Ron Sexsmith at the Barbican Centre, London - 30 April

Although I usually make full use of all that London has to offer in terms of fine music and theatre, Saturday was to be my last concert, as there is no more space on the credit cards and I am highly likely to be told on Friday that I’ll be made redundant, which will see me bankrupt and homeless by the end of the year. So it was an important concert to me, not just because of that and the need for some cheering up, but because it was the great Ron Sexsmith. Sadly, I’d been off work for a few days, having hurt my back, and kept having setbacks so hadn’t left the house since Tuesday. In the morning, I couldn’t see how I would make it into town and back. But I was determined, and thanks to some encouragement and to Nurofen with codeine, I made it, and it was so worth it.

An example of Ron’s unassuming nature, his humility and kindness was when he worried aloud that he’d been unable to deliver a cheeky fan’s request for the original handwritten lyric to what Ron called his most romantic song, Tomorrow in Her Eyes, which he’d written for his sweetheart, who I thought (when watching the insightful documentary Love Shines) provided tremendous support for him and indeed was working the merchandise table that night at the Barbican Centre. This fan had asked for the penned lyric to give it to his own love, for whom the song was special, and Ron said he’d searched the house to no avail. So what he had done was copy out the lyrics in his own hand. 'Would that be all right?' He seemed genuinely concerned and listened for the answer, which you can imagine, and Ron leaned out across the first rows of the audience to hand it to said elated fan, who shook his hand, as the woman seated beside him dabbed her tearful eyes and looked luckier than Kate Middleton. I did wonder if Ron had just spoiled a birthday surprise or proposal, until I realised that there was nothing spoilt about having the man himself hand you this stupendous gift.

This was just one incident at the concert that demonstrated Ron’s efforts to please and act genuinely in all he does. No airs of the big star he should be. This man is special. Even if everyone else comes to recognise his supreme talent as a songwriter one day, he will still remain that special as he is a good, pure soul. His fans see that, and there should be more of them. They include Elvis Costello, Paul McCartney, Bob Dylan, Elton John, Ray Davies, Gordon Lightfoot, Emmylou Harris, Feist and Chris Martin of Coldplay. Presumably, as they were apparently in the audience on Saturday, one could add the excellent Nick Lowe (who has covered a Sexsmith song) and Haircut 100’s Nick Heyward.

Whenever I see Ron Sexsmith in concert, I’m reminded that he should also realise how special he is, because he just doesn’t. It’s endearing, but it’s also a bit tragic, particularly when one hears him say in the documentary Love Shines, about the production of his latest album, Long Player Late Bloomer, that he’d seriously been considering giving up singing/songwriting. More absurdities are revealed, like that despite having written an enormous repertoire of truly brilliant songs over 12 albums, he still does his laundry himself at a laundrette, and he couldn’t afford a piano even though he writes on one, so his wife was poignantly moved when someone gave him one for his birthday, thus helping the world, even those who don’t know it yet and still have to discover this buried treasure.

But I’m saying way too much now, considering this is just meant to be a set list, and I’ll write up a proper ‘review’, or a play-by-play account for my website (http://www.aboutlastnight.org.uk/) later. I thought I’d posted the set list when I got home after midnight on Sunday, but something seems to have gone wrong, just as I’d hoped to have written the fuller account by now. That will come, but I must now focus on the busy week at work, particularly as Friday is D-Day, but I’ll be smiling, thanks to Ron, as I do so.

Following the engaging theatre that is a Jim White set, full of amazing tales of Florida near-redneck living, Ron came on with a truly talented band of four musicians, and they played the following in a set that lasted about one hour and 40 minutes:-

1. Heart’s Desire

2. Get in Line

3. The Reason Why

4. Thinking Out Loud

5. Hard Bargain [He said they weren’t going to do this song until they heard that Emmylou Harris had recorded it—indeed named her album after it—and they figured she must know something]

6. Just My Heart Talkin’

7. Believe It When I See It [He apologised for his performance on Later….With Jools Holland this week, sadly his first BBC performance, as he’d been tired and said he did the worst ever version of it….and wish him luck tonight as there were lots of high notes]

8. Wastin’ Time

9. Slow Learner

10. Brandy Alexander [written with (Leslie) Feist about his favourite cocktail]

11. Gold in Them Hills [Ron on the piano, after sheepishly suggesting he barely dared play piano in front of the skilled pianist, Dave Matheson, and claiming the Barbican’s grand piano would help him sound better than he was]

12. Nowadays [He joked that this and the next few songs were ‘far too complex for the rest of the band’ so they left just him and Dave to play them]

13. Tomorrow in Her Eyes [as I said, written for his sweetheart, possibly the most romantic song he’d ever written, now more so after he made an audience member’s night....]

