Category Archives: Music

Abba the Album – an Appreciation

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Something different, gentle reader. A few months ago I was asked to write an appreciation of Abba The Album for Vision, the magazine of the OGAE UK (British Eurovision fans fan club). I wasn’t sure if it was to be brief or lengthy, so I went for lengthy; and it turned out that the brief was for it to be brief. So I drastically shortened it for publication; and now that it has been been published I thought I would treat you to my fully unabridged thoughts about that particular long=playing record. So sit back and enjoy the memories!

Memories…light the corners of my mind….. No that’s something completely different. But revisiting Abba the Album has been a real trip down memory lane. Its UK release was in early 1978, and I can remember buying it from our local Record House (don’t see those any more) and cosseting it all the way home before closing all the doors and windows to give it a full loud play on my top quality hi-fi of which I was so proud.

In many ways Abba the Album was considered the soundtrack to Abba the Movie, which 36 years on, I regret to say I still haven’t seen. The girl I was going out with at the time was desperate to see it, but I wasn’t over keen for some reason. By the time I’d finally given in and agreed to go, she’d got bored and I’d been dumped. Hence the film has never played a big part in my life. But the songs! They surely have.

In those days, for no reason whatsoever other than to look flashy, single LPs would often be packaged like a double, with the front sleeve an empty dummy just to display the pictures and lyrics, and with only the second part of the sleeve actually containing the record. You youngsters who know nothing other than CDs or, Heaven help us, Mp3s, might find it hard to appreciate the tangibility and sense of true ownership that owning a record brought with it. And you had the excitement of watching the grooves as the record spun round on the turntable. The patterns it made told you in advance whether there’d be a strong regular drum beat, if it would be quiet and gentle, or whether it would be a hotch-potch of many different styles. You don’t get that kind of visual clue from a computer file.

So when you put Abba the Album on for the first time and realised that the first track was absolutely massive it stopped you dead in your tracks. It broke all the rules for a pop group to have a track – particularly the first one on the album – as long as 5 minutes 50 seconds. That in itself was a challenge to the 17 year old me, my pop attention span already being moulded into a Eurovision-style sub-three minutes. But Eagle, that first track, hits you with that wonderfully relaxed and evocative instrumental introduction, suggesting wide empty skies, through which a majestic bird might fly, just as Fleetwood Mac’s Albatross had done about ten years earlier. Frida and Agnetha’s voices rise and fall in the eagle’s slipstream as they imagine sharing in its freedom. Apparently Bjorn had read Jonathan Livingstone Seagull and took the book as his inspiration for the lyrics. Rarely does 5 minutes 50 seconds pass so quickly.

If you’re of a certain age, like me, where you were able to enjoy every stage of Abba’s career exactly as it was happening, it’s impossible to look back at their songs without remembering what they actually meant to you at the time. Eagle reminds me of visiting a friend’s house in the school holidays, mainly because he was trying to learn how to play it on the piano; quiet, happy, worry-free memories of no work and all play. Playing football in his garden, followed by afternoon tea in the drawing room. All very nice. The next track on the album has much more exciting memories though. In the summer of 1978 I took five weeks off between school and university and travelled to Canada, where I stayed with some distant relatives I’d never met before. I had a fantastic time – it seemed that every day of those five weeks held a new exciting experience for me. I felt so cosmopolitan. I remember being driven by my cousin all the way from Toronto to Virginia in one day – that’s one heck of a drive – and stopping somewhere in the middle of nowhere in the USA to fill up with petrol (I mean pump some gas) when a familiar sound came over the radio.

That instantly appealing introduction to Take a Chance on Me had followed me to Virginia, and snuck up on me via some east-coast radio station; sixteen seconds of vocals before any instrument gets played. Much has been made of the relationship difficulties between the two couples as being an influence and catharsis behind their music. Whilst the tone and sound of this song sounds irresistibly happy, if you watch the classic “talking heads” video, Agnetha’s expression and plaintive plea for being taken seriously as a lover absolutely melts your heart. A little bit like the Beatles, Abba often had a “sweet and sour” taste to their songs. Take away the light-hearted tune and the verbal dexterity of the guys’ backing accompaniment, and the one-sidedness of the couples’ relationships is really clear – the girls are good to go, the guys really aren’t keen. It gives you a subtle insight into how two people can want very different things from the same relationship. And all this is covered over by a poptastic musical arrangement. Here’s a nice trivia moment for you: guess how many times the guys sing “take a chance, take a chance, take a chuckachance chance”? I counted 64. Rumour has it that that “chuckachucka” rhythm used to go through Bjorn’s head when he was out on a run and it became the inspiration for the backing to this song. Sounds perfectly plausible.

Two tracks in, and you’ve already chalked up two fantastic songs. Next up is One Man One Woman, which you can see as something of a companion piece to Take a Chance on Me. Whereas “Take a Chance” sounds jolly but conceals potentially irrevocable differences within the couples, “One Man” sounds sad but the lyrics actually point forward to a potential solution to those problems – “You smile and I realise that we need a shake-up, our love is a precious thing worth the pain and the suffering, and it’s never too late for changing”. There’s no denying the real angst in Frida’s vocals though, and this is a highly emotionally charged piece of music.

I mentioned earlier how I associate many of these songs with particular memories. The last song on Side One (how 20th century to think of it in that way, but that was the original structure) is The Name of the Game. Before buying this album, I already had the single of The Name of the Game and I absolutely loved it. In early December 1977, when the days were short, dark and cold, a lonely me, in Oxford in order to take a terrifying university interview the next day, went into an old-fashioned sheet-music shop (sadly no longer there) in the High Street, and there I bought the sheet music for The Name of the Game. “I have no friends, no one to see, and I am never invited….” I took it back to the college room where I was staying overnight, a barren, cold and comfortless room, and I read through it, and somehow it gave me security. I couldn’t wait to get home a couple of days later to play it on the piano. So I associate this song with reaching out for comfort and support at a time when I was really scared. And it has stayed with me ever since. This is my favourite Abba song.

Like Eagle, it has the most superb instrumental introduction. To be honest, that’s the part I really love. If it were to stop when the singing starts, it would still be a great record as far as I’m concerned. It’s slinky and sexy but also very disconcerting. The constant 4/4 drum beats are almost like footsteps creeping up behind you; there’s a sense of claustrophobia, and being trapped; but then Agnetha’s pure clear voice comes out of nowhere to cut through this oppression. Back in those days, every guy my age I knew, myself included, was in love with Agnetha. And here she is singing so directly and honestly to you – it still goes straight to my heart whenever I hear it. There’s a lovely juxtaposition between the tentative message of confused love in the lyrics with the jovial video where all four members of the group are sitting round joking and laughing over some simple board game. But each one breaks off from the game to recite some of the lyrics and you realise they’re all in an equal state of confusion, despite looks to the contrary. It’s a stunning melody with heartfelt words and for me ranks amongst the best pop songs of all time.

End of Side One. In the old days, you’d now have a physical break when you’d get up and turn the record over. A bit like the interval at the theatre, or half-time at a football match; only probably a lot shorter. To start Side Two you would expect a change of style perhaps – and it starts off with Move On. It’s a lovely anthemic tune which has for me qualities of a modern hymn; a very flowing rhythm and perceptive lyrics about the nature of life. I have to say though, Bjorn’s spoken introduction always sounds a bit creepy to me, and I think it’s one of those rare occasions where I’m not entirely happy about the arrangement. The piano and wind instruments sound thin and weedy, giving an overall impression that this isn’t as moving and as forceful a piece of music as it could be. So overall, I’m slightly on the fence with this one.

Track Two is Hole in Your Soul, another track where the keyboards can sound a bit too syrupy for my liking. When the verse kicks off you feel that this is going to be a top quality bubblegum rock song, but when it comes to the chorus there’s a huge disappointment that they didn’t seem to quite come up with an appropriate tune. It just tumbles along, not getting anywhere. A definite pot-boiler.

The Girl with the Golden Hair – Three Scenes from a Mini-Musical. I wonder what The Girl with the Golden Hair would have been like, had they made it? Abba’s Magical Mystery Tour perhaps? If you’re very old like me you might remember Keith West’s Excerpt from a Teenage Opera (1967) – that project never came to anything either. Apparently the Girl with the Golden Hair was to be a short story about a girl leaving her hometown to go out and become a star. It’s probably wise that they backtracked and never made it. The final three tracks on Abba the Album are all songs from this mysterious mini-musical that never was. In fact the previous track – Hole in your Soul – was a reworking of Get on the Carousel, another song from the mini-musical, that never made it to the album.

With the benefit of hindsight, wouldn’t it have been great if Thank You for the Music had been the final track on the album. It’s the epitome of a “goodbye” song. The end of a show, a concert, a party, a disco – it winds the night up perfectly. It sentimentally looks back on the past – the things Mother said, the girl’s history of bad joke-telling, the music we’ve enjoyed – and gives thanks for what we’ve got now; but crucially, it doesn’t look forward. There’s only yesterday and today in this song, no tomorrow. And that feels quite weird – probably another symptom of the group’s cohesion falling apart due to divorce. Even when this first came out, I remember wondering why they started the three songs from the mini-musical with the song that must obviously come as the finale. It uses the rather gloopy piano tones of the previous two songs, which gives a too-rich, over-ripe quality to the quieter arrangements; but then it becomes quite “pub singalong” in its choruses. There’s also something of a religious aspect to the song. If you were to say “thank you for the music, for giving it to me” who would you say it to? A singer/composer/musician? Perhaps – although Agnetha’s not really thanking other musicians for their work, she’s thanking a Much Higher Being for the gift of music, her ability to perform. Deep down, this is a prayer.

