Traveller's Joy, Northwood, Saturday, January 9, 1999
'The Heart of Saturday Night'
Inspired stuff tonight. End of the gig I'm chatting with Colin about the quality of Island music. We both agree that there is something special about this diamond Wight Island's talent. For me, the occasion has added significance, because it's my birthday. And this turns out to be some party.
Earlier Isle of Wight Rock had retired to a quiet corner of the Traveller's Joy to put the seal on various plans for this year. Pete Turner is dodging wisecracks from Simon the barman about his role as the 'codfather'. 'I lost a fish down at Egypt Point', winces the fisherman. Loss of a prime catch will be bring a sad pucker to the latest two mouths to be fed in the Turner household. 'He's having a midlife crisis,' reckons wife Jane. Turner's collared a pair of cats. Rumour had it on Saturday night one was going to be called JC. The other Angelina..
In the hours before the gig commences Isle of Wight Rock polish the dust off various projects in hand with Vic King's steady orange juice and lemonade hand on the tiller. There's a visit from Paul a photographer with a stash of photographs and more music tales from the social history of our generation. Particularly striking is a picture of JC Grimshaw at the front of an early band, Rocket 88. JC in a dapper suit looking like he just popped in from the lounge band at the Locarno ballroom.
The sands of time slip away. Before we know it JC and Angelina have arrived setting up in a corner near the fire. As far as I'm concerned having JC and Angelina coming through a pub door carrying their instruments is as welcome as a barmaid's smile.
When Isle of Wight Rock came out of retirement to write a tome on Island music Vic King visited the Grimshaws at Poet's Cottage. When Vic brought home tales of Mississippi blues, of Blind Willie McTell and Memphis Minnie songs we became firm fans. That was also the day that Vic met the indefatigable John Rufus Grimshaw. JC and Angelina's songwriting father. A man who can deliver tales of Gus Cannon and the Memphis Jug Band in equal parts to advice on how to boil bacon.
John Rufus Grimshaw has joined the party tonight. A man who likes his guitars unplugged and his whiskey straight. Once again he comes out with another great quote from the night before. Vic and I hear him apologise to Cathy the violinist for having to leave early: 'I had to go but sounded like it was revving up to go somewhere . . .'
The night has already begun with a sultry jazz standard from Angelina Grimshaw. We drank too much whiskey last night into the small hours to remember what it was called. A couple more of those striking covers of acoustic blues before JC announces one of Isle of Wight Rock's all time favourite Grimshaw songs.
The Ballad of Rod Garfield has the duo stuck right behind Kerouac's tailpipe. The imagery of the rambling songman (Rod Garfield still doing for the harmonica what Crocodile Dundee did for the bowie knife in Australia) shines like a gem. The vocals swing like a kerosene lamp in a Mississippi night. Angelina's rhythm guitar blends with JC's superb picking. One night I'm going to tape the song just to get all the words from it.
The evening swang like that all night. Just slipped away all too quick. Music touched so many bases. At times JC's guitar picking sounded like it had been handed down from the master himself Django Rheinhardt. Particularly as Cathy came up to pull some fine violin across several of the songs. When JC switches to mandolin it's like a shot of moonshine across the skull. At point JC declares 'One from the archives . . .' before going into that other classic beloved of Isle of Wight Rock 'SOS'. Another of his killer bottle full of blues songs.
Angelina sings like she's carrying the torch for Bessie Smith, Memphis Minnie and every gin joint songstress from the days before rock and roll. Sang a Trixie Smith song tonight. Lovely. Also performed an upbeat version of Blind Willie McTell's Lonesome Day. Brother and sister swung like the current in the line that goes 'That Mississippi River so deep and so wide . . .'. A great version of Wheels Are Rolling Now written by old Jack Lightning himself John Rufus Grimshaw. Old Jack Lightning was another song which rocked the Travellers last night.
During the second set Paul Armfield has wandered in with his dad Colin. He's been down to the Woodvale at Gurnard first to catch Rick East's band The Del Rios. Paul recommends catching them and that is good enough for me.
