Eilen Jewell: Gem In A Precious Setting

Ooh, I love a quiz, me. This week, I had my thinking (flat)cap on when answering a potentially ticket-prize-winning question posed by the fiendishly smart quizmeisters at 5000 Presents:

Q: How many wheels does a standard wheelbarrow have?

I confess - I had to have a little think. They can be a bit tricksy, those 5000 chaps, and I thought it may be a cunning plan to confuse us simple folks. No need to have worried. I stuck with my gut instinct of:

A: One

Lo and behold, I was the lucky winner of two tickets to a show of my choosing (look, okay, so maybe I am friends with the quizmaster - but I maintain I won those tickets fair and square, with a correct answer, in the time-honoured fashion. I'm also reliably informed by an official adjudicator that answers of 'two', 'three' and 'four' were submitted - seriously). And my choice of prize? The rather excellent blues-meets-country sultry sounds of an Eilen Jewell show at Cecil Sharp House.

Taking along McG as my guest (his lady Bernie to join us later), we were treated to yet another excellent show here in this lovely venue. I seem to be spending an inordinate amount of time at CSH these days, but it's most definitely a good spot to hang out. Playing to a packed-out room, the atmosphere still feels cosy and intimate. Right from the off, the joint was jumpin', courtesy of sassy Ms Jewell and her excellent band (top drumming, thumping double bass and some fine electric guitar). People danced in the aisles - yup, they got out of their comfy seats and jigged about.

We were treated to new songs from her latest album "Queen Of The Minor Key", some old songs from "Sea Of Tears", a couple from her tribute album to Loretta Lynn (a cracking "Fist City"), all topped off with a much requested and shrieked-for title song from her first album "Boundary County". She can crank it right up when she wants your toes tapping, take it right back down when she wants your heart to ache. And she's a charmer - clever off-the-cuff wit between songs have a smitten audience curled up in the palm of her hand. Anyone not smart enough to know that a wheelbarrow only has one wheel was more than happy to part with their hard-earned for the privilege of being there.

http://www.eilenjewell.com/bio.cfm

(Oh, bog off. I know the post title's a bit wanky but I couldn't resist.)

Sam Amidon & Magic, Our Morris

Those lovely people at Pull Up The Roots teamed up with the equally smashing folks at 5000 Presents last night, treating those smart enough to have a ticket to a packed show at London Town's folk mecca, Cecil Sharp House.

Arriving a little early, and with it being a bit on the parky side, me and Nads headed straight downstairs for a steaming cup of tea and the most enormous bit of sponge cake from The Nice Green Café. There's been a definite improvement at the CSH café in the last few years - it used to look a bit on the glum side, but nothing a lick of paint and a bit of cheery bunting couldn't fix (and I should know - I am, after all, expert on triangular-shaped-stuff-on-a-string).

Mmmmm. And a nice bit of Anthony Burrill too.

Two acts on the bill - first onstage, Rachel Dadd. I've heard Rachel before, but I've not had the pleasure of seeing her live. She's an odd little creature and at first I couldn't quite work her accent out. It seems this may be because she spends much time living in Japan, so maybe she picked up an inflection. Bristolian mixed with Japanese - not a combo you hear every day. She has a sweet voice, clear and pure - I like it when she's accompanied by a clarinetist, it works well. I've quite a fondness for fairylike creatures sporting odd knitwear too, me.

Just before the main attraction, I catch Howard Local in the foyer. There is a slight altercation, when he threatens to twat me with his iPhone - but it's just high jinks and I live to tell the tale. The Local are Sam Amidon's booker for UK shows and I'm very glad they are. Thanks to them, I've seen Sam three times in the past six weeks. The first time I ever saw Sam play was at a sold-out Bush Hall a few years ago - a dream bill of Thomas Bartlett, David Thomas Broughton and Sam Amidon (and a spot of Nico Muhly). They were spectacular, particularly when they collaborated on one song, with DTB wandering round the audience to sing, creeping up behind me, making me jump by hitting a high note right in my ear. Top.

Fond memories.

Aside from EOTR this year, I also saw Sam perform at a special Sunday screening of Tim Plester's documentary 'The Way Of The Morris' at The Phoenix cinema in Finchley a couple of weeks ago. If you get chance, and are even remotely interested in the rich heritage of folk music in our country and the traditions surrounding it that deserve celebration and keeping alive, then watch this beautifully and lovingly crafted film. Tim Plester is a funny, smart cookie - he's created a lovely paean to the country tradition of Morris dancing, telling a poignant tale of his own family's Morris involvement in the Oxfordshire village of his birth. It's charming, funny, human and not remotely dry or dull. Had me welling up at one point (and I know I wasn't alone). Sam played a live set after the film - think a few of the old folkers in the audience didn't quite see the fun in Sam going a bit Les Dawson on his fiddle at one point, but it tickled me.

http://www.wayofthemorris.com/

Sam's set last night at CSH was the best I've seen him play. He holds me spellbound from the second he takes to the stage. Not just because he's obscenely talented (he plays guitar, fiddle and banjo - all of them superlatively well), but because I know there's a fiercely super-bright mind in that head, and he has a verbal performance to match his musical virtuosity. He goes off on a lengthy monologue about being in the woods late at night, searching for inspiration for writing a book - this tale just builds and builds, and seems a little unhinged, but then he brings it back to earth, it's all so cleverly done and I can't take my eyes off him, compelled to watch, wondering what he'll do or say next.