So where to go from there? I wonder (Departure) apparently, the penultimate track. That looks like an interim title for starters. Should they call it “I wonder”? Should it be “Departure”? Let’s go for the middle path of calling it “I wonder” but keep the Departure bit in, as that’s the role it plays within the structure of the mini-musical – the moment she leaves (wherever it is she’s leaving and wherever it is she’s going to). It’s a delicate little song of uncertainness and anxiety, and I’m not sure it stands alone particularly well outside of the wider context of its place within a musical. However, Frida sings it with great conviction and sincerity, and it is said that there is an autobiographical element to this song, having parallels with Frida’s leaving her young family to start her music career.

Final track, of both the mini-musical and the album, is I’m a Marionette. It’s quite a spiky and quirky song with lots of attitude and chances for both Agnetha and Frida to show off their vocal abilities. But energy saps in the middle with a rather boring instrumental section, and it ends in the same place that it started, with no sense of progress. If you seek out youtube videos of Abba performing this in Australia in 1977 (from Abba the Movie I guess) I reckon it would have been sensational live. However, on the album it feels a bit flat.

And that’s it! A game of two halves if ever there was one. In the first half, they hardly put a foot or a note wrong, with four really rewarding tracks. On Side Two things get a bit patchier. It really marks a midway point in their recording career – there’s less of a disco theme to the majority of these tracks than previously, and we start to catch sight of their darker side, which would develop over the next four years. On a personal note, I’d like to say thank you for both the music and the memories – it was great to be there at the time. The best of these songs will last forever.

Review – Maximum Rhythm and Blues with The Manfreds, Derngate, Northampton, 23rd November 2014

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I didn’t realise the complexity of the whole Manfreds set-up. I still think of them as Manfred Mann, chart toppers with Paul Jones singing the crowd pleasing but not that intellectually-stimulating, 5-4-3-2-1, Do Wah Diddy Diddy and If You Gotta Go, Go Now. I didn’t realise that Paul Jones left the group in 1966 to be replaced by Mike D’Abo, although I knew he was a member of the band – somehow I think the two of them co-existed within the original group. Then I didn’t realise that Manfred Mann’s Earth Band (purveyors of such musical riches as Joybringer, Blinded By The Light and Davy’s On The Road Again) was a completely different band. Primarily that’s because I also didn’t realise that Manfred Mann was actually the name of the group’s founder, and original keyboard player, as well as the group itself. And here’s me thinking I knew about pop music.

I always considered it was a bit of an affectation for the group now to call itself the Manfreds, but I’m wrong, there’s a good explanation for this: a) the group’s original name was Manfred Mann and the Manfreds (the “Manfreds” bit was dropped at the request of the record label) and b) without Mr Mann touring with them (he doesn’t) it’s a bit cheeky to use his name. The current line-up includes original members Paul Jones, Mike Hugg and Tom McGuinness, plus Mike d’Abo, and new recruits, drummer Rob Townsend, bass player Marcus Cliffe and saxophonist/flautist Simon Currie.

I always liked Manfred Mann growing up in the 1960s. They weren’t Premier League, like the Beatles, the Stones, the Kinks and the Monkees (my blog, my rules), but they were definitely riding high in the Championship, along with Herman’s Hermits, Dave Dee Dozy Beaky Mick and Tich, and The Beach Boys. One of my earliest memories is amusing my parents by singing If You Gotta Go, Go Now (at the age of 5), obviously not having a clue about the “staying the night” overtones of the lyrics. One other song of theirs had great significance for me growing up, more of which later.

I did wonder how well the original performers will have stood the test of time – not only in the continued appeal of their songs but also how well they are still able to perform. I had no need to worry on either count. At the age of 72, Messrs Jones, Hugg and McGuinness (and a youngster at 70, Mr d’Abo) are still fantastic musicians, able to belt a song out with enormous pizazz and vitality; Tom McGuinness is still great on his guitar and Mike Hugg masterful on the keyboard. As far as the songs are concerned, well, to be fair, some of the big popular songs of the Paul Jones era are lyrically quite weak in comparison to the later 60s songs – but they make up for it with their really rousing tunes and classic 60s punchiness.

So what of this latest tour? Personally, l had a fantastic night of it. Mrs Chrisparkle is less familiar with their oeuvre, and therefore found some it a little inaccessible. I liked the fact that it was staged as a traditional pop/rock concert – the band’s instruments all neatly laid out around the stage, the front men at the front, the backing guys at the back; an entertaining video screen behind them all which blended 1960s footage of the original performances with the guys as they are today; it was an honest presentation not trying to be clever like another concert we have seen recently. The group’s appeal is definitely to the older pop-picker; there were plenty of walking sticks and motorised wheelchairs in evidence – one was never going to get out of the centre stalls quickly for one’s interval drink. But it was a knowledgeable and appreciative audience, and the band played all the songs you could have hoped to hear and more. In fact there was only one number they played that I hadn’t heard before – which has to be a good thing, none of this “and now we’re going to play something from our latest album” nonsense. No! We want to hear the old stuff!

After Paul Jones led a musical introduction to all the members of the group, we went straight into one of my favourite Manfred Mann songs, Ha Ha Said The Clown – my dad also loved this song, and he would sing “Ha Ha said the clown, as his trousers fell down” much to my hoots of laughter. I loved the arrangement, with Paul Jones on the harmonica (at which he is still extraordinary), Simon Currie on the saxophone, and bright spiky vocals by Mike d’Abo. It’s a perfect example of the group’s later 60s style – a quirky, eccentric rhythm, lush unusual orchestration, subtle intelligent lyrics.

Alternating lead vocals throughout the evening, next it was Paul giving us a rousing performance of Sha La La. I can’t say that it was ever a favourite; at the time I much preferred the similarly sounding Sha la la la lee by the Small Faces. Still, Paul used the song to get us all singing along and I did so, despite thinking it was a song not really worthy of my vocal cords. I much preferred joining along with Mike in the next song, Fox on the Run, with which I encouraged Mrs C to join in, except she looked at me blankly as she’d never heard it before; I’ve clearly been remiss in her 1960s musical education. Great song, really well performed. Paul then surprised me by singing Oh no not my baby, which I didn’t realise was a Manfred Mann song; I always thought Rod Stewart’s 1973 version was the original. In fact the original was by Maxine Brown way back in 1964, written by Gerry Goffin and Carole King. Although Rod Stewart’s version is one of my top three “Rod” records (all very much from his early days, I should add), I liked Paul’s softer, more heartfelt delivery of this great song.

Then came what I knew would be probably my biggest highlight of the night – Mike on vocals for My Name is Jack. I cannot think of this song without a shudder of emotions going through me. I remember it coming out in 1968, and found it a fun, singalong song that I really enjoyed. It was another of my dad’s favourites too. Then in January 1969, I went to my first ever Palladium pantomime with my mum, and they used this song as the opening number of the show – Jack and the Beanstalk – when all the villagers were going about their day to day business and introducing us to Jack, played by Jimmy Tarbuck. For me, going to the Palladium for the first time was a magic moment; and for the next few years, I would regularly reflect on the Palladium singers and dancers performing this song, and it became synonymous in my head for everything being all right with the world, knowing I was lucky to be enjoying a happy childhood.

Then on 1st January 1972 my dad died, and although I still felt positive about life in general (you do as a child) I also knew that life would never be the same. After that point, whenever I thought of My Name is Jack it filled me with sadness that those happy-go-lucky thoughts that I associated with it were probably gone forever. If ever I would put the record on I would end up in tears. In the end, my mum had to hide the record from me, so that I couldn’t play it. So, you see, this song has a major significance in my childhood memories. And even today, if I hear the song, it’s 50-50 whether or not my eyes will get a bit misty. But I do love the song, and was very happy to sing along with it at the concert – indeed it felt an honour, and by sharing that live experience with the performers I feel I might finally have laid to rest some ghosts.

Next up, and very much a change of mood, we had Paul leading the vocals on Watermelon Man, the jazzy Herbie Hancock composition that Manfred Mann recorded in 1965; very laid back and sophisticated. After that we were instantly taken back into the commercial pop of the 60s with Semi Detached Suburban Mr James and Pretty Flamingo, followed by yet another change of mood with Build Me Up Buttercup – the song that Mike d’Abo co-wrote for the Foundations – but this time performed as a ballad. To be honest, I think I prefer it up-tempo, but nevertheless it was curious to hear it performed this way. At that point, Paul chose to deliver a rather long encouragement to go and visit the Merchandise stall in the interval, and I felt it was a bit desperate and embarrassing. I know he was trying to be tongue-in-cheek about what was on offer and what good value it was but it came over as excessive. Less is more, Paul! Back to the music, and the first half ended with an excellent performance by Paul of Smokestack Lightning, Howlin’ Wolf’s haunting bluesy classic that Manfred Mann covered in 1964.

After the break, the guys came forward a little and grouped in a semi-circle at the front of the stage to perform acoustic versions of some well- and less well-known songs, and it was a very intimate presentation. Paul sang I’ve been a bad bad boy, at the request of a couple who’d seen the band at a previous gig and were disappointed that the song was missed out of their repertoire that night! To be fair, it was never a Manfred Mann song, but credited just to Paul Jones (as was High Time, another song I really used to like, which they didn’t perform). Tom McGuinness sang the McGuinness Flint(yes, he was the McGuinness in McGuinness Flint) hit Malt and Barley Blues, which I used to have on a little cassette compilation played on one of those old early 70s oblong cassette players. Mike did a great version of Bob Dylan’s Just Like a Woman, Paul sang I’m Your Kingpin – the B side to Hubble Bubble Toil and Trouble, and the only song of the night that I hadn’t heard before; and Mike wrapped up this section with a stunning performance of Handbags and Gladrags, a song he wrote for Chris Farlowe in 1967 and which has taken on a life of its own over the years.