14. Dandelion Wine [because someone had requested it before the show; Ron now on his own]
15. Speaking with the Angel [written for his then baby son, and Ron said the thing he disliked about the Love Shines documentary was the director implied that he and his son were not close, but they were and watched the premiere together]

16. Strawberry Blonde [the band re-joined him for this Ron classic]

17. No Help At All [after which he quipped that rehearsal is overrated]

18. Eye Candy [written after hearing girls in a bar talk about picking up men—‘not me, of course’]

19. Secret Heart

20. All In Good Time

21. Love Shines

Encore

22. Galbraith Street [about the street where he grew up, performed on his own]

23. Not About to Lose [band re-joined him here]

24. Every Time I Follow [some people will have missed this as it was 11pm and many of us were scared of missing our last trains…though I stayed, happily.]

It may well be that when I go to write my ‘real’ review, I’ll find when looking at my illegible scribble that I’ve reported something wrong or left out a song, but I believe the above is correct. It was an outstanding show, Ron was in really good voice, and his band was superb. Thank you Ron and Nurofen for the evening, which I will remember long after I endure bankruptcy, and will be happily humming Ron Sexsmith songs in my future cardboard box home on the street!

The Outstanding Elizabeth Taylor Dean

I wasn’t remotely interested in the Royal Wedding, and even less so because of all the ridiculous hype in the media beforehand, telling us how fascinated we were about who might have designed the dress and whether there had been a rehearsal. But I watched the event, and I watched it wearing jeans with my Grandmother’s pearls. I think she would have loved to have seen it, but tragically she died suddenly a few weeks earlier. I flew home to the States for her funeral—well, it was a Celebration of Her Life—and everyone kept asking me what I thought about The Wedding. America was much more thrilled about it than those of us who had to pay for it.

I remember that I was staying with my Grandmother in 1981 when she convinced me, then an apathetic teenager, that I should get up at five in the morning on my summer holidays to watch a television broadcast of a wedding of English people I didn’t know. She infused enthusiasm about its potential magic, saying seeing the heir to the British throne marry was a once-in-a-lifetime event, which in the end it wasn’t, particularly if you include his second wedding. But those words do pain me now, as I’m all too aware that what I see as her premature death meant that she missed this second-in-a-lifetime event on this scale, and I would have loved to have discussed it with her, as she would have enjoyed it—just as I had surprisingly ended up enjoying the Charles and Diana wedding, as she predicted. So I wore her necklace so that she could be with me as I watched this time, but of course it wasn’t as fun as if she had been delightfully, tangibly present.

I spoke a fortnight ago at the Celebration of Her Life, which was held at the Brandywine River Museum in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania, where she volunteered and was involved in many ways for much of her adult life. It was comforting to be holding it there, and kind of the Museum to let us do so. I wish that I had taken advantage of the chance to wander through the galleries of Wyeth paintings, which I had grown up around, even though they’ll never be the same without my Grandmother beside me enlightening me about each one. But I was too worried about the fact that I would be the second person to speak yet had not once read through what I’d just finished writing moments before we left for the service, and that it was trapped on my iPad and I was terrified of the technology going wrong as I read it from said gadget. (In the end, the only struggle was having to read it in small single-spaced font as there seemed no way to adjust that—oh, and the whole thing disappearing completely for a moment while I was speaking, but happily it returned).

The evening went beautifully, and there was an amazing turn out despite the terrific storms that night, which locally brought down huge trees that blocked bridges and which caused terrible damage further south. Particularly considering that many of the guests would have been what I once might have described as elderly—that’s a confusing term given my grandmother’s youthfulness up ‘til her death at 93—it was heart-warming.

