Marcus "Boo" Hewerdine is an English singer-songwriter and record producer. His work includes lead singer and creative force behind The Bible, formed in the 1980s, and reformed in 1994, as well as solo recordings and work for film. He has also produced records by several artists, including a long association with Eddi Reader. He has been described as "one of Britain's most consistently accomplished songwriters".
So says Wikipedia.
I say that Boo's one of my favorite songwriters; sensitive, intelligent, funny and always engaging.
His songs are sad and uplifting.
There's always hope with Boo.
This'll be a return visit.
You probably missed his first performance at the Hat Club.
Most of our members did.
Why was that then?
Answers on a postcard to: thedogatemycarkeyswhilstIwaswashingmyhair.co.uk
I strongly suggest that you come on down to the club on Saturday, October 10th.
Boo really is unmissable.
The rugby and 'Strictly...' you could tape...
There's even a surprise guest...
8pm start.
£10 in.
Guests are welcome.
All proceeds go to the musician.
You will not dance, but you might just shed a tear or two...
I don't know if you are aware but Di and I run a small music venue in Beaconsfield.
Guests are welcome.
£10 in the hat.
Singer takes all...
Doors: 8pm The Hat Club welcomes the brilliant Chris Wood this Saturday, Sept 19th.
Chris is the winner of the BBC's 'Folk Award'.
I've been a fan of his for years.
So have these lofty critics, talking about his latest album 'None the Wiser":
Andy Gill – INDEPENDENT ★★★★★ “Wood is one of our finest songwriters, a brilliant exponent of the topical troubadour form, and rarely on better form than he is with None the Wiser. The title track alone is a masterpiece”
Martin Townsend – EXPRESS ★★★★★ “Wood has honed his songwriting to perfection here… Each sung phrase is weighed with care… heartbreaking purity.” Siobhan Long – THE IRISH TIMES ★★★★★ “Nobody comes even close to equaling his bird’s-eye-view… a distilled and intimate collection of snapshots chronicling the sweetness of love, the fragility of sanity, the glories of ageing and so much more.”
Robin Denselow – THE GUARDIAN ★★★★ “... one of Britain’s most uncompromising and original singer-songwriters… his latest album is remarkable for the settings as much as the lyrics.”
Colin Irwin – MOJO Album of the Month ★★★★ “…such a rarefied talent, both as writer and interpreter.”
TIME OUT: “Quite simply our best writer of contemporary English folk songs… What other BBC Folk Award-winning singer writes like this? There’s no competition as far as we’re concerned.”
So today I:
- had lunch for breakfast
- watched Howe Gelb and Yasmin Hamdan try to (unsuccessfully) open a champagne bottle with a saber
- joined the town's gentry for an official farewell speech to Folmer from the Major of Aarhus
- drank champagne in a marquis tent sheltering from the rain with Anna and her and Folmer's daughter 'at least until the rain stops'. It's midnight and the rain still hasn't stopped. I'm soaked in so many ways...
- took high tea with Sylvie
- had an early dinner with Folmer and his lovely assistant Louise who had gotten me onto every guest list going and who tonight prepared a future Danish road trip for me
- virtually swam to the Howe Gelb's 'Deconstruction of Jazz' at the Atlas Theatre, featuring Thoger, Steve Shelley and Yasmin Hamdan
- virtually swam the 25 yards (I have the bronze badge) to the Voxhall Theatre next door to watch Daniel Lanois give a riveting performance of dub, trance, folk, ballades and blues. There were one or two ambient Eno moments that were are a little beyond me but, Daniel was classy. At the end of the show he ordered a bottle of whiskey from the bar and poured a glass for everyone in the front row.
- returned sodden but happy to the hotel for a glass or two before bed. Had an easy chat and a beer with MaggieBjörklund,Yasmin Hamdan and Howe Gelb, although no sign of Simmons who still owes me a brace of beers. To be continued I guess...
It was great to see Folmer getting the recognition he deserves. He got a couple of shout outs at Howe's show last night and there was real warmth for him at the official farewell this afternoon. It seems that his nine years as Festival Director have been a real success. He's developed the event from basic local beer tents and bands, to a challenging international event: ever evolving and of genuine cultural value. As a patron of the local arts his enthusiasm is unwavering and his crumpled charm infectious; he likes people and people like him back. Could it really be that simple? All of the performers that I met loved him and his festival. As do I.