**NEWSFLASH - WE INTERRUPT THIS BROADCAST WITH A 'WHAT THE FUCK?'**

I was just doing a bit of a nosy round for a nice pic of Sam, or bit of footage of him being brilliant on some instrument or another, when I saw a headline on The Quietus telling me the Jeff Mangum ATP in December has been moved to March next year. I'm most displeased, but will restrain my ire in case someone (Jeff or his family) is in the midst of some awful crisis. I sincerely hope that's not the case.

If, on the other hand, I find out it's cancelled because Mr Mangum has forgotten the chords to 'Two-Headed Boy' and is suffering a spot of stagefright, I'm posting him a mousetrap in a jiffy bag. Or much worse.

**NORMAL SERVICE WILL RESUME SHORTLY**

Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, a big wordwank about Sam Amidon.

His performance is aided by appearances from Chris Vatalaro on drums (very good, nice use of hands and brushes), then some dude who Sam reckons played the organ at Will & Kate's Big Fat Royal Wedding this year (not sure this was true - but the chap could certainly play his tiny keyboard beautifully), and then some bird who turned up at the hall at about 9pm pushing a baby in a pram. Turned out to be bloody voice-of-an-angel Beth Orton (confession time - I frowned severely at pram and child appearing in the hall, thinking "who brings a baby out at this time? Idiots."). I'm treated to two of my favourite songs, 'Wedding Dress' and 'Saro', and my evening is at a perfect end.

Just beautiful.

Leaving the venue, I bump into the very charming Will Pull Up The Roots. The last time I saw him was at Luminaire's funeral and I was much the worse for wear (and booze). This clearly hasn't ruined our friendship, as he gifts me a bit of forthcoming secret gig info which almost has me skipping all the way home. I'm a lucky girl and it was a very lovely evening.

http://www.pulluptheroots.co.uk/

(Postscript: whilst scoffing that cake and drinking the tea, I was pleased to see that Morris dancing classes were taking place in one of the small halls by the café. And as I peeked through the glass door, I see my dear pal Northern Tim with hankies in hand, strutting his Morris stuff. This only made my evening more complete. Having watched the 'Way Of The Morris' documentary so recently, then to see the tradition of Morris dancing being kept alive by a thoroughly good bloke (with the most excellent taste in original 70s denim and suede) made me really happy. Keep up the good Morris work, our Tim - I promise I won't pull your leg about it ever again...because it might have bells on.)

http://www.efdss.org/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cecil_Sharp

Sam Baker: Fine Americana In The Home Of English Folk

Having spent a lovely Sunday pottering with Nads and Lady Doc (perusing old wares at Cecil Sharp House, watching Pedro Almodovar's latest offering - The Skin I Live In - his usual combo of mad / odd / good), Nads and I returned to the home of English folk music to watch a very fine American man doing his thing.

Sam Baker plays his guitar left-hand. He didn't used to. Back in 1986, at the age of 32, Sam was travelling in Peru. A bus he was travelling on was blown up by terrorists. Many of the people he'd been chatting with, passing the time of day, were killed. Sam survived, but only just. His femoral artery was severed, but miraculously, he didn't bleed to death. His hands were also badly mutilated by the bomb, his left fretboard hand coming off worse. So, Sam learned to fret with his right hand.

A lesser man might have given up. Thank god he didn't. Sunday evening was one of the loveliest performances by any artist I've seen for a long time. I know it seems I'm often moved to tears by stuff I write about in this blog, but three times in one evening? It's a record, even for this daft softy. The words to 'Broken Fingers' are particularly poignant, as Sam points out before he plays the song. A young German boy and his family had been sitting opposite Sam just before the blast. Once the bomb had gone off, Sam knew the boys parents had died, and had to watch as the young boy slowly passed away. I'm not sure if inspiration is the right word here, but this led to the writing of 'Broken Fingers' - watch here, and perhaps I won't seem like such a daft softy after all:

The setting was also rather special. Cecil Sharp House is the home of the English Folk, Dance and Song Society. The main room at Cecil Sharp House is a large, airy room, warm-hued wooden floor, stunning sound and beautifully lit for the performance, with just a couple of simple spotlights on the stage. The show was put on by those lovely people of Luminaire fame, Andy and John, now promoting in their new guise of 5000 Presents. I'm certain there'll be more quality shows like this in the months to come, keep an eye on their listings here:

http://fivethousand.co.uk/

(Postscript: in need of a clear head, I had a long walk to the Heath the day after Sam's show. Beautiful Autumn day, obscenely sunny and warm for the time of year. Walked for miles and miles. Lovely. Thirsty work that walking lark. Finished my walk in a small pub near Gospel Oak - Southampton Arms. I'd heard tell of this place by The Scot, so knew it could be a watering hole on my walk home. What a superb way to quench my thirst. A proper little boozer, not gastro-ed up, lots of original features, huge range of proper ales and cider. They play vinyl on an old turntable behind the bar (Elizabeth Cotten was spinning while I supped - result):

and shock of shocks - they sell Seabrook crisps:

I was so pleased (and happy listening to the chat of the old blokes at the bar) that I broke my one-half-only rule and had a second half of Pale Beauty. I was very thirsty, after all.)