Tonight we had Legends, Songs and Song Writing, with ghosts in the air and the sound of crumbling neighbourhoods somewhere over yonder. Was it Bootle, was it Burmantofts, or was it Beirut? Wherever we were, the spells cast by three singers at the top of their very different crafts were more than compensation.
Our main man was JOHN HAMMOND, a legend who has met and played alongside legends and ghosts from a long way back. His chilling and faultlessly authentic versions of Robert Johnson songs were all the more moving for knowing that Hammond is a man who has walked the same streets as Johnson and spoken to the people who knew Johnson. He doesn’t need to copy. He does his own versions with respect and authenticity, and he knows exactly whose toes he might be treading on, never mind whose graves he might be trampling. He pops in a version of “Spider and the Fly” from the arch blues thieves, The Rolling Stones. His version acquits them in splendid style.
Every great bluesman is a singer first and last. The spirit is in the voice, while the body just attacks the guitar and harmonica. However classy or exciting the guitar playing it’s the voice that makes it the blues. John Hammond has a commanding blues voice, singing a Tom Waits song like “Get Behind the Mule” or belting out something from Mississippi Fred McDowell, Jesse Fuller or Buddy Guy. However good the new young white blues bands are (and the likes of Jon Spencer are phenomenal) there’s an extra level to what we’re getting tonight. In the spaces between his flying slide and the clawing right hand on the acoustic guitar, I’m getting flashbacks of the likes of Son House, Skip James, Bukka White and hosts of other old guys who I had the privilege to see nearly 40 years ago. There’s the deep, wide resonance of the Mississippi and the clanging modernity of the Texas blues – I could swear I heard Lightnin’ Hopkins chuckle at one point. There’s some Howlin’ Wolf whoops too. He's also a very good guitar player.
John Hammond looks like an aristocrat and keeps the chat down. The stories are all in the songs, and in a place and a time like these the stories of betrayal, resignation, despair and resistance have never been as relevant. The hour and half flew by. It was the gentlest of lessons in blues styles, it was therapy for a troubled souls and, like all the best blues, the most fun you can have in a darkened room with your clothes on. The blues roll on, and the likes of John Hammond are the ones you can always return to. This year’s fine John Hammond album “Ready For Love” has the full band but I’m still a sucker for the old country blues that we got tonight. That big resonator on the National Steel is built to be played outdoors with no mike. Duncan (as ever) does a masterful job on the PA and we can here every scratch and buzz, just like we were all in a small room together. Brilliant.
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JON STRONG had preceded him, like a living version of the real local blues that every poor neighbourhood generates. JON is a phenomenally good guitar player, with blues and R&B mixed in with much more English ideas from the likes of Martin Carthy and Nic Jones, producing a unique booming and ringing three handed style all of his own. His bitter-sweet songs steal the show from the funky covers of Jim Croce and Lowell George that he also does. His mordant wit cracks up the audience and reminds us bluntly of tonight’s legends and ghosts theme. “Jim Croce has gone …” Exactly timed pause … “Des O’Connor’s still with us.” And straight on with the song. Death, despair and fear of flying – all conquered through music and some tablets.
MICHAEL WESTON KING is on the trail of the songwriters too. With his trademark pork pie hat Michael is a perennial story-telling connoisseur of the lonely songwriting art. He starts the evening’s opening set with a Woodie Guthrie song (“Can’t feel at home in this world anymore”) and ends with his own song about the funeral of Townes van Zandt. On the way he does a song about Tim Hardin, and a song by yet another outsider hero songwriter, Peter Chase. The mood is warmhearted and intimate – the lo-fi guitar voice and harmonica in neat contrast to the belting full band version from the New Roscoe set not so long back. Like the title of his latest album, Michael is “A Decent Man” in every sense.
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