He will be missed but I sense that he is already eyeing new horizons.
I'm flying back London tomorrow then on to Corsica where we have a house to sell.
It's been full on but I've loved every waking moment.
- I've languished in a 'Superior Room'.
- Eaten some wonderful food.
- Drank far too much.
- Seen some of the best gigs ever and met a few of my musical heroes in the act.
- I've also met some fine local folk; calm, tolerance and kindness are virtues here, not weaknesses.
It seemed that every light turned green as I approached it; even the queues are couched in rainbows...
Goodbye Aarhus, you're my kind of town.
I'll keep this brief as I've just woken up and am about to miss... lunch.
Yesterday offered up a whole host of musical riches.
I have a confession to make. I was meant to be playing an impromptu cafe concert at local venue Bora Bora alongside Gustaf Llunggren, Tony Garnier, Grant Lee Phillips, Sylvie Simmons, Jim White, M Ward and a lovely nameless Swedish singer. Such was the wealth of talent and so underprepared was I (no guitar for starters) that I bottled it, reducing myself to the role of seat saver for Folmer and babysitter to the Lovely Nameless Swedish singer's 5 year old; a charming little fella apparently named 'Move On'. Anyway, I can't tell you how much of a chump I feel this morning for missing out on the opportunity of sharing the stage with those warm and wonderful folk. I should have taken Boo Hewerdine's early morning mentoring: "What's the worst that could happen".
The highlights, amongst many, were Gustaf's gorgeously delicate introductory guitar pieces - it was wonderful to see this brilliant accompanist finally taking centre stage - whilst Jim White's two atmospheric contributions conjured up a Wim Wender's world somewhere between Paris, Texas and Florida. Here he was ably vocally assisted by the siren sisters: Sylvie and Jim's fiancé Megan). I also swooned a little at Sylvie's delicate presentation of a future classic, a new tune of hers that I remember only as 'Dancing'. I sat on the front row with Moveon, almost in day job teaching mode; readjusting the bandaid on his forehead and helping him create patterns with sticks and making plasticine hats, whilst a couple of meters away my real calling was calling and falling on my dumb deaf ears: a teacher wearing a misfit singer's hat or vice versa? I'm sure that the irony wasn't lost on Folmer who kept nudging me stageward but whose kind counseling was gracelessly ignored.
Although this was mid afternoon the performers created an intimate, chocolaty midnight mood.
Every picture tells a story:
I had dinner later with Sylvie where she entertained with tales from her colorful rock 'n' roll past. Fascinating first hand stories of interviews with Springsteen, Cohen and the pantheon; her early struggles to establish herself as a credible rock journalist when the debauchers wanted nowt but a rock chick; the struggles that she had getting her Serge Gainsbourg biog published, a biog that she is now so reluctant for Amazon to exclusively host that she's mischievously tweeting the book daily as a riposte. She also talked about her book of short stories 'Too Weird For Iggy', a tome that Iggy Pop forced her to retitle because he thought it 'too weird' to be associated with. Strewth. Too weird for Iggy? Then as she walked me back to the Concert Hall Sylvie quoted verbatim extracts from her new short stories collection that she's hoping Howe Gelb might put to music. I love the lady; she's a coiled spring, affirmatively apologetic, a feisty nugget of benevolent nervous energy who has so many strings to her bow. I'm not surprised that she's chosen to simplify, focus and refine her musicality to the 4 strings of her (not so beloved) uke.
Back at the Concert Hall Stefano Bollani was investing Gershwin with dynamic and emotional Latin intensity. He was later joined by Diego Schissi to help tackle Gershwin's 'Cuban Overture'. And, of course, it being Diego there were inevitable Tango flourishes from his Argentinian homeland.
I then legged it down to the Voxhall where Howe Gelb 'The Godfather of Alt Country' was presenting his own curio, 'Way Too Much Light'. Howe's musical curiosity knows no bounds; he's famous for his cantankerous approach to performance; throwing wild cards and curve balls at his band to see how they pass muster. I was intrigued to see how he would extend this questionable courtesy to his venerable guests: Grant Lee Phillips, Allan Olsen, Sylvie Simmons, Sonic Youth's Steve Shelley, Yasmin Hamdan, Swedish pedal steel supremo Maggie Björklund and M Ward. Howe's house band were his own Giant Sand who also form local band, the brilliant De Soto Caucus. I'd had a drink with the band's leader Anders the previous night after 'rehearsals' for the show. I could see that he was exhausted and just a little frustrated at having to arrange and coordinate a structured day for the performers, overseen by this mischievous master of deconstruction (Mr Howe) who later labelled rehearsal as 'the enemy'.