After a charming keyboard interlude from Mike Hugg – sorry, didn’t recognise the tune – Mike d’Abo came back with a rousing rendition of another old favourite of mine, Ragamuffin Man, with which I sang along to my heart’s content whilst Mrs C looked on in bemused ignorance. Then came a song she did know – 5-4-3-2-1, a.k.a. the theme to “Ready Steady Go”,performed to a fantastic lively arrangement, with Paul going great guns on the harmonica. Another softening of the mood followed with Paul’s vocals on Come Tomorrow, which led on to another McGuinness Flint song, When I’m Dead and Gone, which got one of the warmest receptions of the night. Home stretch now, with the lyrically surreal but very rewarding Mighty Quinn, which I really enjoyed; and Do Wah Diddy Diddy, a crowd pleaser par excellence, which is just as well as the guys treated us to about 20 minutes of it, so you’d better like it.It’s what Mrs C would describe as “dragging the arse out of it”. For an encore they came back with If You Gotta Go, Go Now, which was a great way to end the night.

I was really impressed with their continued ability to perform both vocally and instrumentally, and the concert demonstrated the group’s wide range of talents and output. A fantastic night of nostalgia, and, for me, a grateful opportunity to show my thanks for all their great songs that contributed to my childhood. The current tour ends on 6th December in Folkestone, so get booking – if you’re a Manfred Mann fan, you’re in for a real treat.

Review – Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris, Charing Cross Theatre, 10th November 2014

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I think I’d heard of “Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris” before I’d actually heard of Jacques Brel himself. The show first saw the light of day in 1968, off-Broadway, and gained something of a cult status as it clocked up a four year run in its initial production, plus the many other international versions that followed. But through my early years the work of M. Brel remained something of a mystery to me. Then about fifteen years ago my friend the Lord Liverpool introduced me to the album “Scott Walker sings Jacques Brel” and particularly the song Jacky, which famously was banned by the BBC because of its lyrics – you won’t want me to reprint them here. Suffice to say, I loved it – and the rest of the album, with my other favourite being the savage Next – more of which later.

The album also features If You Go Away, but to be honest I always preferred Terry Jacks’ 1974 version, his follow up hit to “Seasons in the Sun”, (always enough to reduce a grown man to a deluge of tears), and which was itself an adaptation of Brel’s Le Moribond. But I realise now that in comparison to the originals, these Scott Walker renditions are really overblown, over-orchestrated and over-fussy. So when I saw that “Jacques Brel IAAWALIP” was having a revival at the Charing Cross Theatre I thought it was a perfect opportunity finally to acquaint myself with this cult show. However, I knew that it wouldn’t be Mrs Chrisparkle’s thing. If I’d said to her, “would you like to see a show based on the songs of a Belgian who died in 1978” she would have looked at me more than askance. But my friend HRH the Crown Prince of Bedford is another Brelhead, and so it was that he and I went to see the show last Monday night.

I’d never been to the Charing Cross Theatre before. When I was growing up it was the Players Theatre Club, having been home to the original production of Sandy Wilson’s The Boy Friend in the 1950s. If my memory serves me right, in the 1970s members of the Players Theatre used to perform on the BBC’s Good Old Days programme (all together in your best Leonard Sachs voice: Once again, Good Evening, Ladies and Gentlemen!) But today it is its own little theatre in its own right, seating 250 at a push, and with a rather charming atmosphere, helped or hindered (you decide) by the regular rumblings of trains passing overhead, and with a comfortable bar/restaurant offering an excellent and filling pre-theatre dinner at a much cheaper price than is decent for such a Central London location.

To say the show has a simple structure would be something of an understatement. If, like me, you were expecting some kind of narrative, or some theme to the evening, you might be in for a disappointment. I had thought it would be a kind of Side By Side By Brel, with some Ned Sherrin style bonhomie taking us through his career and illustrating it with choice examples of his work. Alternatively, it might have been an early example of the Mamma Mia genre, where you have an original plot but into which the Brel numbers would have dovetailed perfectly. But it’s neither. You simply have a running order of 28 songs, performed by the cast of four, accompanied by Dean Austin’s splendid five piece band nicely integrated with the action, scattered around the set, which resembles a modest cabaret club. The cabaret feels spills out into the auditorium in fact, as the usual first few rows have been taken out and replaced with five cabaret tables, each with four chairs. His Majesty and I sat at one of these and I have to say that, although you really have to look up high, our proximity to some of the action was breathtaking. At times it was as though we were on the stage with them, or they were performing promenade style around us – Miss Gina Beck even poured us out a glass of water. There’s no particularly rhyme or reason to the sequence of the songs that I could make out, no attempt to create a real narrative strand; but that’s not a problem as each song is its own mini masterpiece of a drama, and there are plenty of opportunities for the cast to excel both musically and dramatically.

The structure of the show means that its success or failure lies completely with the quality of the songs and performances; and for me I can definitely say it was a resounding success throughout. The songs that I recognised, I loved; and those that I didn’t know were, almost without exception, exciting discoveries. The cast are a superb combination of young, pure and idealistic (Gina Beck and Daniel Boys – brilliant in last year’s High Society) and the more mature and experienced (Eve Polycarpou and David Burt – an excellent gangster in Kiss Me Kate and hilarious in Hamlet the Musical), giving a nice sense of balance to the production. The evening begins with Eve singing Le Diable (Ça va) in both French and English, creating a very moody and melancholic atmosphere, which leads into If We Only Have Love and the sumptuous Alone. The English lyrics, by the way, were written by Eric Blau and Mort Schuman who together created the original production of the show. Other first half highlights included a very original presentation of Jacky by David, with a laid back, reflective, self-satisfied first verse, which then gains triumphant self-confidence as the song progresses. David also performed a very emotional rendition of Fanette which I really loved; and the whole company joined together for The Desperate Ones – again with the performers right up close to us you could see their unflinching commitment to what they were doing which somehow made it even moving; these Brel songs can be very raw as you witness the passion and pain in the performers’ concentration. There was also a very perky performance of Timid Frieda by Gina and then David took us into the interval with a rousingly angry (as is traditional) version of Amsterdam.

Act Two began with the whole company performing Madeleine (HRH’s favourite) – a tune that I now realise was shamelessly ripped off in the song Veronique in the 1970s musical On The Twentieth Century. Act Two continued with some spectacular performances including Eve singing Ne me quitte pas in French, sat on the edge of the stage with her guitar, right in front of us – a right goose-bumps moment if ever there was one; Daniel and David doing a very funny version of Middle Class (during which David cheersed me with his champagne glass; Gina singing a very moving Old Folks, David providing a hilarious and immaculately timed Funeral Tango, Daniel performing a very touching Song For Old Lovers and the whole company presenting a highly disturbing and effectively staged Next (Au Suivant), the least romantic song about sex that you could imagine. There is some nice subtle updating going on with a few of the numbers, with Iraq and Afghanistan taking their place and even Nigel Farage muscles in on the action at one point.

I really enjoyed the show, but what was the reaction of a true Brel aficionado? The Crown Prince was extremely impressed with it, and was in fact on tippy-toe point of leading an ovation when a sudden wave of self-consciousness overtook him, which he regretted all the way back to the station. Despite the fact that it is now 36 years since Jacques Brel literally was alive and well and living in Paris, the show gives us another opportunity to appreciate his extraordinary contribution to 20th century music and is a fitting and lovingly performed tribute to one helluva character. The show is on until 22nd November and if you like your musical entertainment to be francophone and with a bit of bite, I can’t think of anything better.

Review – Chris Difford and Glenn Tilbrook, aka from Squeeze, The “At Odds Couple” Tour, Derngate, Northampton, 3rd November 2014

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I used to love Squeeze, they’re very much “my era”, but I haven’t played any of their music for years. My good friend the Sheriff of Shenstone is a big fan and has seen them a number of times over the years, but Mrs Chrisparkle and I have never seen them – and indeed I had to remind Mrs C who they were on our way to the theatre. “You know, Cool For Cats – Coooooool For Cats” – I saw a faint glimmer of recognition; “and so it’s my assumption, I’m really Up The Junction” – nothing. “Take Me I’m Yours, because dreams are made of this” – “Oh I like that one”, she perked up. I had a feeling I was going to have a great time and she was going to have a bit of a long night.

After a long hard day at the office Mrs C has to rush around in the manner of what my late father would have called “a blue-arsed fly”, in order to get home, get changed, get fed and get out for a 7.30pm show. Still, we’ve got the whole routine down to a fine art now, and we arrived at the Derngate with about twelve minutes to spare – enough time to order the Malbecs and check out the Merch. However, when we got there we discovered that the start time had changed to 8pm. Sigh; all that rushing around for nothing. Still, it gave us longer to peruse the wine list (“I’ll have that one at the back with the white label”) and to consider the exclusive items on sale for besotted fans. “Do you want a Difford and Tilbrook tea towel?” asked Mrs C, in a tone that already answered her own question. Given that I try to avoid drying-up at the best of times it seemed impertinent to show an interest.

So with about twenty minutes before it started we made our way early to our seats. I was very surprised to find the stage hidden by the Derngate’s rarely seen (but sumptuously beautiful) purple velvet curtains. How delightfully old-fashioned, I thought. Normally when you go to a concert, the stage is already all open, and you can see instruments, music stands, microphones, and all the rest of it. Sometimes you have a music playing or a video show going to get you in the mood, like when The Osmonds performed. We’ve seen all the greats here, you know: The Osmonds, Glen Campbell, K T Tunstall, Petula Clark…. Each one a different variation of brilliant. And I remember that for each of those acts the audience was buzzing with excitement (yes even the octogenarians for Petula Clark) by the time the artist(s) finally came on stage. Us lot in the stalls would have been gagging for it (so to speak) with videos, music, warm-up acts, flashing lights… intense expectation….high excitement…..