I thought I’d reprint what I said here, perhaps foolishly as I keep my (neglected) blog private from those I know or see, who are the only people who have asked to read what I said, and I like to remain anonymous here but will use my Grandmother’s real name. Do bear in mind that I had to write it in a truly mad rush and was under pressure to cut out a lot of things I wish I’d included, as it was initially suggested no one should speak for more than three minutes, and I knew it would end up long. (Just as this has!) But I decided that it was my only time to pay tribute in that way to my Grandmother, and I was going to just do it, and I’m glad I did. I just wish I’d had time to read it over even once or preferably polish it, and hadn’t discarded some important thoughts in my haste.

My grandmother was absolutely amazing, quite a beautiful and lively character, and would do anything to bring fun into each day. I’m particularly gutted as I truly thought she’d be around at least another 10 years and rather hoped to see her soon, as if my expected redundancy is confirmed (possibly on 6 May), my first planned course of action was to take up her ongoing offer to fly me to see her, as I’d finally then have the time. I didn’t make it in time. You’ve no idea how horrific it was to fly there anyway, have the usual initial automatic feelings of joy fill me as the plane landed in Philadelphia, then travel to her house to stay there, but without her, and always to be without her. I still haven’t entirely faced up to this dreadful loss; I unhealthily look away instead.

I mustn't be morbid. She was an empress in my world and will never fully be out of it; she was too strong a presence. I will always adore her. I wish I’d said more at the service but I’m pleased I said something. I’m also glad I praised the marvellous Jamie Wyeth painting Portrait of a Pig (and wasn’t insulting his father Andrew Wyeth’s paintings of Helga; I was simply embarrassed as a child to see full frontal nudity), as the marvellous artist Jamie Wyeth himself very kindly attended the ceremony, which means a lot. Also, as the wonderful Museum allowed us to put up several of her paintings in the foyer by the gift shop for the service, she has finally been exhibited in her favourite museum! I strongly recommend that anyone in the Pennsylvania/Delaware area visits the Brandywine River Museum and its beautiful grounds by the river, and donate what you can to keep it going…..it’s on my list of future beneficiaries once I win the lottery (which really needs to happen soon!).

As my Grandmother did not want her obituary to include a photograph, perhaps because like all of us, she did not see herself as the craggy face with pale hair that we all become, I’ve simply--for now--included here a photo of her from her first wedding in 1938 (tragically, she was widowed a few years later when my Grandfather was killed in a submarine in World War II).

But it isn’t really who I think of when I see Libby Dean, because it’s monochrome. My grandmother was always in full, blazing colour. Nothing garish, always pleasant. She was teals and turquoise, with bright pink lipstick and perfectly matching accessories. When I saw her, I saw beauty, not age. We tend to look at elderly people and just see the ‘old’, not the individual. She never failed to be an individual, and perhaps that, and the bright colourful character that matched the bright, colourful outfits, is what left me in shock that she could die, and so suddenly.

It somehow had not really occurred to me that that was on the cards, even though I lost my much younger father totally unexpectedly a few years ago. I thought they both were invincible. And it was my Grandmother who so understood my close bond with—and consequential true devastation at the loss of—my father, and kept getting in touch to see how I was coping as she knew it was particularly hard for me. She did much the same when I lost my precious cat and buddy of 20 years; she understood how much he had meant to me, as she had also had close furry companions throughout her life. Hence her dread that she was going to lose her aging, beloved spaniel Zack, who was in ill health. We were relieved that she did not have to face that, but a sad note is that right after Zack attended our gathering to spread her ashes on a delightfully sunny day, he weakened and did not pull through, bless him. Maybe they were holding on for each other and are together again now.

I suppose my words will mean little to those of you who didn’t have the joy of knowing this marvellous creature, my Grandmother, and I’ve gone on so long, I doubt anyone is still reading. But I guess this is cathartic. Here’s what I said at the Celebration of her Life on 16 April:-

………………………………………………………………………

The other week, the actress Elizabeth Taylor died. Now, devastatingly, another Elizabeth Taylor has died, my Grandmother, Elizabeth Taylor Dean. They were both icons, but my grandmother was the Original; she never failed to point out that she was Elizabeth Taylor first, and I think she might get some satisfaction from being Elizabeth Taylor last as well. Whilst Grandmommy was the fair age of 93, I was convinced she would live to be 100, so her death is more of a shock than you would expect. I'd hoped to visit again shortly, and it's been difficult to travel here and find myself gripped with the usual excitement I get coming to this area in anticipation of spending time with this extraordinary character, as she was a joy to be around, and a marvellous companion who found pleasure in little things, and livened up anything dull with a cute way of describing it, always learning, always laughing. She would find fun for us, and every excursion was a joy. It seems inconceivable that she is gone, but her character still permeates so many of these places, particularly here at the Museum.