I'm not going to go into the dirty details of the show - I want lunch - other than to say it was bewilderingly brilliant. I will note that a highlight for me was a mesmeric performance by Tasmine Hamdan of 'Hal', a pulsatingly sensuous song that concludes the beguiling Jim Jarmusch's vampire movie 'Only Lovers Left Alive'. I've posted a clip of that film's moment at the bottom of the page beneath the evening's photos. Please take the time to watch.I also loved Maggie Björklund's pedal steel playing; she took a solo spot that used loops to build sheet upon sheet of swelling luxuriance with not a country riff in sight. Both BJ Cole and Melvin Duffy would have surely tipped their hat.
As the evening unfolded guest performers came and went, willfully throwing themselves to the wanton wiles of a willful man; their giddy surprise at the brilliant resultant cacophony was plain to see. Particular kudos must go to the De Soto boys who gave substance to Howe's conjuring Prospero spirit. The double drum attack of Pete and Steve brought back memories of the Glitter Band, Thoger predictably underpinned things perfectly, Howe and Anders produced some of the most extraordinary guitar sounds I've ever heard ('That's the sound of a texted guitar') whilst Nikolas (pictured above right in a state of full HOWE? bewilderment), a brilliant guitarist in his own right, was moved to keyboard duties where he poked and prodded to glorious effect.
Believing Howe when he promised a late offering as the last of the night I apparently missed the moment of the evening when the whole cast took to the stage for an encore of Leonard Cohen's '1,000 Kisses Deep'.
I'll leave it to Sylvie to sum up the evening:
"What a great night. Looking at the clock, this must have been just before we went onstage for the first half. We ended three hours later at 12.30 am and stayed up another three hours afterwards and yes, there was alcohol, so I have a sore head this morning. 'Bewildering brilliant'? I'd say that was the perfect description. And no-one - no-one! - could top the encore version of 'A Thousand Kisses Deep' in bewildering goodness. How many people were on the stage? I was clamped between a viola and a mandolin and could barely move my head to see who was making those glorious sounds behind and around me. Guess I'll have to wait for the video!"
Here's that mesmeric performance by Tasmine Hamdan of 'Hal', a song that concludes the Jim Jarmusch vampire movie 'Only Lovers Left Alive'.
Surely worth 4 minutes of your time...
I woke up this morning... sorry, not a blues tune but... I woke up this morning with a holy headache and half a packet of crisps in my bed. What's all that about?
Yesterday was pretty full on. On paper, and for Aarhus, not a lot was happening. The only real musical offering was the intriguingly titled 'Information For Curious Citizens About Special Voices'. I didn't know what to expect but pitched up dutifully with Folmer to be warmly greeted by Hans (remember him?) my driver on the first day. Hans was very excited about the show. I'd already seen the night's three performers in the Efterklang Global concert on Monday when they were all out of their element in an ambitious international collaboration. Here they would be in their comfort zone; although 'comfort' proved to be the last thing on some folk's minds.
First up was Bae Il Dong, a Korean opera singer.
He was in the company of a jazz trumpeter and an Australian drummer who Bae II had apparently
been mentoring in Korea for a few years. Dong's storytelling was dynamically expressive, comical at times as he wove his impenetrable tales and clicked his fan in time to an uncertain beat. And what a din Dong produced! (sorry...) There was much white eyed wailing and beating of the chest. My best description would be a kind of traditional, Oriental blues. Both Jim White and I were in accord: although an accomplished player, the modern jazz trumpet musings seemed out of kilter with the drumming and vocals; the disparity adding chaotic cacophony rather than coloring the piece. It was certainly engaging but a little disjointed for me.
