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Concert
Review by Nick Morgan |
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JARVIS
COCKER
The Astoria, London
February 17th 2007
It’s
Chinese New Year. The streets of London’s
Chinatown are crammed with people, shoulder to
shoulder. A sea of flame-red paper lanterns hangs
over our heads, slowly moving in the breeze like
gentle waves. Cartoon-fat chefs, tunics white
with comedy hats, are standing at street side
stalls making won-tons. |
| Every
other person is either trying to sell you a folding
paper dragon, or has just bought one themselves.
And every restaurant has queues of impatient people
falling out into the street, none of whom had apparently
thought that anyone else might have had the brainwave
of going to Soho to eat Chinese chow on this particular
day. We’re tucked away safely in our regular
haunt with our chirpy cockney Chinese waiter to
boot. “Where you going later, film, theatre?”
he asks, as he delivers some delicious slices of
sea-bass with prawn won-tons. “Concert. Jarvis
Cocker”. “Ahhh, Jarvis!”
he grins, turning from our table with a perfect
impersonation of Mr Cocker’s now infamous
bum-wiggling at the 1996 Brit Awards. You see Serge,
love him or hate him, everyone knows Jarvis. |
| Actually
Jarvis has undergone a bit of rehabilitation (if
he ever needed one), mainly as a result of last
year’s triumphant eponymous ‘comeback’
album, and of course a handful of outstanding live
performances. He was nominated for ‘Best Male
Artist’ at this year’s Brits,
an award that was taken by someone (apparently)
called James Morrison, but this might have been
a joke. And he’s also up for ‘Best Solo
Artist’ award in the NME
annual gong-giving. That’s why he’s
playing at the Astoria tonight, as part of a series
of sponsored ‘Awards shows’. And if
you’re surprised Serge, that we’re back
to see Jarvis so soon, then let me explain. Firstly
we had an unfulfilled obligation to take a guest
who wasn’t able to make December’s Roundhouse
gig, and secondly since that night I’ve been
asking myself if Jarvis could really have been as
good as I thought – a second viewing, it seemed,
was a useful check on my waning critical faculties. |
 |
| We’ve
pushed ourselves through the crowds to the Pickle
Factory. It’s only about seven o’clock
but the Factory goes GAYE on Saturdays so we’ll
be back on the streets by ten at the latest. Inside
it’s busy and getting busier, and having barely
recovered from the bashing around we got downstairs
when Jamie T was playing we head for the balcony.
It’s packed too, but it’s a nice crowd,
in good humour which only increases as the night
wears on. To our right with a gang of friends is
support artist Bat
for Lashes (actually she’s called Natasha
Khan and lives in Dave Broom’s Brighton).
We arrived in time to see her perform debut single
‘Prescilla’ which would go under the
positive heading of ‘intriguing’. In
front are a furtive group of half a dozen or so
– as it happens they’re blowing up red
balloons, of which more later. |
| It’s
a slightly sized-down band that takes the stage.
There’s no Richard Hawley – his place
on guitars and an array of pedals is taken by Leo
Abrahams who really impresses – particularly
when he’s given his head on ‘Disney
Time’. I see that he lists Marc Ribot as one
of his principle influences, and it’s not
hard to see why. Also, unlike the Roundhouse gig,
there are no rigs of tubular bells, glockenspiels
and so forth – and wisely in their absence
the charmingly delicate ‘Baby’s coming
home’ doesn’t make the set list. Instead
it’s a very rocking affair – kicking
off with a threatening ‘Fat children’
(if ever there was a song for the moment in the
UK then this is it), dedicated to “everyone
in South London”, the scene, if you haven’t
caught up with the news from old Blighty, of a spate
of gang killings involving teenagers over the past
ten days or so. As the band play the opening chords
Jarvis walks to the front of the stage and stands
hands on hips, almost defying the audience with
a questioning stare before he karate-kicks his way
into the lyrics “last night I had a little
altercation – they wobbled menacingly beneath
the yellow street light” while as big a group
of photographers as I’ve seen for a long time
rush to get a shot of the media’s favourite
thinking pop-star. |
| Then
it’s a run-through of the album material,
plus ‘new’ songs - the masturbatory
‘One man show’ and ‘Big stuff’.
And of course there are the trademark Jarvian bons
mots, the conversational jousting with fans (“the
Daily Telegraph described me as the Judi Dench of
Indie Rock – is that good?”), and the
Proustian musings (“this song’s about
… well I dunno really”). Sweets are
exchanged with the audience, a photograph is signed.
Actually he has the crowd eating out of his hand
– so that when he decides to deliver a few
words about the anti-Trident
badge he’s wearing (“I mean I’m
sorry, I don’t want to give you a boring speech
or anything”) the audience hears him out and
then bursts into tumultuous applause. This almost
matches the rapturous reception for each of the
songs of which it should be noted 'From Auschwitz
to Ipswich” (which begins with what I can
only conclude is a headline from the Daily Mail
– “They want our way of life”),
'Big Julie', 'Disney time' and set closer ‘Black
magic’ were outstanding. The simple lighting
is exceptional. And I haven’t forgotten the
inflatables, which are still being blown up and
hidden away by a group of enthusiasts who pulled
the same trick at Koko in November. They appeared,
possibly ninety-nine or more, cascading from the
balcony at the start of the brooding ‘I will
kill again’. “That’s possibly
the most inappropriate use of red balloons I can
think of” said Cocker. |
Jarvis Cocker and a balloon |
|
What is it about Jarvis? It’s almost as if
he’s the slightly eccentric and non-conformist
uncle that everyone wishes they had, with a twinkle
in the eye that means you never quite know if he’s
serious, and an ability to maintain a look of surprised
innocence when provoking outrage and mayhem. He
certainly seems to be in tune with the zeitgeist
of this Astoria crowd – who sing along with
more than gusto to encore ‘Cunts are still
ruling the world’. And then the finale –
“you know we’re here in the Astoria,
well sometimes I like to think of it as the Ozztoria”
– an unlikely cover of Black Sabbath’s
‘Paranoid’. Critical faculties in place
and working fine, like a well oiled machine. Slightly
different from the Roundhouse, but just as good.
You need to judge for yourself – buy the album,
but try and get to see him – he’s heading
for Australia and the USA, and no doubt some more
UK gigs as well. Black Magic - yeah, yeah, yeah!
- Nick Morgan (concert photographs by Kate) |
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