I've been astonished by the number of terrific thoughts of her that have burst into my head over the past few days, and I hope you'll forgive me if I meander through some of these memories now....

Libby Dean was a pioneer of several trends that have now become quite common place, such as recycling, bedazzling, and pimping one's ride. If you perhaps wouldn't naturally associate such things with my Grandmother, I'll elaborate.

First, I can tell by looking around the room that many of you watched the MTV programme 'Pimp My Ride', a sort of 'extreme makeover - car edition', where someone's car is customised with unlikely luxuries like a bowling ball spinner or a gold jacuzzi. Libby Dean started a similar practice long ago, as she wouldn't take delivery of a new car without first having custom stripes--very tastefully--painted down the sides of the car, complete with her initials. Yes, a monogrammed car. And rather than a common Coke can holder by the driver's seat, she had a place for a crystal tumbler, as she would never drive to dinner without a glass of vodka by her side. Well, it was the cocktail hour, after all. And amazingly, she was never done for drink driving; it was eating a taco that proved to be her undoing in an accident, but that's another story. Certainly, her driving did tend to leave her passengers terrified for their lives, but that was more down to the fact that she seemed to think that you were meant to centre the car over the line that divided the lanes. Fortunately, she had an angel on her shoulder; that's the only explanation for the safety of her passengers over the years, and the fact that she came out of two car accidents very late in life without serious injury. I like to think that she'll now be someone else's guardian angel, which would perfectly suit her giving nature.

Next, I mentioned 'bedazzling', or even starting the 'extreme makeover--home edition' trend. None of us could have an ordinary lunchbox, coaster, glasses case or even kitchen cupboard handle--such things were too plain for her world. Grandmommy would affix appliqués or paint them until they were unique, adding a special, magical Libby touch. You've seen the impressive quality of her paintings; imagine that on your sweatshirt. With my debutante ball and wedding approaching, I passed to her my insignificant, dull white shoes, and they came back to me covered lavishly in pearls, sequins and lace, something that Cinderella's fairy godmother would envy. If she had worked for a designer, she would have made a fortune, but she was just interested in making the world a prettier place, and she certainly had a flair for it. She was also very practical and could fix anything, so when my deb dress was ripped moments before the ball started, and when my bridesmaid dress was too large and in danger of falling off, she whipped out a needle and thread and made everything better in minutes.

Finally, long before it was trendy to be 'green' she was a champion recycler. At every Christmas, she'd stand over us saying, 'That's lovely paper--save that!' so we'd unwrap the gift delicately and hand her the wrap, and indeed the next year, our presents were wrapped in very lovely, but very wrinkled, gift wrap.

But her recycling didn't end there. Rather than tuck away any unwanted gifts, she would attempt to find them a loving home elsewhere, sort of like an SPCA rehoming/rescue centre for gifts. Though she could really have done with a database, as one year the gift she sent me was one I had sent her a year before. But I'm all for recycling, and it's the thought that counts, and she was always thoughtful.

She was also stylish, beautifully presented in bright colours, and a sight to behold. I remember one of her old friends telling me years ago that even if she were wearing a fuchsia outfit, she would even ensure that her contact lenses matched.

Another memorable trait was my grandmother's patience and tolerance, whether it was offering encouraging words when I presented her with toads that I had rescued from her swimming pool, or coping quietly when my brother and I confused the strict instructions about avoiding her expensive, unripe crop of green beans, rather than picking every one of them. She was great at allowing me to explore her old barn and enjoy the ancient books and Barbie dolls I found there, and didn't bat an eyelid when I gave the life-sized doll Harriet, who stayed at her house, a haircut that looked like she'd been hit by some nuclear catastrophe and made her prime fodder for a horror film. She just bought Harriet a wig, and I always wondered if she'd taken Harriet to the store with her to get the proper fit.