However, the music playing whilst we were waiting for Messrs Difford and Tilbrook was a selection of mournful saxophone solos, that sounded like it was off a CD nicked from the local crem whilst the vicar wasn’t watching. Now I suppose if you’re into really serious, introverted, wrist-slitting jazz you might have enjoyed it. Not the kind of boogie-woogie Jools Holland type of stuff (which would at least have been semi-appropriate), this was the kind of saxophone jazz that might have been written by Mahler when he had the hump. It wasn’t helping the mood. Everyone was talking over it, checking their phones, sitting silently – anything but getting ready for a night of magical musical entertainment. The music finished; the lights went low; the curtain went up. And what did we see? A 1970s set, with hideous wallpaper, a floor cluttered with things like a carpet sweeper, old lampstands, a “changing screen” decorated with bits of posters, a grille that goes on the front of a car (yes honestly), some old wig stands and other bizarre 70s studio detritus. At the back there was a double bed, from which emerged two old blokes dressed like Wee Willie Winkie, à la Morecambe and Wise, who then sat briefly at a breakfast table, chatted a bit self-consciously, then came to the front of the stage and it was only then that I deduced that they were indeed Chris and Glenn whom we had come to see. I’ve never been to a concert before when the stars basically came on stage to bewilderment and silence, instead of the usual welcoming whooping and cheers. By the time we’d recognised them I think we were a bit embarrassed that we hadn’t welcomed them earlier and louder; and then we went all British and continued to receive them politely like the opponents at a village cricket match. I have absolutely no idea why they chose to start the show like this, or set it in this 70s bedroom scenario. Is it a reference to something they used to do way back when? If so it went way over my head.

But it definitely was Chris and Glenn because they went straight into “Take Me I’m Yours” and it was fantastic. Stunning acoustic guitar work, with harmonies to die for, Glenn’s expressive tenor gives you all the characterisation and individuality that are the hallmark of their songs and Chris’s raspy bass comes in underneath to give it extra grit and power. Together they still sound amazing. I did however feel a little sorry for Mrs C at this point, because, as we had identified earlier, it was the one song she remembered of theirs that she liked, and it was done and dusted within the first five minutes – not a lot to look forward to.

After that first number some momentum had built up, but Chris Difford deflated it by going off to change out of his jim-jams, leaving just Glenn to perform Black Coffee in Bed, which I didn’t recognise but the man next to me was very pleased to hear it and a superfan in front of us went ecstatic. Then Chris came back and it was time for Glenn to get dressed (how bizarre is this opening sequence?) I can’t quite remember what song it was he played – again I think it was new to me – but Glenn only managed to rush on stage just in time to contribute his bit of guitarring skills to it. Really, a lot of unnecessary faffing around here.

I should mention the video wall. Yes, they had one – shame they couldn’t have used it as a warm-up tool – but the back wall of the 70s bedroom dissolved into a big screen for some of the numbers. On the whole the videos were good, either reflecting the lyrics of the song, with wistful cinematography that accompanied the sense of the song, or providing abstract patterns and shapes for others. There were a couple of problems though. It had that technical issue where the image on the screen is (sometimes) inverted, like a mirror-image. There was one song where the video showed Chris and Glenn in front of a boat, and its name appeared back-to-front; and another where we were hurtling from space down towards the UK and spiralling in until we got to a London location where the song was set – but unfortunately the image of the UK was back-to-front too, so that Kent appeared on the bottom left of the country and Cornwall on the bottom right. Made it look a little amateurish. Mrs C was irritated by the video that accompanied Pulling Mussels from a Shell – it was a clip of the group singing it presumably way back in 1980 but it wasn’t in synch with the live performance so the mouthings looked all wrong (but is she being picky here?)

And you know, there’s always a backstage person who comes on between songs and unplugs this guitar and plugs that one in, or who moves a microphone from here to there, all that kind of mullarkey – well, they’re always dressed in black aren’t they, so that you don’t notice them so much against the usual black background of a concert stage. However, our black-dressed lady was ultra-noticeable against the browns and beiges of the 70s set. When you don’t notice them, you don’t really give them another thought. But because we could see everything this lady was doing for them so obviously, I kept on thinking they ought to be audibly thanking her for helping, rather than just ignoring her. It didn’t look right – just more ham-fisted than it need have.

I didn’t know most of the songs – I’ve only got three of their albums (although they are what I would consider to be The Big Three) – but I did recognise Slap and Tickle from the Cool For Cats album, the aforementioned Pulling Mussels (from Argybargy) and – not quite sure how I know it – the song Cowboys are my Weakness, which Chris said they wrote for k d lang but she didn’t like it. All the way through the audience’s reactions had been warm and friendly but never delirious – I think we were still stunned by the lack of warm-up. As we went into the final song before the interval Glenn asked us “hope you’re enjoying it” and our reaction was as though he’d asked us if the gateau with our afternoon tea was to our taste – “oh yes, very nice thank you”. Even the superfan had long subsided into quiet reflection. Slightly disappointed, Glenn added “well thank you for tolerating it anyway” and that’s when I realised that this gig wasn’t going down anywhere near as well as it should have done. We went out into the interval on a high though, with the marvellous Up The Junction, the only song, as the Sheriff of Shenstone will tell you, whose title doesn’t appear in the lyrics at all until the final three words. Good for pub quizzes that one.

After our interval drinkies, we returned to our seats to discover they were still playing that wretched morose saxophone music. It may have been a suitable choice to inter a Soviet leader but not for a light hearted concert. Anyway, once the second half was underway we had more from the wonderful world of Difford and Tilbrook, with their superb guitar work and ever delightful harmonies. All the songs were performed to either two live guitars or one guitar and the keyboard, and, over the course of the evening, it’s probably fair to say that that same arrangement can sometimes make the songs themselves sound a little samey. Fortunately it’s “good same” and not “bad same”. From those that I would have liked to have heard but didn’t, I missed It’s Not Cricket (from Cool For Cats) and Another Nail in my Heart; but Glenn did a very soulful version of Tempted, and a thumpingly satisfying Cool For Cats, which I am delighted now to have seen performed live, so I can die happy. For an encore we had the very emotional and extremely sad Labelled with Love, (Mrs C’s comment: “repetitive”) and the upbeat Goodbye Girl. (Which is also quite repetitive). We did all stand for the last three numbers – but only because Chris told us to. “Stand for Mr Glenn Tilbrook!” he exhorted, and we all sat politely and applauded. “No, stand!!” he emphasised. Slowly we all got to our feet. Mrs C and I don’t like to be told when to give ovations, so we remained seated – but then I realised they were going to sing Cool For Cats so I leapt up anyway – and Mrs C gradually joined me.

It really was a very strange concert. The content was fantastic, but because of the distracting set and the fact that we never really got warmed up properly, it never soared. The presentation wasn’t very fluid, with the guys going on and off quite a bit, and you could see a lot of the backstage machinations through the entrance gaps at the side of the set, which were surprisingly distracting during songs. Still, it was great to see Messrs D & T, and to enjoy these wonderful old songs again; and there’s no doubt that they remain incredibly gifted musicians and writers. The tour continues until 19th November.

Lynsey de Paul and Me – In Memoriam (11 June 1948 – 1 October 2014)

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No, this isn’t a kiss and tell. Just my memories of a performer for whom I always held a very special place in my heart.

1972 didn’t start well for me. My dad died on New Year’s Day, aged 48, and I was just 11. With no brothers or sisters, it was just me and my mum left at home, with uncles and aunts telling me at the funeral “look after your mother” and “you’re the man of the house now”. And so it was; within a few days of Dad dying, I had switched from boy to man, and I still remember the burden of responsibility. You might think that I didn’t really have it in any practical sense – but I still felt the pressure both to somehow protect mum and to live up to the relatives’ expectations.

I’d always loved pop music, and followed it as closely as I could, even as early as the age of 5. I had a little transistor radio; I was addicted to Top Of The Pops; but most of all, living in a pub, I was lucky enough to receive all the old records off the jukebox each time new records were installed. It meant I used to acquire five singles a fortnight – for no cost! As a result, I rapidly built up a pretty good collection and played my favourites constantly, B sides and all.

But when Dad died, so did my interest in pop music – “just like that”, as Tommy Cooper would have said. I retreated inside myself, read more, played less, although I did pound out my frustrations on the piano he had bought for me in 1970. I remember Mum taking me on holiday to Spain in May 1972 for a mid-term treat (wouldn’t be allowed today) which I enjoyed enormously but apparently spent the entire eleven days saying “Dad would have loved this” which I don’t suppose helped Mum much. I did catch some snatches of pop music on that holiday. There was a jukebox in the hotel bar (the Hotel Internacional in Calella on the Costa Dorada could never be accused of being a classy joint) and someone kept on playing Paul Simon’s Mother and Child Reunion. It felt hideously appropriate for my life at the time. “I would not give you false hope on this strange and mournful day, but the mother and child reunion is only motion away. Oh little darling of mine, I can’t for the life of me remember a sadder day….” and so on. I liked the song, and it made me grateful that I had at least one parent left, but nevertheless it still made me cry.

Then in the summer I discovered European Pop Jury on Radio 2. It was like a monthly Eurovision Song Contest and I couldn’t wait for that one Saturday in four to come round. It seemed to me that every month it was won by either Neil Diamond singing Song Sung Blue or Hot Butter’s Popcorn. But I loved it, and it gave me a warm feeling on Saturday nights, sat alone whilst my mum worked in the bar downstairs. So I was obviously in the right mood when, one September morning, whilst being driven to school by the mother of a friend (she collected about four kids from various villages so it took about 45 minutes to get there), I heard on the radio this new song. It was bright, cheeky, funky, and for the first time in my life I realised that a voice could be… sexy! I didn’t catch the name of the singer, but I heard that the song was called Sugar Me.