The third set begins with JC asking Paul Armfield to join him. Paul borrows Angelina's guitar. JC backs him on three songs. Not sure what the first was. The last, he tell me, later was by Steve Earle. A toe swinging country waltz. It is the middle song of these three that caps it for me. I guess any song full of American imagery is always going catch my breath. Paul begins to gently pick a laconic chord pattern from the acoustic. JC catches the mood with some close your eyes, get blown away, understated mandolin playing. Paul sings Tom Wait's Heart of Saturday Night. Just magic.
In the third set JC called Stevie James Gadd from the audience. He came carting his tea chest bass. After one number John Rufus is turning to say 'That's the stuff for people of our age isn't old boys?' with a grin like a cod fed cat. 'Did you play in a skiffle band Vic?' asks Old Jack Lightning. As Stevie James Gadd adds further whelp to an already fired set I recall Vic telling of John Rufus's quote from the Spyglass ('Sounds like the charge of the fucking Light Brigade . . .'). What S J Gadd pulls out of a rope strung around a broom handle on an unturned box has me blowing the air out of my cheeks.
Cathy is also up by now adding a gorgeous understated veil of violin behind JCs rampant picking, Angelina's hip shaking rhythm and Gadd's unstoppable frieght train of bass lines. They do more originals like Rock n Roll Rambling Man, JC playing at the top of his tree. Traveller's Joy proprietor Derek Smith has joined the audience with a permanent grin on his face, continually shaking his head at the sheer class of what is being played in his pub on the Isle of Wight.
John Rufus has talked of a 45 club starting at the Ryde Castle for 45 year olds. The fact that it is my birthday has slipped out to JC and the band stop rocking for a moment to embarrass me with 'Happy Birthday'. It couldn't have been any better if ol Gus Cannon and the Memphis Jug Band had played it themselves.
Earlier I'd asked JC if they might sing Black Muddy River tonight. As a regular listener to Danny Bakers Talk Radio football show. I haven't watched a football game in nigh on a quarter of a century. Baker's show is the perfect antidote to the pigs bladder of nonsense spoken by Archie Andrews clones who regularly pontificate on twenty two blokes kicking a ball around.
The point of this long winded introduction to Black Muddy River is that I'm sat outside Chilworth House in Southampton this morning while my daughter takes a ballet lesson (don't ask). Danny Baker suddenly starts talking about Gerry Garcia and mentions that this is the anniversary of his death or something (it isn't we will find out later by checking Pete Turner's Grateful Dead book collection). So it is appropriate to ask JC to sing a one of Gerry Garcia and Robert Hunter last songs.
JC decides rather than a rabble rousing close this will be their last song. I think the song might just be another about that mysterious swirling river the Mississippi. It is a haunting deep song, deep as the river it was written for. Vic is ordering up vodka for his orange. Pete is on another pint. I've emptied my double whiskey courtesy of Derek Smith long ago and am shaking my head along with his at the beauty of the moment.
The music that the ensemble has played tonight has drifted all up and down that Mississippi river. The hard Chicago blues, the dark Mississippi ballads, Louisiana cajun with more than a tad of Django's gypsy jazz magic. They end on the stomping Sweet Georgia Brown on landlord Derek Smith's call for just one more. Stonking stuff.
In February JC and Angelina should have a new CD completed. Then their off to Germany on tour.
Before that I have an invite to be in Southampton, at Chilworth Hall, when JC, Angelina, the rhythm king Rupert Brown and Paul Armfield play a party. The Dance Preachers in Southampton. Wahoo.
As befits Isle of Wight Rock the gig ends with Pete and Vic collecting more rock'n'roll tales from Norman about the first Isle of Wight festival while I continue to talk to Colin Armfield about how he came to be on the Isle of Wight instead of his native Birmingham. Turns out he was at school at the same time as Dave Swarbrick. This is my kind of birthday and it ain't over yet.
Back at the sofa's Pete has broken out the Southern Comfort and begins playing old Grateful Dead records from our past, Storefront Hitchcock before Joel Turner joins us for a nightcap that lasts till the early hours as we discuss the merits of both Tim and Jeff Buckley. What all this has got to do with a JC and Angelina gig at the Traveller's Joy? As much as me learning my blues from a tree on the Medina Delta I suspect.
Cow Cow Davenport