| |
Whiskyfun
Home
(Current
entries)
Concert
Review
Index
(All Reviews
Since 2004)
Leave
feedback
 |
Copyright
Nick Morgan and crew
|
|
|
Concert
Review by Nick Morgan |
|
 |
BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN AND THE SEEGER SESSIONS BAND
Hammersmith Apollo, London, May 8th 2006 |
 |
| It’s
what should be a quiet Monday night in sleepy old
Hammersmith town, but the Boss is back and the place
is buzzing, ticket touts on the Underground platforms,
bellowing hucksters selling blurred posters and
soiled t-shirts, and long lost friends meeting in
barely articulate embraces of tears. “Shit
man, I haven’t seen you here since 1975, I
mean shit man, that gig man, he was The Boss ….”
In case you don’t know Bruce
Springsteen owes the old Hammersmith
Odeon (“I guess they changed the name since
I was last here”) a great deal – it
was here that he burst on the British public’s
consciousness in what has become, without exaggeration,
one of the legendary London rock and roll nights.
“This is a special place for me. A lot of
my ghosts are here…”. You can buy the
recently released CD and see what all the fuss was
about. I might have to, as I was more or less a
Springsteen refusnik for many years, and it’s
only probably over the last ten that I’ve
paid much attention to his work, and his back catalogue.
But having recently seen the phrase ‘once
in a lifetime chance’ take on a new significance
the opportunity to see him can’t be turned
down easily. We’re upstairs in the 18 bob
seats, and as you might expect we’re packed
in like sardines with Real Fans all around us. In
fact they’re a little European Community of
fans many of whom have travelled a long way to be
here. And paid a lot of money (I’m told that
e-bay has been humming). At first the incessant
booing is a surprise – then I realise it’s
a low soulful “Boooooocce” which echoes
round the auditorium as the impatient audience wait
for the gig to start. When it does start these guys
know all the words (I do hate people singing at
gigs) and needless to say start singing them far
too soon, encouraged by the fellow with the guitar
in the middle of the stage. And they know the hand
movements – during ‘My city of ruins’
(a nice song from The Rising) it begins to look
like a revivalist meeting (“with these hands
I pray my lord” goes the refrain); disciples
in supplication at the altar of the great one. |
 |
| I
have to say that a seventeen piece band is a bit
of a sight these days, almost (I said almost) worth
the price of admission. The stage is elegantly draped
with velvet curtains, chandeliers too, I guess to
recreate an old bar-room feel. Four brass players,
bass, banjo (he was just great – keeping the
band ticking all night long), two fiddles, keyboards
and accordion, two guitars (three if you count the
current Mrs Bruce who played too, and, ahem, sang),
drums, three vocalists and a pedal steel guitar
too. And for all its apparent simplicity the band
have been perfectly choreographed, taking turns
at the front of the stage – always moving
around, everyone knowing exactly who’s where.
And the middle is a big and boisterous Bruce, obviously
having the time of his life. It’s true –
he’s a consummate showman (show-off says The
Photographer, who can’t take the Whiskyfun
camera out of her cowboy boot for fear of being
thrown out) who works the audience to perfection
in the course of an artfully constructed set. He
fills the stage (and it’s pretty full already)
arms waving theatrically, conducting his orchestra,
making occasional shimmies along the front of the
stage and throwing the odd rock and roll pose. He
also takes time to show us that he’s serious
Bruce too, that he’s done his homework about
the songs (“I went and read about this song
in a book”) and that he has strong views (angry
Bruce) on recent events in the USA, comparing the
displacement of people from New Orleans following
Hurricane Katrina to the dustbowl migrations. For
what it’s worth, on the basis of my wholly
inadequate research, around a million people were
forced to leave the Big Easy last September (and
I don’t think too many have managed to go
back) as opposed to 400,000 who left Oklahoma and
surrounding areas in the mid 1930s. Who’s
surprised he’s angry? |
 |
The
evening is a celebration of the life and works of
Pete Seeger,
as is Springsteen’s new album, The Seeger
Sessions. Strangely the album has only one original
Seeger composition on it, ‘though I’m
sure Pete might have played some of the other great
American traditional tunes it features. Its release
has provoked considerable comment that Springsteen
has lurched to the left; the concert was even reviewed
on BBC’s Radio Four because of this, and featured
on a religious programme discussing the spiritual
power of the song. But really, ‘though I don’t
for a moment doubt Bruce’s sincerity on the
issue of New Orleans or senseless war there isn’t
a great deal that’s revolutionary or threatening
about these songs or about the evening. Actually
I always thought that many of Seeger’s songs
(yes Serge, we had to learn them in Primary School,
along with the wonderful ‘Shenandoah’)
were a little too nice, prim and proper turtle necked
jumper protest songs, with a holier than thou middle
class feel, and more than a dash of crass sentimentality
(if you don’t believe me then go and listen
to ‘Where have all the flowers gone’
– ugh!). I’m not dissing Pete here,
or his contribution to ‘the cause’,
just suggesting that for the most part his songs
haven’t really got the substance or joie de
vivre to stand the test of time. And even though
we don’t get much of Pete tonight I have to
say most of the songs that we do get that make me
feel as if I’m back in that school classroom
– but this time I’m having a great time,
with a rollicking seventeen piece backing band rather
than a tuneless piano. How good is that?
Set list? Well almost all of the Seeger Sessions
tune (strangely he didn’t play ‘Froggy
went a courting’ which was an incongruous
moment that I was most looking forward to) –
of which highlights for me were Dan Tucker (“Here’s
a 140 year old Bob Dylan song”), Mrs McGrath
(with its strong anti-war theme one of the few real
‘protest’ songs of the night), ‘Erie
Canal’ and ‘Jacob’s ladder’
(additional lyrics by Pete Seeger). |
 |
There
was a fantastic version of ‘How can a poor
man stand such times and live’ (a song originally
recorded by Blind Alfred Reed in the wake of the
Wall Street Crash, and later covered by Ry Cooder)
with a verse added by Springsteen on Katrina and
New Orleans, and a rather strange combination of
‘Cadillac ranch’ and ‘Mystery
train’. It got pretty raucous towards the
end with ‘Open all night’ and ‘Pay
me my money down’ (which to be frank felt
as if it went on for about ten minutes too long),
and then an encore including ‘My City of Ruins’,
‘Buffalo Girls’ (not the Malcolm Maclaren
version) and finally a restrained and nicely structured
version of ‘When the saints go marching in’
– back of course to the forgotten plight of
the Big Easy again. The band were glorious –
a gumbo of folkabillybluesoulgospelrock. Bruce was
tireless. |
|
Even so – as a non Real Fan it did all get
a bit repetitive towards the end. But that’s
probably churlish. I’ve rarely seen a packed
theatre enjoying itself so much – even I think
surprising the maestro with their enthusiastic participation
and response. Roll on next time. If I can re-mortgage
the house then I’ll be there. - Nick Morgan
(photographs by Kate) |
Check
the index of all reviews:
Nick's Concert Reviews
|
|
|
|
|
There's nothing more down there... |
|
|
|
|