I waited for the next lot of jukebox singles to arrive, and sure enough, there it was. Sugar Me, by Lynsey de Paul, on the MAM label. In the afternoons after school I could play the records on the jukebox for free, and I gave Lynsey a right old pounding, if you’ll pardon the expression. I loved that song. It had that constant drum beat, the quirky piano rhythms and of course, that breathy voice. I also enjoyed the B side, Storm in a Teacup, but hadn’t realised it had already been a single for the Fortunes, as it had been released whilst I was in post-mourning-music-denial. That week I watched Top of the Pops for the first time in ages, and, yes she was on it. And of course, my heart skipped a beat. I was besotted!

I started buying Melody Maker and New Musical Express again because my pop music mojo had returned. I found a classified advert to join her fan club. So I sent off my subscription cost, and not long later received back a membership pack: a newsletter (short, and on pink paper), a signed photo (except it wasn’t really signed, just a photo of a signed photo), and a membership card. I was member number 199. Over the next few years the fan club was a bit of nothingness really – the newsletters were few and far between, and there wasn’t much exciting going on. But at least I was officially a member!

We were heading into Christmas, and I was watching Top of the Pops again, when I saw Tony Blackburn come on and say “we’re having such a good time here but I don’t understand it – Lynsey de Paul says it’s getting a drag” – camera switch to Lynsey at the piano with her new song. Even funkier piano, even cheekier vocals; I had a sense the lyrics were a bit naughty but “innocent me” didn’t quite get why. I hadn’t known that a new single was going to be released, so I added it to my Christmas list of singles I wanted from Santa, even though I’d probably be getting a copy via the jukebox. The others were The Osmonds – Crazy Horses, Little Jimmy Osmond – Long Haired Lover From Liverpool, Slade – Gudbuy T’Jane, Lieutenant Pigeon – Mouldy Old Dough, and T.Rex – Solid Gold Easy Action. That’s what I call an eclectic mix. I remember the disappointment I felt that Getting A Drag only got to Number 18 in the chart. Sugar Me had got to Number 5; but it wouldn’t be the first or last time that my musical tastes would be out of kilter with the rest of humanity. The B side was Brandy – rather a silly song I always thought, but I liked the concept that “mating was better than hating”.

If I hadn’t been watching the music press I would never have found out about Lynsey’s next release because it was a complete flop. All Night didn’t make the charts at all, despite my buying it on the one and only week it was on sale in the local record shop. Looking back, I can see that it was a “treading water” type single, very similar instrumentations and structure to her previous songs, and even though it was good, it was perhaps just not quite good enough. The B side, however, was a mini adventure: Blind Leading the Blind. Much longer than your average single, its very quiet piano introduction and an incredibly laid back verse suddenly get contrasted with a really rocky chorus and an arpeggio-filled arrangement – and it all descends into quiet and hush at the end. Great stuff.

Then in the summer of 1973, Lynsey’s first album came out. It was called Surprise because of the surprise decision not to include her next single in the track listing. Both the new single and the album took her output in slightly different directions. The album contained elements of jazz that I hadn’t suspected she would do (I’ve never really enjoyed jazz much) so the tracks Mama Do and Sleeping Blue Nights never really did it for me, but there were plenty that did. My favourite song off the album – and probably still my favourite non-single song of hers – is Water, co-written, as many of Lynsey’s songs were, with Barry Blue (although then he was still Barry Green). It’s about as jazzy as I like to get, with a great tune and a really funky beat. But other highlights include the beautiful Ivory Tower, a sad and gentle song with a lullaby melody, the quirky Doctor Doctor, the futuristic Just Visiting, and the reflective Crossword Puzzle. I remember discovering the album in the record shop – I didn’t have enough cash on me to buy it, so I rushed home to beg my mum to lend me a little extra so I could get it that day. She obliged, nice old thing that she was.

The famous surprise missing single was Won’t Somebody Dance With Me which was (still is) a most moving romantic ballad about the lonely wallflower feeling undesired – the 13 year old me desperately wanted to rescue her. Famously “may I have the pleasure of this dance” was spoken by radio DJ Ed Stewart – although in subsequent re-recordings other voices took that part, including (slightly bizarrely) Lionel Blair I believe. It showed that Lynsey was never going to be just a one-hit wonder, and deserved a much higher placing in the charts than the Number 14 it achieved in November 1973. Perhaps even more of a surprise was that this song convinced a couple of my more metal-headed school friends that, actually, she was worth a listen. The B side was So Good To You, a sexy, intimate, love song which I always took as her personal message to me about how one day I would have a nice lady looking after me. She was right – and maybe we should draw a veil over any other associations I have with that song, as being just a private matter between her and me.

Lynsey trained as an art student, and her first job was designing album sleeves. Indeed her own illustrations are all over the centre spread of the Surprise album, but of course it is as a musician that we remember her. Won’t Somebody Dance With Me won an Ivor Novello award, the first ever awarded to a woman. I wonder how much more we would have heard from her had she not had constant wrangles and legal battles with successive managements. That’s why so many of her hits are re-recorded on later compilations, due to ownership issues with the original recordings. Won’t Somebody Dance was the last song she recorded on MAM. She signed with the aggressive Don Arden (father of Sharon Osbourne) and her first single for him was Ooh I Do (co-written with Barry Blue) on the Warner Brothers label. It’s a great record – a terrific Latin/jazz arrangement, with Lynsey giving a brilliant, wide-eyed innocent but romantic performance, and it reached No 25 in the charts in June 1974.

Don Arden then created his own label, Jet Records, and Lynsey’s first single on that label was her most successful since Sugar Me – and that was No Honestly, the theme to the TV programme starring John Alderton and Pauline Collins, which won her her second Novello award. That was in November 1974. At that time I used to listen to Radio Luxembourg’s Tuesday night chart show from 9.30 to 11.00pm, when really I should have been asleep because of school the next day. I’d acquired this massive, super-duper, state of the art (for that time) radio, because a school friend (who became an ex-friend as you’ll understand) broke in to our pub and stole money from the till. He used the money to buy this radio. The police caught him and said that as it was our money we could have the radio. Don’t think my mother was that impressed but I was delighted! I remember listening to the chart the week that No Honestly had really caught on and had lots of airplay and was thrilled that it got as high as No 3 on the Radio Luxembourg chart. Alas, by the time the BBC chart came round on the Sunday evening it was just No 7. Lynsey was ace at composing a ten second burst of music that could be used as a jingle, and those opening four bars of No Honestly must count as one of the most arresting introductions to a song for all time. And what a B-side! Lynsey’s version of Central Park Arrest that she had written for the group Thunderthighs earlier that year. “Come out, I know that you’re there – I have a gun and so you’d better beware”.

Melody Maker did a big double spread on Lynsey around that time and it was called “Pop’s Leading Lady”. I removed it from the paper and pinned it to the green baize board on the back wall of my classroom at school for everyone to see. If you know my surname, you’ll understand it was easy for some wag to amend the “Pop” by adding a couple of letters thus personalising it for me! I remember thinking that this big article and interview with her must mean that she had really “arrived” as far as pop music was concerned.

Records were always top of my Christmas list, and 1974 had a bumper crop, the pride of which was Lynsey’s next album, Taste Me Don’t Waste Me. Very different in mood from Surprise, or No Honestly. Romantic, laid back, soft-centred; with tender, gentle orchestrations with the merest hint of jazz. The most upbeat track is probably Let’s Boogie; a great tune that I remember her performing on an episode of The Golden Shot once. That takes you back, doesn’t it! Actually Lynsey wrote the 1970s theme to The Golden Shot. The major “single off the album” was My Man and Me, a sweet thing that she wrote with – I believe – James Coburn in mind. With all those older men that featured romantically in her life, someone ten years younger than her was never going to have a chance, was I! Other significant tracks included her version of Dancin’ on a Saturday Night, that she co-wrote with Barry Blue and was a big hit for him; although to be honest, I prefer Barry’s disco version. Whilst we’re talking of Mr Blue, my favourite record of his is the camp Ruskipop Hot Shot, all balalaikas and Russian Army la-la-las, which was also part-penned by Lynsey. That hit the charts in October 1974.

The Taste Me Don’t Waste Me album also has its delicate title track, but for me it’s surpassed by the wonderful When I’m Alone With You, which is a kick off your shoes, snuggle down on the sofa, comfort-blanket of a song. Do you remember the radio comedy series, Hello Cheeky? It starred Tim Brooke-Taylor, Barry Cryer and John Junkin. I used to love it. Lynsey guested on the show once and sang When I’m Alone With You; and she added extra lyrics – where on the record she sings “do do do do do do do do, (etc)” she sang “lovers may come and others go, only by now I’d hoped you’d know”. It’s much better with those additional lyrics.

I remember waiting (in vain) for new output from Lynsey throughout 1975 but everything went quiet. It wasn’t until Christmas that Santa again turned up trumps with her next album, Love Bomb. I loved the cover, with Lynsey dressed in sub-military dungarees – who can resist a girl in uniform? For the most part, this album is Taste Me Don’t Waste Me Part Two, with many soft, luxurious, laid back songs about sweet love – the titles alone give you a clue to the tone of this album: Sugar Shuffle, You Are the Happiest Day of my Life, Hug and Squeeze Me, Dreams; not to mention Shoobeedoo Wey Doobee How. There’s an album version of No Honestly on here too, with just a slightly different arrangement if I remember rightly. I think I was a little disappointed in this album at the time, because Lynsey hadn’t moved on from her lovey-dovey Taste Me phase. Don’t get me wrong, they still sounded good, but even the 15 year old me thought that she wasn’t stretching herself musically. The best tracks are the ones that don’t conform to this quiet romantic style – title track Love Bomb, with its fantastic tune, Crystal Ball with its elegant fade out and Season to Season (where she says “bye bye” at the end). And then as a Christmas bonus, together with Barry Blue she did the fantastic Happy Christmas To You From Me. For me Christmas is not complete unless I play this at least once over the festive season. Yes I know it’s repetitive, derivative, and shallow…. But I love it.

