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Nick Morgan and crew
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Concert
Review by Nick Morgan |
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CONCERT
REVIEW by Nick Morgan
JIM WHITE AND HIS BAND
The Roundhouse, August 5th 2008 |
| You
could easily get the impression that Jim
White doesn’t want to be here.
He wants to go home. He’s been in Europe ducking
and diving between festivals, and he’s missing
his little girls, accompanying guitarist and Fender
maestro Patrick
Hargon is also yearning for the company of his
family back in the USofA. But the boys are back
on a plane in the morning, leaving stand-in bass
player, the Australian Christian Merry (well I think
that’s what they called him) in London. Apparently,
like most Australian bass players, he’s only
missing getting to the pub for a few pints after
the show. |
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| We’re
in the Roundhouse, and as it’s summer time
and London’s mostly deserted (the rich folk
having gone off to their Mediterranean gites and
villas in search of the sun, and the less rich folks
having headed off to hang out in Gatwick Airport
for a fortnight) they’ve turned the main performance
space into an intimate venue by hanging long black
curtains (or drapes, for any of our North American
readers) from the old cast iron pillars that form
an enclosed circle in the middle of the space. But
it’s hard to make this place intimate, especially
when there’s a cavernous dome above your head,
the crowning glory of this compact cathedral to
nineteenth-century capitalism. But they’ve
tried, and we’re sitting at round tables ordering
rose wine from helpful waitresses as if there’s
no tomorrow, which sadly it turns out there is. |
| It
looks full. White looks over the audience and says,
“I had a big crowd once before … and
I screwed that one up too”. When he’s
not reminding us of his homesickness White’s
in expansive mood, and only just manages to squeeze
thirteen songs in between his narratives and story-telling.
Strangely, given just how engrossing White can be
if you’re prepared to step into his world
for a little while, this seems to grate with some
of the audience. “More music” called
out someone (according to a contribution on Mr White’s
Forum the complainee was a “fat loud-mouth
idiot at the back of the room”, but I couldn’t
possibly comment), about half-way through the performance,
as Jim is explaining the finer points of ”sceptimysticism”.
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This
follows quite a lengthy discussion on “pessimistic
optimism”, a “pre-emptive strike against
fate” as Hargon describes it. We’ve
also had a long story about Jim explaining to a
girl in his cab that astral projecting was not a
sin, some reflections on the condition of the United
States (“people pay me to sing derisive songs
about my country and I love it”), and perhaps
inevitably some thoughts on evangelical Christianity
in the southern states, prompted by an incident
in a ice-cream (or was it snow-cone?) queue. “More
talk” comes the riposte from others, gearing
up for an edgy pantomime-style exchange. Before
things get too heated, White calls time –
“Sir, are you familiar with my oeuvre?”
|
| The
music’s good too. White plays an artful selection
from his new album, Transnormal Skiperoo, mixed
in with his hits. Merry’s bass-playing and
singing is excellent, but Hargon’s understated
guitar is quite excellent, adding both texture and
depth to White’s music and lyrics. It’s
hard to pick out the really good ones, but I might
go for ‘Chasing Tornadoes’, about a
youthful acid-fuelled encounter with an, err…
tornado, ‘A town called Amen’, and the
very funny and mildly topical ‘If Jesus drove
a motor home’ (“Honking horns at the
drive thru. Double-parking at the mall. Midnight
at the Waffle House - Jesus eating eggs with ya'll”).
‘Take me away’ is a beautifully-crafted
but most disturbing song about a suicide (where
White deploys his vocal tape loops to great effect),
and ‘Handcuffed to a fence in Mississippi’
is the song that still apparently has him banned
from the State. ‘Still waters’ is just
simply beautiful, and his final song, played solo
on his banjo guitar after the band had left the
stage and the curfew was over, was a spooky and
chilling ‘Alabama chrome’. |
|
I did say Jim White was going home, didn’t
I? Well, to prove it he auctions off the bass amp
just before the end of the show, and then walks
off to meet his audience at the merchandise stall
with bags of dirty laundry. It’s all up for
sale. It’s then that I briefly lose sight
of the Photographer, only to find her ten minutes
later clutching a pair of Mr White’s jeans.
Watch out e-bay – superstar trousers are coming
your way soon. But just watch out for fakes. -
Nick Morgan (photographs by Kate) |
Check
the index of all reviews:
Nick's Concert Reviews
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There's nothing more down there... |
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