Years later, I tried that remarkable patience considerably, when she arranged for the grandson of some friends to take me to the Bachelor's Ball at the Hotel DuPont. But only after he took me first to his parents' house for cocktails, before getting to the Ball and having champagne, then starting on other drinks with no sign of food, did I realise that it was probably not such a good idea to have starved myself for two days beforehand. The next thing I knew, the ladies' room at the Hotel DuPont had to be evacuated of all the women so that the perfectly nice, respectable date that my grandmother had arranged could come into the ladies' room and pick me up off the floor, then presumably sling me over his shoulder--I have no memory of this--before carrying me out through the ballroom past many guests who my Grandmother would have known, through the Hotel DuPont before getting me home, where I promptly 'fell asleep' on the floor. When I woke, rather worse for wear, I was terrified about what my grandmother would say. In the end, she just gave me a slight roll of the eye, a single quick shake of the head, and then she took me to the theatre.

In doing so, she stood by my side as I faced up to my shame, since the performance was the same weekend and also at the Hotel DuPont. She was largely responsible for my adoration of the theatre. I've seen many outstanding legends performing on stage in London, but what I always look back at with the most pride are two productions my grandmother took me to see: Carol Channing in Hello, Dolly! and Yul Brynner in The King and I. Not the original stagings, I hasten to add, but fun ones by her side.

She achieved some fame in her own right, and I know she was proud that her creation with Anne Scarlett of the 'critters, angels and stars’, which adorned the Christmas trees at the museum here for years, also appeared on the covers of Time and Newsweek, when she and other volunteers decorated the Reagans' Christmas tree in the White House, about which she was also interviewed on CBS morning television by Maria Shriver, now Mrs Schwarzenegger, which we watched with pride. She had a critter factory in her old home, a workshop filled year-round with drying teasels and cake tins full of silica gel. The reckless drives with her often involved stopping suddenly on the highway and pulling over because she'd seen just the right bit of Queen Anne's Lace, and she'd cut it and put it in a the tin of silica gel she kept in the trunk. During our many trips to Longwood Gardens, if I pointed out some pretty Celosia, she'd mumble that it would make an excellent Santa hat. I'm pleased that that legacy lives on, in the many Christmas decorations I'll hang on my tree each year, and in the book, Critters Angels and Stars, which I believe the Museum still sells.

It's hard to be at the Museum without her; our time here was such a huge part of my childhood. I always felt, when she brought me through the employees' entrance and was greeted by everyone we passed, that we were coming through some secret VIP entrance. She knew that I loved Jamie Wyeth's Pig and was embarrassed by Helga's nudity, but always shared her enormous knowledge with such thorough and fascinating background that it rooted my lifelong love of art. Last time I was here, we toured the NC Wyeth studio and house, and she taught the guide a few things, particularly as she had studied under Carolyn Wyeth. I also witnessed her discreetly teaching a guide at Winterthur some things he'd got wrong. That was the time she climbed into a giant bird's nest there so I could photograph her, the same way a grandparent would indulge a toddler. Not long after that, I tested her astonishing patience by keeping her waiting for an age at the Winterthur gift shop, with her uttering no complaints as I made her stop the car repeatedly when we finally left with claims that I was excited to see Canada Geese, or a pretty tree, and must take a closer look. Although she was quite a force to be reckoned with, her love for her grandchildren must be what kept her from hitting me. Little did she know that I had been instructed to keep her out of the house while my mother and aunt planned a surprise birthday party, and I really hope she forgave me.

She certainly thanked me for my gift, and her voice still chides me in my mind every time I procrastinate sending what she taught us was a crucially important thank you note. There's an old copy of Emily Post's book of Etiquette in her house, and I half expected there to be an inscription from the author thanking my Grandmother for ghost-writing it for her. She certainly was an expert on the right thing to do and always kept her family in line.

Indeed, she was absolutely the matriarch, and now our family feels a bit like it's floundering around aimlessly without its centre, its foundation crumbled. I've no idea how we'll manage, but I expect we'll apply the strength we inherited from her and learn to stand strong and weather this and any other storm that comes our way.

We have to look for small mercies here, to take some comfort for ourselves. I'm grateful that she was with a friend when she collapsed, as she always appreciated her many dear friends. I am glad that she achieved so many things she wanted, even making it to the Chelsea Flower Show in London some years ago; producing some gorgeous art; and was surrounded by brilliant friends and family, including always at least one furry friend by her side who meant the world to her. We can take comfort from the fact that her fears of losing her beloved companion Zack, the King Charles Cavalier spaniel, did not materialise. And I am just thankful that we were so blessed as to be touched by such an amazing life, and I am so proud to be part of this family that was built on her strong foundation. I take comfort in the fact that, although we are devastated by the void she has left, she is perhaps now in a better place, brightening up Heaven in the same way that everyone here brightened when they first had the joy of meeting this extraordinary woman. Her new peaceful community that I like to imagine welcoming her includes her beloved son Terry, many precious friends including several Golden Retrievers, and not one but two husbands. I'm not really sure how that works in Heaven, but if anyone could pull it off without acrimony, it's her.