I’ve always been an avid theatregoer, as you’re probably aware, gentle reader, if you’ve read any of my other blogs. At the ridiculously early age of 7 I started going to the local amateur dramatic society in Wendover where we lived to watch their plays. I would get taken there by my mum and then left in the front row to watch the play and then met by mum at the end to walk home. At 8 I saw my first West End shows, and basically haven’t stopped since. By the time I was 15 I was going to London by myself to watch matinees – the instruction was that I had to be back home in Wendover by 7pm. But in April 1976, shortly before my 16th birthday I put my foot down. I was going into London by myself for the evening. Why? Because, for one week only, at the London Palladium, there was a revue starring Sacha Distel, with Mike Read, Marti Caine, and… you guessed it…. Lynsey de Paul. There was no way I was not going to see Lynsey. I went on the Tuesday night in my flash “going-out” blue suit, blue shirt and blue tie – I was indeed a vision in blue. My memories of Lynsey’s performance are that she had a small band on stage with her, and a grand piano at the front at which she sang and played; she entered the stage to the band playing the introduction to Sugar Me, but when she finally sat at the piano and started, she played something completely different – can’t remember what it was though. She sang the majority of her hits, and ended up with Sugar Me as a finale. The first half of the show was Mike Read, Lynsey and Marti Caine, with Sacha Distel being on for all the second half. We didn’t see Mike or Marti again, but Lynsey came back on to do a duet with Sacha. And that was it – no curtain call at the end when we got to see the acts again, just Monsieur Distel taking all the limelight. I was really disappointed not to be able to give her another big round of applause. But at least I saw her. Getting back home at 1am with school the next day wasn’t the brightest thing but There Was No Alternative.

Two of the songs she sang at the Palladium were the A and B side of her next single – Rhythm and Blue Jean Baby with Into My Music. They were so typical of the time, and I really loved them. Into My Music in particular was a quirky, introverted little number about the song writing process – always a good subject, and it made a change to hear a song that isn’t about love! It wasn’t much of a success, and her next single didn’t trouble the chart at all. I heard her sing If I Don’t Get You The Next One Will on some TV programme but the local record shop never stocked it, and, as a result, I never bought the single. It’s a good song though. “I’ve been wined, I’ve been dined, I’ve been given the bill…” or was that The Pill, I was never sure – either way is funny.

Sometime in the summer of 1976, much loved and respected music historian and broadcaster Steve Race presented a programme on Radio 4 (I think it was) called The Composer as Entertainer. It was a fascinating programme where he examined how well or otherwise composers in general perform their own music. He went as far back as Albert Chevalier, and en route to modern times his musical journey encompassed Hoagy Carmichael, Noel Coward, Sergei Rachmaninov, The Beatles; and his final example was Lynsey de Paul. He described her as “an acquired taste, and I admit, I’ve acquired it”. He was very complimentary about her song writing and her ability simply to sit at a piano and perform with a remarkable degree of purity. The piece of music he chose to illustrate her style was Rainbow, from the Taste Me album. Talking of Lennon and McCartney (as I nearly did), one of Lynsey’s other projects that year was to appear on the All This and World War Two album. This was the soundtrack to a desperately unsuccessful film that combined wartime newsreel footage with Beatles songs performed by other artists. Lynsey performed Because (from Abbey Road) and gives it her usual breathy style. It was the only track I ever played on that album!

And then in 1977, two loves came together: Lynsey de Paul in the Eurovision Song Contest. The Song for Europe programme wasn’t televised due to last minute strikes – such was the flavour of the era – so I had to listen to the contest on Radio 2. I was so thrilled when she and Mike Moran won with Rock Bottom. The song was great – very contemporary Eurovision – and it looked brilliant at the Wembley Conference Centre with the whole business suits/newspapers/Ronnie Hazlehurst conducting with an umbrella-look. Lynsey had some microphone troubles at the beginning, and her vocals on the first verse were pretty ropey. Nevertheless, at one stage it really looked as though the UK would win – and Lynsey did a stagey “chewing fingernails” look to the camera which I remember at the time thinking had the potential to be very hubristic. And so it was, with France beating the UK by fifteen points into second place. Six countries gave Lynsey and Mike their douze points, whereas Marie Myriam for France only got three douzes – but every single country voted for France, while three countries did not vote for the UK – Greece, Switzerland and most notably Ireland, who had been the recipient of the UK’s twelve points. Such is the way of Eurovision. Still, the single hit No 19 in the charts.

One day in 1979, I was rifling through the records in a music shop in London – probably HMV or Virgin, can’t remember now – and was amazed to discover a Lynsey album I knew nothing about: Tigers and Fireflies. Of course, I had to buy it, for Old Time’s Sake, realising I’d completely given up on ever expecting her to record something again. It has two stonking good tracks on it – the eponymous jolly Tigers and Fireflies and the very romantic Before You Go Tonight.

I saw Lynsey live just one more time – in the West End, starring in Pump Boys and Dinettes at the Piccadilly Theatre on 16th March 1985. She’d just taken over the role from Carlene Carter. Whilst the rest of the cast – Paul Jones, Brian Protheroe and Kiki Dee – had their biographies and photos all over the programmes, Lynsey missed out as she was the new girl and the new programmes hadn’t been printed yet. I remember feeling quite annoyed that I missed out on some Lynsey ephemera there! I don’t remember much about the show because it wasn’t really my kind of music – I just wanted to see Lynsey.

And that was it – I never saw her again. Only doing her celebrity Come Dine With Me on TV a few years ago. I never saw her shows for Sky (we don’t do Sky) and I kind of missed her self-defence for women stuff. I would have loved to have seen her co-hosting that Marc Bolan memorial concert a couple of years ago, but the timing wasn’t good. I always thought there’d be another opportunity to see her – but now there isn’t. I can’t tell you how astonished and numb I felt when I heard she’d died. I think I simply said “oh no, oh no, oh no” constantly for about three minutes. She never smoked or drank, she was a vegetarian, she kept fit – and she only reached the age of 66. Where’s the justice in that? So remember to live life to the full, and tell your friends and family you love them because one day, they won’t be there for you to do that anymore. In the meantime Lynsey, if you’re up there, thanks so much for all those melodies and harmonies, crystal balls, zodiacs, lifetime guarantees, voodoos, boogies, wallflowers, telegrams, rainbows, pots of gold, and all that sugar that characterised your lyrics. You helped a boy become a man and gave him a star to follow. I’ll never forget you.

Review – Jasper Carrott – Stand Up and Rock, Derngate, Northampton, 4th September 2014

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Neither Mrs Chrisparkle or I had ever seen Jasper Carrott live before, so I was very happy to jump at the chance to book for this show, although I was suspicious of the format, being not just stand-up comedy with Mr Carrott but also rock music with the Bev Bevan Band. “Stand Up” – yes, great; “and rock” – aye, there’s the rub. It seemed an artificial structure where Mr Carrott would surround himself with some of his best mates to mix comedy and music to his personal taste. I couldn’t help but feel that up to half of the audience might be there under sufferance for one of the elements of the evening. If you’re a fan of Jasper Carrott, would you necessarily like the same music that he does? Similarly, if you’re a fan of 1960s/70s rocky commercial pop – which is basically what the Bev Bevan band and their guests mainly perform – would you necessarily like Jasper Carrott? I thought it was a risky strategy.

However, it pays off, whether by good luck, great musical skill, or expert comic delivery, or a combination of all three. This happened to be the first night of their extensive 2014 tour, and all the performers were in a crisp, excited, enthusiastic mood and put on a hugely entertaining show. But, deep down, it really is a layer cake of two shows on top of each other. Comedy, then music, then interval; comedy, then music, then home. Like old-fashioned variety, Mrs C suggested; but I disagree, old fashioned variety would have had much more, well, variety. At the end of each of his comic sets, Mr Carrott shouted, “right! Are you ready for some music?!” to which we all shouted “Yes!” as we were meant to, but I for one was thinking “No!!” But it’s good to be challenged, not only in searing dramas but also in light entertainment, and I came away from the show feeling that I had enjoyed the music much more than I had expected, and the comedy perhaps not quite as much as expected.

There’s no doubt that Mr Carrott falls somewhere in the “comedy genius” spectrum. I can remember when he first became known, with his late Friday night TV show on ATV in the mid 1970s. I amassed all his comedy albums, and loved all the live Magic Roundabout, Bastity Chelt, Nutter on the Bus, and Car Insurance Claims material on them that kept the teenage me entertained for hours on end. He did just one old joke off those old records in last night’s show – a musical performance of “Hangman, slacken your noose”, which ends more rapidly than you might expect, and is still funny in a nostalgic sort of way. Around 1976, Jasper Carrott was a breath of fresh air in comparison with the other established TV comics of the day, who were either slick southerners in the Bob Monkhouse mould or club northerners a la Bernard Manning. I think it was his general Brumminess, and an edgy sense of going off script, that stood out and made him different. So I was surprised to see that, almost forty years on, he’s now very establishment and in fact much of his humour struck me as quite dated.

Don’t get me wrong – his delivery is masterful, and he’s a naturally very funny person. His rapport with the audience is instant and extremely warm – he seems as fond of us as we are of him; he doesn’t use offensive language like so many of the new brigade, and he talks about feelings and situations which we can all recognise. I was, however, a little disappointed that, unwittingly or otherwise, people with disabilities tended to be in the firing line of some of his jokes. He also started off with the usual (accurate, and funny) observation that people always say they hate where they live. Many’s the Screaming Blue Murder show when the comic has said to the audience “what’s Northampton like” and the audience dismally reply “it’s sh*t”. (Even though it isn’t). Similarly, Mr Carrott did a pretend conversation with himself, brightly saying “It’s nice here in Northampton, isn’t it”,to which he then glumly moaned, “you ought to live here… can you speak Polish?” At this, 95% of the audience went into hoots of laughing appreciation. For fifteen seconds or more it felt like we were at a UKIP rally. Mrs C and I felt most uncomfortable at the instant prejudice. Still, for the most part, we laughed a lot and found his material very funny.

