For a year or so
now, after brushing up on my British musical history, I have come to the
conclusion that if I could go back in time to see any band live, that band
would be Dr Feelgood. The chance to see the classic line up of Lee Brilleaux,
Wilko Johnson, John B Sparkes, and The Big Figure, perished in 1977 when
Johnson departed. The chance to see Feelgood Mk II went with Brilleaux’s death
from cancer in 1994.
The next best thing for the fans must surely be the still
touring current line-up of the band. They go by the equally catchy names of:
Robert, Steve, Phil and Kevin. Basically, the band presented in the Julian
Temple documentary Oil City Confidential is a snapshot. The years since ’77
have seen a hyper case of rock ‘n’ roll Darwinism resulting in no original
members. Is this really the next best thing? Or is there a troubadour named
Wilko Johnson still playing the club circuit to devoted followers up and down
the country? Thankfully, yes, there is.
I caught him at the Tunnels, underneath Bristol Temple Meads
station. A little glimmer of what to expect was provided earlier on Later….with
Jools. The newly honed trio (the other two thirds being Blockheads Dylan
Howe and Norman Watt-Roy, drums and bass respectively) raced through the
calling card 'She Does it Right'. The Whistle Test feel of the show was slightly
hampering the raw energy that you see in Wilko’s eyes. I knew I could expect
something better in a darkened room.
Before we get to the main event, I must spare some time for the
support act: Virgil and the Accelerators. What an unusually entertaining way of
killing the time before the band. From the first notes squealed out on the
front-man’s strat, we were in Stevie Ray Vaughan territory. This is an
incredibly good thing when the guy can play, and, boy, this guy can play. I
can’t take anything away from the other two guys, they are a good little rhythm
section, but it’s clear the choice to lead with Virgil in the title wasn’t just
because it referenced Thunderbirds. There were hints of Hendrix, ZZ Top, Jeff
Beck, a touch of Peter Green, and it totally gripped my attention until I
remembered where I was. I looked around and immediately knew the crowd were
waiting for the short haired inventor of minimalist punk-R&B. This band was
a first-rate, hard-edged, blues rock outfit. I would certainly recommend them,
just not to this crowd.
So then, after a drink and chat with the thoroughly charming
Accelerators, it was time to return to the show. Seeing Johnson in the flesh is
equal, in my mind, to seeing Joe Strummer, Brian Wilson, Van Morrison, Noel
Gallagher, etc. He is not only a legendary guitarist, but also blessed with a
face that can transfix the audience with a composite of theatre, comedy, and
rebellion. As the set begins, I can’t help but grin at the familiarity of it
all.
After the urgency of opener 'Down by the Jetty', an early stormer
was the electrifying ‘Goin’ Back Home’; a song featuring a winning guitar part that
grabs the collars of the rhythm section and drags it along until the brakes
kick in. The harmonica is originally the lead instrument in this tune, so there
was a noticeable difference to the arrangement. However, Lee Brilleax’s gone and
you’re going to have to get used to this feeling if you want to enjoy yourself.
Luckily, the hooks in this song are undeniable so you don’t actually feel like
you’ve missed much. The Howling Wolf-esque vocals aren’t present these days as
Wilko has taken over vocal duties full-time. Limited as they are, they still
fit amongst the sonic construct as his voice was always in the mix; only
usually as backing and occasional lead.
Before too much time had passed, so had highlights such as 'Sneakin' Suspicion', 'You Shouldn't Call the Doctor' and 'Back in the Night'. Hearing each of these
lined up alongside each other was an almost academic study in how to write
infectious riffs. They aren’t Zeppelin complex, or Townsend melodic. It’s more
like the kind of thing a guitarist thinks of while he’s trying to reach for
more; and then forgets he had a good rhythm part all along. That may sound like
a minor achievement, but very few composers know where that point is. Wilko has
that ability in so much abundance that it has held him back when progression
was requested of him. Time passes though, history judges, and no one would be
foolish enough now to demand anymore from this back-catalogue. Another pleasure
is to see those Muppet like eyebrows reaching for the rafters as he stiffens
his neck like a general. That’s a moment you will not grow tired of however
many times you see him play.
Casting your eyes to the other side of the stage reveals the
iconic under-bite of Norman Watt-Roy: the bass genius behind the other pre-punk
legends ‘Ian Dury and the Blockheads’. He’s a virtuoso jazz player at heart,
but for some reason he can play these songs without reigning himself in. The
look on his face is also priceless, eyes dancing and lips pouting as he
realises how good he is. Not since Entwistle has a bassist successfully put
that many notes inside a simple twelve-bar. His little moments of glory are
firmly tongue-in-cheek, but if it wasn’t for Wilko’s puzzled, pantomime gaze you would
only be in awe of the creativity.
Current Blockhead drummer Dylan Howe supplied the beats. He’s
another session man with serious chops and clearly has perfected the
relationship between himself and Watt-Roy. It has obviously been honed to
such an extent that he only needs to watch Johnson for cues, tempo changes, and
shifts in energy. His eyes didn’t move once from the darting figure in front of
him, and it was very clear that he was the glue that held together this band of
pirates.
There was a moment mid-set in which a local vocalist/harp player
was introduced to the stage. They proceeded to run through a storming version
of Roxette, with Brilleaux-esque harmonica, if not vocals. It was a nice
moment, Wilko’s most famous riff cutting through as if he double tracked his
Telecaster while strumming with a two-pound coin. It only lasted two songs
though, and I feel like this was a wise decision. While it may have provided a
twinge of nostalgia to those who chose to squint their eyes, it was rather like
seeing a tribute to Dr Feelgood, and took away from the fact that this was a
Wilko Johnson gig.
Before I knew
it, Watt-Roy was removing his bass from around his neck, Howe rose from his
stool, and Johnson was machine gunning the crowd. In other words, the set was
over and it was time for the audience to give the applause that demands re-emergence.
The band had a nice break of about 7 seconds before coming back to play us out.
The encore was the Chuck Berry song ‘Bye Bye Johnny’. Wilko’s version pulled it
even closer to its musical cousin ‘Johnny B Goode’; the tune that closed
Feelgood’s masterpiece ‘Stupidity’. After that though, it was really over.
As I wrote earlier, just seeing Wilko in the flesh was special enough for me. What a bonus
it is that he can still put on a good pub rock show. After all, that is a genre
in which he has no equal.
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