So we are left here with this enormous void, and it seems that a great deal of warmth has just leaked from the universe, and I am frozen, and numb. But her tremendous presence is very much here and will always be felt, and part of her soul is hanging beside the impressive paintings in this museum, in the flowers in the fields--particularly Queen's Anne's Lace and even prickly teasels, which rather match her as she pulled off faux grumpy quite well. Such a robust, feisty, special charming character doesn't simply ebb away. I'm sure you'll find something in your life that will make you think of Libby--perhaps it's a fond memory, a flower, a scent on the breeze--her spirit somehow flitting past you. Smile when that happens; it's what she would want. I've no doubt we'll all somehow benefit from the presence of the redoubtable Libby Dean for many years to come.

Electric Gig by Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark

I had the absolute joy of experiencing an Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark concert on Sunday (7 November 2010) at the Hammersmith Apollo in London, something the 16-year-old me would have killed for in 1982 in the States when MTV first brought these amazing ‘new’ artists to my attention. I struggled to the concert on a Sunday (ie The Day of Sleeping Transport) excited but feeling that I should not announce with pride who I was going to see lest I be set upon by a set of youths, as somehow some people think OMD is no longer fashionable.

Frankly, they’re wrong. Look at the charts and playlists today and you’ll see that they’re full of acts influenced by, if not practically imitating, the sound of OMD. To paraphrase what Andy McCluskey and Paul Humphreys said in an interview, if everyone else was going to be imitating the OMD sound, then OMD might as well be making that sound, too. This was not just one of the many reformed 80s bands (not that I’m complaining) out on a greatest hits tour, either. OMD have a new album out, and it has been received well by critics as well as fans, with most saying it sounds just like the OMD of yore but fresh. Which surely, in the circumstances, is exactly what you want.

I have that album but, like the other dozens I have bought over the past few months, have not had time to sit and listen to it, so I raced through samples of it quickly before running for the train/replacement bus service to make the concert. And it does contain some wonderful OMD material. In fact, the first single, History of Modern Part I, is delightfully catchy synth pop with a wonderfully memorable keyboards riff. The next single, Sister Mary Says, was spoiled for me on first listen by the new video, as it reminded me too much of the stress of the everyday English news (bring back Joan of Arc riding Clydesdales into the winter night after playing chess with OMD in a beautifully warm cottage, I say), but without that is another good pop tune, which some feel nods towards their early hit Enola Gay.

These new songs were greeted with just as much relish by the Hammersmith Apollo crowd as some of the slightly lesser known old tunes at the concert on Sunday, which caused amazing bassist Andy McCluskey to remark upon it, saying to Paul that something worrying was happening in that it was a London crowd and they even liked the new tunes, so it was safe for Paul to come out and sing his first song of the night, (Forever) Live and Die. Indeed, the generally more blasé and harder to please stiff London crowd rose to its feet the second the four early members of OMD took to the stage, and they remained there until after the encore, roaring and cheering, clapping to the beat without much encouragement, and adoring the people on stage.

I’ve never seen Andy McCluskey in person before so I don’t know how he tends to walk down the street, but no doubt it was this madly adoring mob before him that turned him into the astonishingly energetic, incessantly bouncing Tigger of a bassist that he was, bursting with a beam of glowing snow white teeth that joined his white shirt to portray some surely deceptively angelic vision before us. My friend and I, at 44, were constantly commenting on where a man of 51 could possibly find that much energy, but it was breathtakingly joyful. He raced about the stage, sometimes playing bass, sometimes waving his empty arms about histrionically, always interacting closely with the audience, and regularly shaking hands or whacking the many extended ‘high fives’ that were desperate for his attention. Obviously a heartthrob, he had to call the roadies out to clear away the lingerie that fans had flung onto the stage so that he could dance safely, after Humphreys suggested that we must be hinting that they should open a lingerie shop, assuming and hoping that the donated underwear was new and unused.