But how impressive were the band?! Superb. With Bev Bevan commanding centre stage with his fearless drumming and fantastic vocals and guitar work from his team, they were stunning from the very first song. Very rewarding and recognisable numbers from the 60s and 70s throughout, including Beatles, Stones, The Move (naturally, with a considerable Move contingent on stage!) The Fortunes, Spencer Davis Group, and many more. We really appreciated the brilliant contributions from guest artists Trevor Burton,Geoff Turton (there’s something of the Norman Collier in his stage presence, but his voice is still amazing), and Joy Strachan-Brain, who can certainly whack out a song with huge panache and attack. For me, the best moments were when they performed slightly more unexpected songs – their version of Steeleye Span’s All Around My Hat, for example, was sensational.

A completely packed Derngate was wowed indeed and almost everyone was up on their feet at the end. If you enjoy both Mr Carrott and that kind of 60s/70s music you are in for a treat. If you enjoy one but not the other, it’s still worth the risk!

Review – Sir Tom Jones at Northants Cricket Ground, 9th July 2014

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Following on from last year’s Madness concert, this year Northants Cricket Club and the Liz Hobbs Group have brought us Sir Tom Jones, Welsh vocal superstar for many a decade, purveyor of positive coaching skills on The Voice, and boon to ladies knickers manufacturers around the world. I think it’s fantastic that we get these big names here in Northampton, so I booked on Day One to get two good seats for Mrs Chrisparkle and me, who have long been known for our ability to break out into “Why why why Delilah” in the shower or “Just help yourself to my lips” over the chip pan.

It’s easy to underestimate the time it actually takes to get into the cricket ground. This won’t mean anything to you if you’re not local, but we walked up the Welly Road and into Roseholme Road, expecting to enter the cricket ground from the southern end. Wrong. We had to walk all the way up Clarke Road to Abington Avenue from where we had to walk another two blocks away from the cricket ground simply to join the back of the queue of the people walking along the main road towards it. That was a bit frustrating, if I’m honest.

Then when we got to the ground we were harangued by charity collectors – shouting out demands for money in a manner designed to make you feel guilty if you didn’t donate. I hate being shouted at by a charity collector so didn’t donate, even though it’s an excellent local cause, and even though I had initially intended to. Note to collectors – brusque loudness can work against you. I expect the same charity will be present at the Dragon Boat Race on Sunday, in which case I will make a point of donating then (provided they don’t harangue me again). Once inside you had to have your bags checked – ostensibly to check you weren’t carrying any bombs or weapons I suppose but really so that they could take any food and drink off you so that you had to buy it inside (at inflated prices). Once actually in the ground, we joined the queue for the bar – which was at least well organised, by joining a queue from a choice of about ten and sticking to it – where we had the pleasure of paying £1 for a plastic “goblet” in which your beer would be served. The pound was redeemable at the end if you wished to queue to get it back; as if you would want to join a queue like that at 11pm. I know – I’m getting so curmudgeonly in my old age. I’m a great big grumpy old Hector.

Our seats were the apex of a triangle – A1 and A2 in block A6. We were as far left of the stage you could be whilst ostensibly still being in the front row. It was very comfortable actually, and with an excellent side view of the stage; a bit like being in a box at the theatre – very private, bags of leg room, and a skewed view. We also had the big TV screen right in front of us. We didn’t manage to take our seats until 7.50pm so we missed Sarah Barker’s warm up act, but we got the majority of James Walsh’s act, lead singer with Starsailor. He was great! Excellent songs and a suitably modest approach to being on stage before the Great Man Himself. He thanked each round of applause with the one word, “chiz”. I’d forgotten how good “Four To The Floor” is.

Even when you leave home in 22 degrees Celsius, it’s easy to forget just how nippy it can be sitting down for three hours on a cricket pitch, particularly when you don’t have people left, right and in front of you. Even three layers wasn’t really enough for me and poor Mrs C, who feels the cold more than I do, only had two. I offered her my jacket constantly through the evening, which she constantly refused in order to save face. Ah, the jollities of married life. Sir Tom needed to be very good indeed in order to take our minds of the wind-chill factor.

Fortunately, he was. The man can sing. It’s hard to think of any other of his mid-1960s contemporaries whose voice has lasted as well as his. Paul McCartney? Cliff Richard? Well past their prime, vocally speaking. Engelbert’s nowhere in comparison. OK, maybe Mick Jagger is still a brilliant performer, but their styles are very different, and Sir Mick doesn’t normally need to bellow to get his song across. From 9.05 to 10.55 Sir Tom’s fine voice rang out over Wantage Road with more power, resonance and pitch accuracy than you could possibly imagine. It wasn’t long before the knickers started coming out – a group of ladies a few rows behind us delved deep and produced some pretty pastel panties and swung them aloft in time with the music. A few rows back a slightly larger lady produced an enormous pair of drawers with “I heart Tom” on them, and after some decorous waving, ran to the front and shoved them over the security fence to the bemusement of the St John’s Ambulance staff. The guys in the crowd thankfully fell short of whipping out pairs of Y-Fronts bearing the title “Help Yourself”. But during the course of the evening, several ladies ran in front of us, hurled lingerie towards the stage, which then got caught in the windy through-draught and got flung back at them.

Tom did a very varied set – old stuff, new stuff; pop, rock, country, blues – you name it, all genres were there. We particularly loved the arrangement of Delilah (his band incidentally, were phenomenal) with lots of Spanish guitars and Latin influences – really creative and original. His earlier stuff was performed with a certain degree of reverence – It’s Not Unusual, for example, was a relatively quiet and dignified affair, but his more modern numbers, like Kiss, Mama Told Me Not To Come and Sex Bomb were flashy, raunchy and in-your-face. Of the other songs I knew, he sang The Green Green Grass of Home with great passion and sadness, and I’ll Never Fall In Love Again was also great – at least I think so, as I chose that as my “karaoke treat” of the night. It must be difficult to get the balance right of which old songs you perform and which you leave out, but I confess to being disappointed not to hear What’s New Pussycat, Help Yourself, Daughter of Darkness and She’s a Lady. And I guess the Young New Mexican Puppeteer has long had woodworm. Still, everything he did sing was incredibly good, and the crowd in general, and we in particular, had a fantastic time. Hats off to all concerned for a great night.

Review – Let It Be, Derngate, Northampton, 29th May 2014

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Ah, the Beatles! Eight glorious years of recording hit after hit, all of it long lasting, top quality, innovative, memorable music. They were at the right place at the right time, with a worldwide appeal, amazing creativity and the ability to excel at an extraordinary range of styles. As Mrs Chrisparkle and I often reflect, no one else we can think of can create an album which might contain rock, ballad, pop, lullaby, 1920s pastiche, or orchestral sounds – and with lyrics that might be inward looking, soul-searching and spiritual, or full of imaginary, lively characters, with their own stories to tell. As a very small child I was hooked. The first record I can actually remember the process of buying was “I Feel Fine”. The first film I ever saw at the cinema was “A Hard Day’s Night”. The word “Beatles” was the first long word I could spell – and I wrote it everywhere. Any spare scrap of paper, books, walls, curtains, furniture…. I spared nothing from the indelible “Beatles” mark. My parents must have been so proud.

If you’re expecting a musical based on Beatles songs which depicts the progression of the group’s career, then you might be a tad disappointed. Lady Duncansby and her butler William saw the show on its first night in Northampton and, expecting to see a Beatles version of Jersey Boys, felt a little cheated. I wasn’t sure what to expect. But basically this is a staged Beatles concert, set at different times chronologically advancing through the group’s oeuvre. We see them in the Cavern, raw and enthusiastic, in the Please Please Me era. They’re at the Royal Variety Performance doing She Loves You and Twist and Shout. We’re transported to the Shea Stadium for Can’t Buy Me Love and Ticket to Ride. They appear as Sgt Pepper’s band; in the “Our World” TV studio; and at Abbey Road. All in all, the cast play 42 Beatles songs over a good two and a half hours.

What makes this different from, say, going to see a tribute act like The Bootleg Beatles? Good question. Primarily, it’s the production values. This is a superbly presented show and technically a masterpiece in many ways. What bowled me over right from the start was the extraordinary accuracy of the re-enaction of the original arrangements. The four gifted musicians (together with additional instruments courtesy of the very talented Steve Geere in the performance we saw) recreate the richness and excitement of those guitar performances and the brash confidence of the drums and percussion. Later on, the reflective beauty of the piano work in Let it Be and Hey Jude feels like magic. Every nuance you can remember from playing your old Beatles records you will hear on that stage. It’s an incredible achievement.

There’s also fantastic scenic, lighting, sound and video design which incorporates live action from the stage and mixes it with contemporary film footage; supremely effective in the Shea Stadium scene, where you really felt like you were there. Jack Galloway’s costumes are 100% faithful to the various stages of the group’s career, with the early 60s sharp suits, the Shea Stadium safari jackets, the Pepper outfits, and the Indian-influenced hippy garb. And of course four tremendous performances. Unusually, the cast changed at least once during the course of the week. We saw a different cast from the night Lady D attended – and I discovered that, on the Friday, our cast were doing the Late Late Show on RTE in Dublin, so presumably the first cast was back on stage.