Next up were my dinner mates Jessie and Jean, accompanying the irascible inuit throat singer Tanya Tagaq who had earlier promised, whilst wagging a lobster tail at me, the she was going to 'rip things up'. Tanya wandered on stage resplendent in a delicate gold suit and demurely introduced herself and the band before shredding our nerves and nature over the next 50 minutes. It was one long piece of extreme invention. Jessie's violin was looped to produce rhythm and texture as Jean's scattershot drumming underpinned what only can be described as a volley of primal screams, whispers and moans from Tanya.
Her bellow wasn't just emanating from the throat; she dug deep to produce guttural groans that at times seemed borderline demonic. There was definitely a world of feminine angst unselfconsciously
conjured up for us: Sex, childbirth, family drama, domestic violence, depression and repression all seemed suggested by an unbelievable wall of sound that rose and fell, often to a whispering wail of heartache. The physicality of Tanya's performance was breathtaking, literally; she breathed in and she breathed out with a percussive ferocity, producing rolling rhythms and intense shrieks of white noise.
It made you wonder how she could maintain the vocal and bodily contortions over 50 minutes, let alone night after touring night. I seriously worried for her health at one particular 'Exorscist' moment, when it seemed that she was about to implode.
The reaction of the crowd was interesting; there was nervous laughter alongside raucous affirmation and head banging. At the climax of the show the woman behind us broke out into an hysterical laughing and weeping fit; the whole thing was almost shamanistic in its intensity. My eyeballs and teeth hurt... but in a good way. The show was worthy of its standing ovation: I knew I'd seen something special but am buggered if I can put it in to the right words: indescribable and yet this was experimental performance art at its most profound.
Earlier over lunch Tanya had teased sound man Peter for playing the Blue Nile at the soundcheck.
I can now see why.
I'm rethinking my plan to give her a copy of Happy Blue as a parting shot.
After all of that sonic drama it was a relief to bask in the the passionate delicacy of Spain's Carmen Linares who commanded the stage imperiously with her sensuous and elegant interpretations of traditional flamenco. Her support was simple and sophisticated: piano, two female singers sat alongside a flamenco guitarist of stunning dexterity.
The labour of longing never sounded so throat catchingly lovely.
Later back at the Radisson Hotel Folmer opened the bottle of single malt that I'd gifted him and we sat outside with Carmen and her crew until the early hours. Howe joined us briefly but ran for his sick bed after a shot or two. I did so too after a shot or two too many. I had briefly considered trying to track down a Danish kebab but resigned myself to the edible contents of my mini bar.
And... I woke up this morning with a half empty packet of crisps in my bed.
If they weren't cheese and onion then my sheets need changing...
Blimey: I'm sleeping in later and later. I just made the final coffee call for breakfast yesterday and then it was lunchtime, which was shared with Peter (Yorkshire), Jean and Jessie (Quebec) and Tanya Tagaq, the Polaris Music prize winning Inuit throat singer. Never dull with these guys; the craic was good, although Tanya's clangorous assessment of repressed Brit's sexual repression as a nation who 'f*cked each other through a sheet with a hole in it' startled a few passing Danes and made me inhale a piece of chicken that is still lodged somewhere between the back of my nose and my left ear.
Before I knew it it was time to get to the Art Museum for one of the Aarhus Conversations. This would see Sylvie Simmons interviewing the founder of Elektra Records Jac Holzman. Jac talked in some depth about his founding of Elektra records in the 50s and Nonsuch as a classical and budget label later in 1964; his publishing of much of Woody Guthrie's early work and much of the early folk records of the likes of Jean Ritchie, Josh White, Theodore Bikel and Bob Gibson which would have otherwise been lost to us. He later moved from folk to rock and detailed his signing of the likes of The Doors, Paul Ackles, Fred Neil, Phil Ochs, Tim Buckley and Love. I'm a big fan of David Ackles'American Gothic' album so was interested to later read his thoughts about the man: "I thought David was an extraordinary songwriter, but he really didn't want it enough. For some reason, I did not figure out until many years later where his passion lay. It was in the theater. I never should have done an album with David. (We did three.) I should have helped him create a theatrical show. I didn't get that at the time."
He was later responsible for the MC5 and The Stooges; music that he didn't really love, but realized that their success was more about volume and attitude, an attitude that effectively helped open the door to a new wave of music. Elektra merged with Warners in the early 70s but Holzman remained connected with the business, moving into the technical side of things because he knew nothing about it and wanted a challenge. Later in the 80s through his Pop Clips productions he and Mike Nesmith helped to formulate MTV.
