Of The Unknown Trio - The Crab, Old Village, Shanklin, 13th July 1998
Separated by two days, a greater dissimilarity in atmosphere has rarely been achieved by two Island venues. The one, outside, in the cold light of poorly trained disco lamps and hedonistic hippy songs triggering the blues at The Crab in Shanklin's Old Village, and the other, inside, enjoying the warm luxury of unashamed relaxation, aimed maybe at the Blues and triggering contentment.
To be fair, The Crab on a Monday night, when the Old Village black-out commences, is not always the easiest place to relish. I managed to resist the dubious pleasures on offer at Holliers, and drifted to sounds, unadvertised, of 'Knockin' on Heaven's Door'. And a pleasant surprise to find that now the squall of 'The New Wave Of British Heavy Metal' and the retrobirth of R&B Metal has passed (in the shape of Axl Rose) - once again it is the original style of performance of this song which is the most acceptable.
Not too many twiddly bits, (but it was close). This was okay, the ten or so in the audience were freezing their buns off in the name of live music support after all, and if we'd wanted we could have gone inside couldn't we?
So what kept us there? Perhaps it was the hope that all of a sudden the singer was going to bang out a 'Supernaturals' number to make us smile and remember what we had ventured out to seek. We got 'Bad Company', a clutch of largely (these days) unplayed numbers, and an ironic 'Summertime'.
I didn't get the name of the trio, but I'd like to see them again in the warm or the light, so that they could give themselves a fair chance. It must have been miserable trying to inject enthusiasm into the cold clutch of drinkers who doubtless all sat there swapping stories about what summers used to be like when they were kids.
Plus point: there was a 'The Verve' song, don't know which, but they're all much the same ain't they, like Zimmerman-with-strings and dodgy Duluth accents? But this was alright, a sound direction to take I'd say! I'd do it again, but ask next time for the lights to be in front of the band and pointed at them so we could see what was going on, rather than feeling like Steve McQueen and Richard Attenborough trying to find a window of opportunity between searchlight sweeps to make a Great Escape.
Good musicians, who are prepared to suffer these sort of conditions are worth their weight in gold, and if I wore a hat I'd take it off to them.
Tales From the Sacred Napkin - The Taverners, Godshill. 14th July 1998
Then, via a day of Beach Boys hit compilations to keep my spirits up, I headed for the goldstrike of the summer so far. Two weeks ago, courtesy of my next door neighbour, I discovered a very well kept secret at The Taverners in Godshill, - you know, the place where everyone goes during hot sunny days to see the...um ....other tourists. Come on, it's a nice little place but what's the real attraction. Surely not just the large car park?
But on a Tuesday night there really is something to see. Now anyone who knows me will also know that my brush with jazz started back in 1962. I got hold of an album by The Legendary Joe Pass, and failed to see the significance for about six months. I was given it by a bloke called Banjo Hallet who assured me one day the penny would drop.
When it did in 1964, it led me to Billie Holiday and Nina Simone via others whose names have since fallen off the curb. Okay I was misled, I trod the path of sin towards the alter of Jack Jones and Bobby Darin where the mainline met Dylan's Highway 61.
The rest is history; Beatles, Moody's, Queen, Pistols, New Wave, Britpop and disillusionment have dumped me back onto the doorstep marked Drum & Bass, which leads me on to my Next Big Thing. The drum is Pete Durham, and the bass, Leon Simmonds. Written in the fair hand of Diane Arnott, I possess the sacred tissue of the third Taverners jazz session I have attended, upon which my notes were written.
Most gig audiences and performers have something going for them, this lot have everything going for them. First off, they lack the need to prove anything to anyone. You see, with this sort of music, it's the sounds that do the talking!
The anchor of the trio is keyboard player Ian Arnott. I saw him years ago playing solo, and was struck then by his great sense of humour. With him, it's no good attending as a musician if you are shy of being insulted. He knows what to play, how and when to play it, and serves up the links, keeping it fresh. The trio are so comfortable with each other it translates immediately to the audience, and you can't help but unwind.
Pete Durham is a revelation. After years of watching the power drumming of Wozzy, Hig, Tiz and their brothers-of-the-skins, I was gobsmacked to see an alternative method. Pete teases an enormous variety of sounds from his drumkit with amazing subtlety and timing.
Bassman Leon Simmonds, my foot-in-the-door with this music circle, plays lines most rock bassists would kill for, all sounding like he's making them up as he goes along, and the casual choice of what seems to be a random number from thousands which they know inside out, give you confidence that you could shout out practically any title, and they'd play it, even if you'd just invented it!
It goes beyond the trio of course. Andrew Skinner, a popular keyboard player, positively 'entertains' during the break with 100% more enthusiasm and sparkle than most others could manage with a speed cocktail.
The return of the band brings with it the 'jam' section of the evening. On this night, Miff Mowle stood in on sax, and if you've never heard it close up and live, here's where and who.
Bass then changes to Roly Ashton, slick, smooth, sexy moves (honest!) on the neck of the big bad bass, then a change of keyboard player; Graham Dixon jabs out chord-like sounds, making it look like he doesn't care if he hits the wrong keys, but making it sound like he can't help but hit the right ones. An unusual style, my ear's not naturally tuned in to the finer points of this type of music, but his technique is easily recognizable and catchy.
So what's left? Well, the drummer hasn't been changed yet, so - on comes Norman Gutteridge. This guy's been gigging actively for over 64 years, has seen it all and lived to tell the tale. The walking stick is discarded for the sticks which have given him real life since he was a kid, and I can't help but burst with pride that I am a friend of this man, who can still hold his own with credible musicians and a roomful of punters in 1998.
Now, lets think about vocalists: In the rock circle, there aren't that many who can do it right. It's all about attitude and confidence okay? Well, not necessarily. Tony King is obviously very popular. Oblivious to the jibes of acquaintances and musicians around him, he takes the mike to deliver (professionally), such masterpieces as 'When I Fall In Love'. This is a song which everyone hears and simultaneously re-runs the recording by Nat King Cole in their heads. Tony doesn't give a toss. He is Tony King, and tonight it's his song. He looks happy when he does it, and again, we pick up his vibes. He knows the moves of the band and they all look like a scene from a movie. I am impressed.
Norman tells me to look out for the next vocalist, Dave Norris, so relaxed he makes Perry Como look like Michael Barrymore with a sparkler up his ass. Dave does a second number effortlessly, which everyone loves, and not content with this, Ian brings on Barry East, who's got the look, (and so I'm told, the reputation) of the new kid on the block. For me, Barry is the perfect crossover drummer with his rock counterparts: touch, sparkling timing and a natural ability, like Pete Durham, to know precisely when to hold back just a tad, and let artistic moderation take over.
Now you may well find all this very pretentious, in fact that's a charge I've fired at many jazz writers over the years. I make no apologies for this. Like this is how it is when jazz gets you, okay? There's a mystique about this music form which prevents it from reaching many young kids. But this sort of music has always been cool, and will be again when John Peel tells everyone it's okay.
Skiver