I was really happy that we got to see one of my favourite performers, James Fox, playing Paul McCartney. I’ve been a fan ever since he did Eurovision for the UK in 2004, and indeed Mrs C and I helped do a radio interview with him on a stairwell in Jury’s Inn at the Eurovision convention in Birmingham five years ago. But more than that, he was superb on stage when we saw him in Jesus Christ Superstar and Chess; and now, in Let it Be, he continues to have a fantastic stage presence as well as great vocals and guitar skills. Our John Lennon was Michael Gagliano, who really captured John’s cheekiness and love for entertaining. John Brosnan was a superbly taciturn George, just quietly getting on with his job of providing lead guitar, occasionally coming forward to sing – most memorably in “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”, so pleased that they found space for that one. Ben Cullingworth was our Ringo, showing great mastery of the drums and chipping in with typical Ringo spark through the course of the evening.

It would, of course, be impossible for them to play all the Beatles hits, but I was a little disappointed at a couple of sins of omission – most particularly I had hoped for Lady Madonna, and Hello Goodbye would also have added to the general happiness of the evening. There’s no Paperback Writer or Yellow Submarine; no She’s Leaving Home or Ballad of John and Yoko. Lady D was unhappy with the accents – despite her posh title she’s a scouser at heart – and, as I touched on earlier, there’s no attempt to tell the story of the Beatles. You don’t get a sense of the breakdown in the relationships – John and Paul are as happy together in the final scenes as they are at the beginning. Having said that, there’s no lack of drama, because the songs themselves are of such high quality that each one brings with it its own sense of drama. The urban effervescence of Penny Lane, the life-assertion In My Life, the quiet tragedy of Eleanor Rigby, the weird one night stand of Norwegian Wood, inter alia, all capture your attention and remind you of what a sensational legacy the Fab Four left behind.

Personally, I really loved the show, and felt I could easily see it again the next night. With that attention to detail, the engaging performances and the wonderful songs – who could ask for more? After a few more weeks’ touring, the show is returning – again – to the West End, keeping the spirit of Beatlemania alive. If you like the Beatles – and especially if you never saw them – here’s your chance.

The production photographs are by Paul Coltas and are from letitbelondon.com

Hannah Faulkner – A New Name in the Music Scene

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Well, new to me at least; but actually Hannah started her music career about four years ago, working her way through hundreds of gigs both locally in the Northampton area but also at the O2 in London, Westfest, and Hardcore Til I Die in Spain (get me, I’m so hip.)

She’s got an EP coming out later this month, with three excellent tracks that she not only sings but has also written herself. If you’ve heard her previous recordings like Knight in Shining Armour and The One, produced in collaboration with Dougal and Gammer, you might be expecting something bright and clubtastic, but this new EP definitely spins off in a different direction. I’d describe her music style as a kind of folk rock; gritty and determined, with powerful, thoughtful lyrics, great tunes and warm, funky arrangements courtesy of her talented band.

The title track, Alive, is a pacey, feel-good song about triumph over adversity; expressing an optimistic view on the future and sharing true friendship. It’s both lively and reflective at the same time, a really satisfying song that grows on you the more you hear it. Then there’s another song called Kick Me When I’m Down, full of defiance and vitriol against a bitch who’s revelled in trying to get the better of our Hannah, with a chorus that’s based on an invitation to swivel on her middle finger!

But my favourite of the three songs on the EP is Did Your Mama, which starts off with a really slinky introduction and builds into this bittersweet account of a manipulating bullying guy who mistreats his women and Hannah’s no-nonsense advice to her girlfriend that she’s got to get rid of him. Did your mama never teach you nothing about how to treat a woman? I’m guessing not. Soulful and heartfelt, this is a song that really gets under your skin.

The EP will be available on 28th February and if you like the sound of Hannah and her work you can find out more at her website where there are links to videos and interviews as well as the dates for all her upcoming gigs and an online shop. If you click here you can hear extracts from the EP so you can judge her style for yourself. I think she’s pretty special – see what you think!!

Review – Rent in Concert, Derngate, Northampton, 3rd February 2014

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Some emotional shows just grab you. They speak your language. They reach your heart. They stay with you for ever. Others just don’t. It was on 19th August 1999 that Mrs Chrisparkle and I finally got to see Rent for the first time. We were in Row F of the Shaftesbury Theatre’s Royal Circle. For many people that would be a great seat, but for me that’s just too far from the stage for me properly to connect with what’s going on. We both share one chief memory of that original production – that the music was way too heavily over-amplified. It was the first time we’d ever experienced a show where the production team simply didn’t trust the performers’ voices to reach the back of the theatre. From the resulting sound distortion we didn’t hear half the lyrics. My other main memory is that Angel’s death was really moving; and that when he gets “resurrected” at the end to join everyone else on stage it filled your heart with gladness. The rest of the show – I could basically take or leave.

But this is a show that never goes away. It has a massive following, the “Rent-Heads”; and has been hugely successful around the world. A winner of four Tony awards, the original New York production ran for twelve years, making it the ninth longest running Broadway show at the time. And when I heard that Rent was making a comeback here in its “in Concert” format, I thought that was an excellent idea, and that we should give it another chance to impress.

We weren’t quite sure what to expect. Our only other experience of “unstaged” performances is with the Lost Musicals at Sadlers Wells, where dignified performers in dinner jackets sit around in a semi-circle with their script on a clipboard, taking to the floor to act out a scene with no scenery when the pianist cues them in. I didn’t think Rent in Concert would be quite like that, but who knows? Anyway, when you enter the auditorium you see that there is a very useable set with steps and ledges, scaffolds and seats, and cubbyholes for the musicians to inhabit, in full view of the audience, but separate from the action. Additionally there’s a video screen at the back used to give an extra sense of setting, and also so that you can see what the character Mark is filming. It’s a really well thought out design, and gives plenty of space for some of those multi-character numbers where people are in different locations but singing the same song together.

There are many very good things about this show. The structure is clever and satisfying, with its allusions to Puccini’s La Bohème, its parallel characters and songs, and how it modernised 19th century suffering from consumption to 20th century suffering from AIDS. It also forcibly reminded Mrs C and me of the musical Hair, with its themes of dissatisfied youth and protest, and the worries of parents that their children aren’t living decent lives. Also, the music is superb; Jonathan Larson’s tunes are very stirring and memorable, and they are performed really well by the band, led by Scott Alder on the occasion we saw it. The big set piece numbers are sung beautifully, especially Seasons of Love, La Vie Bohème, and the finale, No Day But Today, although I have to say I wasn’t half so moved this time when the resurrected Angel came back on stage. I was very impressed with the wardrobe department too – Mimi’s matching leopard skin coat and boots were perfect in their downmarket sexy sluttiness, Angel’s transformation from supermarket t-shirt and jeans to camp Santa was catwalk-amazing, Benny’s flash suits told you all you needed to know about his wealth; and the plain winter clothes of the rest of the cast were both realistic and served as a good contrast to the others.

On the whole, the performances are also great. Kerry Ellis has such a superb stage presence, and although I wouldn’t necessarily say I was a “fan”, I thought the stage brightened up every time she came on. Her performance with Rory Taylor of “Light My Candle” was particularly stunning, but I thought she was excellent in everything she did. Another performer with great stage presence is Mykal Rand, whom we last saw as a glamorous and camp Electra in Starlight Express, and he plays Collins with great emotion, terrific singing and surprising vulnerability for a big bloke. Interestingly, he was one of the ensemble in the 1999 production we saw – I guess this show is in his blood. I also really enjoyed the performances of Ruthie Stephens as Maureen and Lisa-Marie Holmes as Joanne, both separately and together. For me, Maureen’s “Over the Moon” protest-performance song simply goes on too long, but Miss Stephens did it cheekily and quirkily, and the audience loved it. Joanne’s duet with Mark, the “Tango Maureen” was crisply and amusingly delivered; and the scene where you see Joanne and Maureen’s relationship start to crumble, “Take me or Leave me” was absolutely spot-on. Kenny Thompson has a superb singing voice as Benny and you could hear every word – a rarity in this show; and there was great support from all the members of the ensemble.

But it’s that lack of clarity of the lyrics that is my real bugbear. The music, both instruments and vocal, is still very over-amplified so that you can only hear about half the lyrics to many of the more raucous numbers. This probably isn’t an issue for the Rent-Heads who know it back to front and inside-out already. But to people like Mrs C and me, this is a major stumbling block. Presumably the producers realise this, as the programme contains a very detailed synopsis of the entire show; I guess they simply expect you not to follow the words properly. We read the synopsis closely, before the show and during the interval, but even then you still can’t remember every plot development (and there are lots); so we were still faffing around trying to make head or tail of what was going on from time to time. This was particularly annoying in the song “Contact”, because, once again, I couldn’t hear the lyrics so I pulled out the programme and tried to read the appropriate part of the synopsis (white print on black background in dim lighting, not very helpful), failed, then looked back at the stage to find that Angel had already snuffed it and I never noticed. They’re using the over-amplification as an almost Brechtian device to distance the audience from the action – making the substance subsidiary to the style.

Another example of this is the really harsh lighting effects. I’m all for dramatic lighting, but you have moments where a number of really glaring lights are projected right into the audience’s eyes, and not just for a split second, but for what feels like ages. It’s very uncomfortable, painful almost, so that you have to put your hand to your forehead to save your eyes. Perhaps they should issue us with sun visors. Bizarrely though, whilst the audience is overlit, some members of the cast are underlit at times, with them speaking or singing in the dark so that you can’t tell who it is who’s talking. I think the Lighting Design team need to go back to school.

However, there’s no doubt that the audience absolutely adored it and that it got a standing ovation from most sections of the audience. I did enjoy it, but something about this show irks me too. I reject the allegation that it’s because I’m “too old” for it – I was once 19 you know, and I remember it clearly! I think it’s just one of those shows that, for some reason, just doesn’t speak to me. If you’re a Rent-Head you’ll love it; and there’s no doubt that the talented performers and musicians absolutely fling their hearts and souls into it. There are still another eight dates on this tour, so if you think you’d like it, go for it!