On the night Jac spoke about funding the initial label "out of a cigar box', managing a then huge initial $90.000 dollar debt by only ever paying the first $300 of any bill. That way his debtors recognized a certain honor in his recognition of debt. His lateral thinking and instinct for survival saw him releasing the first ever sampler album and a million selling sound effects album; effects that can be famously heard in the intro of The Doors 'Riders on the Storm'. The competition was initially nervous but Holzman appeased them with the assurance that he 'only wanted to make the records that they wouldn't or couldn't make'. He clearly loved the early years, talking with great affection about the people who surrounded him: 14 employees was his max 'the perfect number to fit around the circular banqueting table at my favorite local Chinese restaurant."
He gave particular mention to designer William Harvey who produced all of those early iconic covers and he was gracious too about the competition; tearing up a little when talking about John Hammond who rebuffed Love'sAlbert Lee (I believe) who had offered him a better deal but, when Albert advised him that he'd shaken hands on a deal with Jac but that no contract had been signed, Hammond replied "And Jac will serve you well'.
Holzman is still busy mentoring Warner executives and is also involved in future planning. He's extraordinarily energetic and enthusiastic for a man who's been in the industry for 65 years. His advice to aspiring musicians was to 'persevere, love what you do and woodshed'. He wasn't particularly sympathetic to the question of streaming, telling a questioning young musician to 'learn to live with it. Make it work for you', insisting that 70% of all Spotify's royalties go back to the labels and the artists. If I'd have had the bottle I'd have questioned how much of that the label then passes on to the artist but... I liked him; he's obviously a man who gets things done but still holds great pride and affection for his abiding passion and those early years. And holds those memories close with almost total recall. Sylvie did a great job in marshaling the event and weedling some 'off topic' nuggets out of this driven and successful man who is obviously used to talking about only what he wants to talk about.
Back in the Fest Restaurant for dinner and Howe Gelb had arrived in the company of Jim White and his friends from local band The De Soto Caucus: Anders Pedersen, Peter Dombernowsky, Nikolas Heyman and Thøger T. Lund although it seems that Thøger has recently been replaced by Henrik Poulsen by De Sotto on bass. Peter, Anders and Thøger are also members of Howe's ever evolving Giant Sand. These guys will be the backbone for Howe's musical presentation on Thursday night: "Way Too Much Light".
I left early to catch the 2nd of the Trio shows, again featuring Joe Henry and Rhiannon Giddens but this time joined by Billy Bragg and Grant Lee Phillips. It was another spellbinding set of performances.
Billy Bragg's voice has dropped into a rich, syrupy timbre, giving an unexpected warmth to his performance which has me looking forward to listing to his latest Joe Henry produced platter. Birthday boy Grant Lee washisusual charismatic self (does he remind anyone else of the lion from the Wizzard of Oz?) and offered up a reliable set of gorgeously realized Americana but... beyond Joe Henry's reliable brilliance... the evening's high spot was Rhiannon's stunning rendition of the old gospel work song 'Water Boy'. This is a principled lady whose music is laced with grievous intent. Hers are not so much protest songs as songs of resentful enlightenment. She reminded me of Harry Belafonte and Lena Horne in her unbridled frustration at the racial injustices still rife in the USA. As you can see, the artists were as entranced as the audience by this raw talent. She is surely destined for great things.
Later at the bar Howe introduced me to Steve Shelley Sonic Youth's drummer who I have confess I know nothing about. I'm sure that it showed.
The night ended back at the hotel firstly in the company of a charming Irish dancer/singer Eofer (sp?) who was here to perform with Cormac Begley and an unusually chirpy Thøger enthusing about his house (and trees) in Tucson and regaling us with a near death experience he's just had with an Italian scorpion. I ended up in the smoking zone with the Trio ensemble who had clearly stuck a few Kroners on Folmer's Festival bar bill. Under the fog of cigar smoke Gustaf and I discussed our shared love of Boo Hewerdine's work whilst Rhiannon serenaded us with her raucous take on Italian opera. We lingered long until Joe and Rhiannon's taxi arrived at 4am to dispatch them for an early morning flight back to the States.
For a miserable Englishman I'm sure having a blast.
Here's Rhiannon with that 'Water Boy'.
