You know the summer season's coming when you're sharing the front row with photographers, parents and kids all struggling with rainwear and cursing skywards. Tonight's no exception: just as MARY BLACK'S about to hit the stage, the downpour kicks in. Welcome to festival season!
Suddenly it all seems a pretty grim prospect, too. It really has to be said, atrocious conditions or no, and regardless of her well-respected position, that MARY BLACK is not remotely suited to headlining the final night of a festival. At best, she offers an above-average MOR; grown up folk-rock for people who'd baulk at DAVID GRAY. I mean, sorry to drag this into sexual analogy an' all, but a festival's final night should be climactic, a supreme romp in silk sheets fuelled by champagne. By comparison, this set's like low-rent hand shandy in a bunk bed. Ho hum.
To be fair, Ms. Black herself isn't entirely responsible. From her own personal performance, it's quite apparent why the lady has carved a respectable niche for herself. Apart from being great looking, she's got presence and bulging Gladstone bags full of professionalism. Dressed in pinstripe trews, a red silk top and - sensibly - a long black coat, she's obviously shivering, but never once lets the mask slip or the conditions faze her, rattling her tambourine and belting it out like a trooper throughout.
There are times when you'd at least consider following her down, too. Covering MARY CHAPIN CARPENTER'S "The Moon And St. Christopher" is surely a good idea and it's quite probably the emotive highlight tonight. The NOEL BRAZIL-penned emigrant's tale "Ellis Island" is also effective and strikes a collective chord here, whilst the anthemic "Forever Young" sends us out into the night with something approaching fervour.
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Unfortunately, that's pretty much where the excitement stops dead, pardners. Because most of the problems don't really stem from Mary herself. Her band is the crux of the matter, and not due to bum notes or anything lacking in their precision. Quite the reverse, actually: they're just too drop-dead muso to connect on an emotional level, reducing most of these arrangements to interchangeable mulch. I mean, there's nothing intrinsically wrong with songs like "Wildest Dreams" or the JIMMY McCARTHY-penned "Another Day" - or even one of the few upbeat tunes "Flesh And Blood" - but in these desperate outdoor conditions, they're rendered bland and lifeless.
You can't argue that MARY BLACK is little short of a Goddess to most of tonight's faithful, or fail to be touched by her (obviously genuine) surprise that so many hardy souls have turned out, stayed on and helped to turn this debacle into something resembling a success.
However, if you're looking for something with more depth and excitement than this relentlessly slick professionalism, then this festival-concluding performance lost the plot in the same way as the sun lost its' way through the clouds today.
As we trudge away, the traditional fireworks start up and squib out hopelessly. A fitting end to the evening, all things considered.
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