacks way after 10.30pm.
Support artist on this tour is David Hughes who brings just his acoustic to the stage and a collection of songs from his two albums, of which Active In The Parish was Q magazine's album of the year in 1996. Hughes has the cut of a school teacher about him. The crumpled suit, the glasses, the relaxed repartee. A Jake Thackery half spoken, half sung delivery coloured by stellar finger picked guitar. Our man in the one and nines cops the Jansch inspired style instantly which is confirmed when David Hughes titles one of his songs 'Cool BJ'.
Back in the Gods the syncopated nods to the Mississippi Delta brought wry smiles as his guitar underpinned parochial Essex humour. Hence:
"The summer of love on an Essex street
Was the summer of love and it couldn't be beat
Chelmsford felt just like San Francisco bay
Summer of love was a different heat
Summer of love everyone you'd meet
Was really nice in a really
Friendly way
Yeah
The summer of love everyone enjoyed
'Cos the summer of love you could be employed"from Who's That? - The Summer of Love by David Hughes
After a handful of songs David Hughes set descended into chaos. The audience, at this point, listening to the man with the spotlight on him were shaken by a burst of wall banging pop music as the set list went out the window. Before anyone had chance to gasp the road crew, suitably dressed as the Spice Girls threw themselves across the stage and smothered the performer under false breasts and bad make-up.
Persona askew David Hughes emerged from the melee to bring on his backing band, "The Fairport Convention". The ensemble cut into a wild tango with not a straight face in the entire house.
Following that David Hughes left the stage to the Fairports. Theirs was as a diverse two sets as ever. Ballads, slip jigs and gung ho rockers. The two wingers Rik Sanders and Chris Leslie trading violin solos in front of the the immaculate rhythm backline of Dave Mattacks, drums and Dave Pegg bass. Simon Nicol switching guitars to fit the moods that swung from sad eyed reflections of Sandy Denny to rampant electric string breaking chord crunching songs like Martin Allcock's Spanish Main.
So one minute the stage is lit by a star struck light show for Ralph McTell's Girl From The Hiring Fair, a classic English folk song if ever there was one, the next the Fairports are sat somewhere between Weather Report and Sid Kipper for a subtle piece of funk jazz called Slipology.
Deft touches all over the place. Simon Nicol's off the cuff remark about the audience's bladders telling them it was time for a break. His relaxed, chap at the bar persona cementing the band's 'amongst friends' approach to performances. The last but one chance to catch the spot on drum play of Dave Mattacks who is leaving to concentrate on his own music. Tonight the combination of Mattacks drum play and Dave Pegg's bass lines are seamless and magnificent. Chipper Rik Sanders reeling off rivetting streams of violin at will either mated with Chris Leslie's violin or mandolin playing. The pair content to jump the monitors to stride the their music right up the steps of the auditorium.
I had heard the jokes before but they were still priceless. Particularly when Sanders detailed his days in the Soft Machine and their performance in Newcastle compered by the original madcap of them all Spike Milligan. "He introduced us as 'The Soft Machine, a marriage of rock and jazz whose children were born stone deaf . . .' He introduced Syd Lawrence as 'The Luftwaffe pilot that shot down Glen Miller to steal his arrangements . . .'."
So bucketloads of showmanship, quips by the glass full, music to desert the telly for and little pieces of history like Dave Mattacks recounting his pre Fairport days in Glasgow playing in a danceband for drunken Scotsmen. What might be called a well rounded evening.
The Fairports 31st tour suitably closed with a rousing version of Matty Groves which delighted an audience who lapped up every minute of tonight's show. Promoter Pete Turner responded to the moment to thank the band and invite them back on for one last song to close the evening in suitable fashion. Meet On The Ledge.
If the success of the gig needed to be measured, the workmate of Pete's who strode past saying "Brilliant. I'll have some more of that when your ready . . . " probably spoke for everyone there.
And I guess if this was the Telegraph or the Times supplement this might rank as a 'free puff' for Vaguely Sunny Promotions. While we might have promoted the gig and this is our website the very thought never entered my head.
Mike Plumbley
Fairport at the Gantry, Southampton
Isle of Wight Rock/Clearspot Main gates to full site
Footnote: For those unable to get in to see the Fairports or not wishing to splash out for a ticket Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid of Isle of Wight Rock, John Wroath and Duncan Jones were down at Calverts Hotel around six on Sunday night to start their regular evening session of wild bar band anthems. Originals and covers by the pintful.
As Calvert's manager paced about checking his stop watch in strode JW, grabbed his Guinness and joined Duncan on the bar stools. The usual repartee between various Footie supporters ensued with Wroath swinging his Chelsea shirt above his head.
The duo were joined by the violinist from Blueprint whose name escapes me and Blueprint's very young drummer, no more than fifteen if he's a day. Turns out to be Steve Jolliffe's nipper (Shide and Acorn). Kit gingerly sidles in behind a trap set devoid of a bass drum (not necessary when playing with the Island's one man rhythm tank). He attempts to ask JW a question about playing to which Wroath bellows back: "By the end of the evening you'll be bloody sorry you asked me that . . ."
Pity I could only stay for the first two songs, Boo Hewardine's King Chicago and Van the Man's Moondance ("This is kind of jazzy, follow me," instructs Wroathy to Kit). Long time since I've heard the guys. Still able to kick a tune and fill a bar full of music. Wroath looking more like Christy Moore every time I see him. Duncan still as laid back and full of soul as ever. Nothing ever happens on the Isle of Wight as we are oft to say.