The second day at the festival panned out nicely. After a late and lazy breakfast with Joe Henry and Italian festival promotor Carla I took to the streets of Aarhus for a lonesome wander in the rain. I wanted to try and find a quirky little 2nd hand clothes shop that Di and I had stumbled across on our first visit here in 2012. This bizarre was a coffee house/come charity shop crammed full of treasures or trash depending upon the length of your beard or memory. Back then I brought a pair of leather framed pilot's Rayban sunglasses that I assumed made me look Top Gun but their wearing actually made people cross the street nervously (never since worn). Also, a beautiful pair of alligator slip ons that I've worn locally a few times much to the mirth of my grey suited Beaconsfield friends. We'd made an instant connection with the owner and her assistant but had later lost contact; names since long lost to memory. Streets lost in time too; I ended up disoriented and soggy; not such a bad thing in this charming maze. It's a very conventional town that's occasionally inevitably coloured by that Scandinavian broad minded liberalism. The most popular poster in the city, currently hanging from the sides of churches and office buildings is a graphic graphic of a naked woman with a luxuriant muff, peeing into a wine glass. I'm unsure what services are being offered but it's certainly and eye catcher. Anyway... strangely in need of a glass of wine I eventually found myself back at the fest restaurant for lunch and hooked up there with Sylvie who was in the company of Canadian throat singer Tanya Tagaq whowas waxing about her participation in the evening's main event: Imagery of Perfection - A Global Concert. This would prove to be a digitally interactive performance involving Tanya, opera singer Bae II Dong, Spanish flamenco singer Carmen Linares and a whole host of dancers and musicians both in the theatre and beamed in from around the globe onto large screens. We were joined by Japan, Italy, Australia and the USA. The evening was overseen by the boys from Efterklang who orchestrated the performances and urged the (occasionally confused) participants on. This was fearless, seat of the pants stuff. There was much initial wailing and bewildered fretting about form and tempo. Folmer whispered 'Yoko x 3' in my ear, but this was no insult, just a recognition of the adventurous spirits present in and out of the room. The time lag necessitated relaxed musical motifs and timing but produced moments of true magic as the dissonance resolved; particularly towards the end of the performance when the white noise faded to reveal a beauteous whispered lullaby emanating from a waif like lady in Tokyo. Gradually the band and the audience joined her sweet song in an emotional finale, a gentle but stirring climax for both the performers and a totally engrossed and engaged audience. It was wonderful, challenging stuff; free beer too.
Talking of freeloading: I later joined Folmer and friends for dinner at Jimmy Holm's fantastic Spanish restaurant 'Canblu'.
It's tapas but not as you know it; there's a unquantifiable to his imaginative world fusion cuisine. Great wine too, courtesy of the ever generous Mr Jepsen. I broke bread with Sylvie Simmons, Joe Henry, Billy Bragg, Rhiannon Giddens, Gustaf Ljunggren, Tony Garnier, Grant Lee Phillips, Carla, and, of course Folmer; a beautiful benevolent bunch. Joe revealed that he had recently produced an album for Chaz and Dave and... Billy Bragg's 'Tooth and Nail' album. That'll be my next vinyl then... There was an unforgettable chuckle of conversation that will linger long.
Later, but all too soon, we squeezed into one big people carrier and sped back to the hotel to avoid the wet and wind. That wasn't quite the end of the evening. Outside the hotel entrance the garrulous Tony Garnier and I shared our love of Sinatra and then traded variable but enthusiastic Derek and Clive impressions. Dylan's bassist is a funny and lovely guy. Just as we were about to run for cover Sylvie whipped out her Ukelele. Apparently this new uke is male and can only be tuned by mannish hands. Tony and I feyly fumbled with the thing (obviously lacking the sufficient testosterone) before Gustaf gallantly came to the rescue. And there we stood, like happy sodden pups as Sylvie serenaded the storm - somewhat appropriately - with 'Famous Blue Raincoat'. It was all beautifully bonkers; a magical end to a cracking second day.
It's Grant Lee's birthday today so I'm hopeful of a shindig and shenanigans after tonight's Trio show with Joe Henry, Grant Lee, Billy Bragg and Rhiannon. That's a quartet I know but, who's counting?
Here's the song that put me to sleep last night. It's a beauty:
