Venue:
The Kitchen Garden Cafe, Kings Heath, Birmingham.
Date: 07/08/2017
Well, I didn’t think I’d get to this, having had a throat op on saturday, but so glad I did, Chapman being an undoubted bucket list artist of mine, especially given his astonishing renaissance of the past few years. Kitchen Garden Cafe is small, nay, tiny: I counted the tightly crammed chairs as containing perhaps 80 grizzled souls. Chapman is 76 and so seemed many of his audience, creeping out from their Moseley boho attics under cover of dusk. And me. A gushing fanboy came on first, having twisted the promoters arm to play and was politely indulged. The contrast between his fresh face and designer haircut could not have been more extreme, Chapman ambling on in a tyre shop, sorry, “tire” shop, T shirt and baseball cap. First job was to ask the soundman to turn up his guitar, a battered looking acoustic six-string: “I like the sound of my guitar, I’m greedy”, he explained, “but my voice is shit.” The audience dissented, but slightly. Banging straight in with his trademark percussive and rolling picking, sort of John Fahey with tunes, it was a full five minutes, audience entranced, before he revealed said voice. It is true, it is a limited instrument, perhaps a range of maybe 4 or 5 cracked lower tones, near a whisper, but enormously right for the material, apocalyptic sounding songs of old testament figures of an old american west, yet, he assured us, based on his rural community near Carlisle. And trains. He likes train songs, as he told us, a sea of stories coming out between each miniature epic. Like when Lucinda Williams summonsed him to play on stage with her and he was late, as, without a computer, he hadn’t got the e-mail, he revealing, shock and surprise, that she might like a drink or two. Genuinely coming over as a man unable to quite believe he had spent the last 50 years on the road, having, he said, great fun, much of the material came from 50, the recent album commemorating just that, one I heartily commend. But he also played Postcards of Scarborough, from his 1970 breakthrough album, Fully Qualified Survivor, when, briefly, he was famous, ahead of obscurity then beckoning him back, as well as the heart attack that nearly killed him at the end of the 80s.
I have never quite understood why this style of guitar playing gets called american primitive, even with his distinctly yorkshire bias thereto. It seems to me immeasurably complex. Over 2 sets he captivated me and this audience, his songs and tunes near hypnotic, seldom straying far from a template as comfortable as the cap always on his head. The only, for me, slight disappointment came at the encore, a long instrumental, overly heavy on the reverby echo that has endeared him to Thurston Moore and others.But it clearly demarcated the end of the show. But what do I know, I’m just an old folkie. That apart, a fabulous evening. An overused cliche is national treasure, but he is. See him when you can, while you can.
The audience:
As stated, grey haired hippy schoolteachers from south Birmingham, the odd youngster, all avidly watching his fingers over the strings.
It made me think..
Bloody hell, maybe that T-shirt company was right, I am increasingly thinking old guys rule……
What a wonderful evening. I only have the excellent Rainmaker/Fully Qualified Survivor albums. Any other particular recommendations?
Wrecked Again, Window, Trainsong, Americana Vol 1 & 2. More recently his last couple Fish and 50.
Cheers Pencilbro. On the ‘must buy’ list.
Enjoy.
Will do. You have impeccable taste my friend.
Bloody hell two of my favourite AWers for the price of one!
Lovely, lovely review. Haven’t seen him since the mid-80’s (Scarborough, Whitby?) and to be honest if asked I would have said he was no longer with us.
Any of the “newer” stuff you can recommend?
Thanks Retro .
I’m not familiar with his stuff. Anything to recommend.
Four five-star recommendations:
The instrumental stuff:
– Trainsong (brilliant compilation of reworked instrumentals from throughout his career)
– Fish
The stuff with vocals:
– Fully Qualified Survivor
– 50
A wonderful artist. Deserves to be a superstar (although he probably wouldn’t want to be a superstar)
Buy 50 and then work backwards: it contains new versions of older songs and new songs. I think you’ll then be back for more. Or start with Newly Qualified Survivor and work forward. The electric guitar and bass on the latter are by a then up and coming lad called Mick Ronson, pre Bowie, and Rick (Steeleye) Kemp.
Those with long memories of the Dandelion label will remember the name Bridget St John. She appears on 50.
THIS IS A REVIEW!!!! Covfefe!
Fully Qualified & Rainmaker constant companions. Neither of which were “folk” albums, any more than John Martyn albums were. Very eclectic. Music music.
Enviousness!
Another up ^ for `50` a lovely album which I really enjoyed and was surprised at the err, hell I don`t know, goodness of it. Why? because he`s an old codger isn`t he? (joke).
A great review @retropath2 (is there a retropath1 perchance?), your writing and another`s of similar (past?) employment at/in this place is a treat to read. (I fuckin` hate mellowing out this being nice is so out of character, where`s my arch-enemy when I need him!)
I`ve never seen Mr Chapman live, only starting to appreciate the man`s music the last few years. After this review and putting this on the AW I`m going to have a look at the man`s activities.
Who is your arch enemy? Dennis Law?
Ha Ha, you fat pillock. Go and fuckin` apply yourself conscientiously to your work.
Throat op? Hope you’re OK, Doc.
Great ta, they just lopped off 2/3 of my uvula, the dangly bit. It was getting a bit prehensile.
Yikes!
Can you still talk shite retro? ; ))
Seriously, I hope alls well.
OK, so here I am again, 2nd time in a week, again revisiting an act already reviewed, a year or so ago, so tacked on here. This time Michael Chapman was with his band, who, minus the rhythm section, absent tonight, were the folk from his latest LP, True North. Namely Bridget St John on vocal and occasional 2nd guitar, Sarah Smout on cello and the incomparable B.J. Cole on pedal steel. Now the album is good, as good if not better than 2017’s North, but live this was a doozy. Despite a heavy cold, Chapman was on impeccable form, Smout and Cole incandescent. I was sitting perhaps a foot away from the side of Cole, watching his playing over his shoulder. :Phenomenal, and the bonkers freeform shimmers and chicanery he contributed was just stupendous, adding rather than detracting from the sense of wonder, evident aplenty all about the densely packed room of grizzled hipsters. 2 shortish sets, maybe 40 minutes apiece, each with about 5 or 6 long expositions based around, mainly, songs from these 2 albums. At one stage I wonder why St John, until a fabulous song where she sang lead, accompanied only by her own playing and of Chapman’s, getting it, and her, in a moment. (This was the song she does so well on the chapman tribute album of a few years back, and which I commend.)
What a wonderful way to spend a monday night in, just, April. Michael Chapman is 78.