Sorry about the tremendously laboured title, folks. That sub-editing job I went for, they never return my calls...
I went to a wonderful gig tonight, one that also left me quite gloomy in one respect. Robin Holcomb was playing London's Purcell Room, a small-ish but quite prestigious London venue. It was part of a week-long festival called The Song's The Thing, which, as the name implies, celebrates songwriters across a wide range of styles. Among the acts featured this year are Lee Hazelwood, Riuichi Sakamoto, Erland Oye (from Kings of Convenience) and Kirsty MacColl (a big memorial concert on Monday). Robin Holcomb was paired with Jeb Loy Nichols; a less starry brace of performers you could not dream up without a great deal of effort, and to expect them to fill a 360-seat venue proved sadly over-optimistic. I don't suppose they'd register much more than a blip on the radar even in their home country (America - um, or should that be the USA...) - here, there were between 50 and 60 people in the place. Mind you, those few people were as attentive as any audience I can remember. You could have heard a feather drop while she was playing, and the applause was enthusiastic. She came on with a smile and a curtsy, told us that she was recovering from a nasty cold, and then proceeded to charm the pants off us for three quarters of an hour or so. Her voice is an acquired taste, no question, but to me she sang beautifully tonight in her quirky way. Her lyrics are outstanding; concise, elliptical, sometimes mysterious, sometimes poignant. Come to think of it, the same adjectives apply to her tunes! And her musicianship is pretty special: this is a woman who had been on the modern jazz scene for years as a composer and pianist, keeping company with Wayne Horvitz, Bill Frisell, Bobby Previte and so on. Her songs are very unusually constructed, with shades of jazz, folk, Minimalism and American neo-classical all discernible. In short, Robin Holcomb is a unique artist. This concert will get a short review in one of the broadsheets if it is VERY lucky, and otherwise will pass without a murmur. This is what makes me slightly gloomy. Of course, all of us on this list have our favourite obscure performers, and I'm sure we all gnash our teeth at the injustice of how they struggle to reach an audience and scratch a living, while talentless and passionless mannequins clean up at the bank and the back-room boys and girls plot the next steps in the quest to excise the soul from music. Still, next to all the frustration, I have the joy of re-discovering all the time that there is great music and great songs being written and that, despite all the odds, some of it DOES actually get out into the world. And this list has been responsible for introducing me to some of it, for which I'm extremely grateful. I hope that Joni's imminent offering is part of the solution! Personally, I'm awaiting it with a certain amount of trepidation (I'm not the only one, I'll bet), not having enjoyed BSN beyond the first listen, and seriously doubting that I'll enjoy this one any more. Azeem in London