McCluskey joked about forgetting loads of lyrics during the performance, which didn’t show, and thanked us for sticking with the band despite loads of technical problems in the first part, which weren’t remotely noticeable other than his mention that he could not hear his voice through his earpiece, which just makes it more remarkable that that beautifully familiar, painfully emotional voice could emerge so perfectly. The light show was fine, the films behind them were enjoyable literal depictions of the songs (such as clips of silent film star Louise Brooks during Pandora’s Box, images of Vietnam during Bunker Soldiers and World War II planes for Enola Gay, thankfully instead of showing the result of their handicraft).

The show kicked off with an impressively high-tech feel intro with two Blade Runner-like hologram heads appearing above us and singing to the great techno music being played as the band snuck onto the dark stage below. There were some additional recorded sound snippets played into some songs, which I normally would frown upon as I believe that live should mean live, but they consisted simply of such things as the ‘No, no, no!’ from the beginning of Tesla Girls, which is effectively part of the percussive beat, and when you’re dealing with synths, it’s okay to play these things as notes on the keyboard. Similarly, it was okay to leave the synth switched on and playing for us even after the band had left the stage before the encore. The real vocals were always fresh and outstandingly impressive, notably so on the chorus of (Forever) Live and Die, on which Humphreys sang the lead vocals while bassist McCluskey took the controls of his synth, but joined in on harmonies in the chorus to show that the two former teen friends’ voices blended mellifluously. I mention that example as I had assumed it required quite a bit of electronic treatment to accomplish the sound on the record, but no, their singing just really sounds that great.

Throughout the show, Paul Humphreys presented the calm, friendly figure one would expect, but oddly the pair rarely acknowledged behind them the presence of still life artist and multi-instrumentalist Martin Simpson, who usually sat concentrating on his keyboards but occasionally blasted a sax, and drummer Malcolm Holmes, whose hairy appearance would look more at home with a Free revival than this oft stylish band that came out with cropped hair and ties. I confess that, in the early days, I thought the band comprised just Humphreys and McCluskey on synth, which means I must have assumed the synth was sufficiently magical to produce such realistic bass, sax and drum sounds. It was marvellous to have the full band before us.

But this was just meant to be a quick note before presenting the set list to those of you who are interested in such things; instead, I’ve accidentally added a bit of my usual stream of consciousness mental meandering. A full review of the concert, or my play-by-play account of everything that happened, will shortly appear on my website http://www.aboutlastnight.org.uk/ . I’ll include more photographs there, although I have few since we were back in Row U, the lights were often dark, I never used a flash, and Andy in particular was, like some wildlife, too wriggly for me to capture without a flash and tripod, particularly through the constantly up-stretched, waving arms of the oddly dancing girl in front of me.

I believe the clearly crowd-pleasing set was as set out below, but as I decipher my scribble when writing up the full review on my website, I may well discover something I’ve missed…..

Setlist – Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark at the Hammersmith Apollo on 7 November 2010

1. New Babies/New Toys
2. Messages
3. Tesla Girls
4. Bunker Soldiers
5. History of Modern Part I
6. (Forever) Live and Die
7. She’s Leaving
8. Souvenir
9. Joan of Arc
10. (Joan of Arc) Maid of Orleans
11. New Holy Ground
12. Green
13. Talking Loud and Clear
14. So in Love
15. Locomotion
16. Sister Mary Says
17. Pandora’s Box
18. Sailing on the Seven Seas
19. Enola Gay
Encore
20. Walking on the Milky Way
21. Electricity

I could only have been more thrilled by the energetic experience if they’d played two other songs I adore: Telegraph and Was It Something I Said? (I particularly love McCluskey’s hurt, embittered growl on the line in the latter ‘Don’t you even have me on your mind!). But their omission genuinely did not affect the show being the most ecstatic and electric experience I’d enjoyed for ages, and I have strong, and I hope realistic, hopes that there will be a next time.

Neil Finn at the Jazz Cafe - Setlist (24 October 2010)

I intend to write a full review of tonight's Neil Finn concert at the Jazz Cafe and post it to my About Last Night website, but for now, I thought I would post here the email to other Finn fans that I composed on my phone on the way home. I'll clarify and/or correct anything in the morning!
......................

Well, as I missed my train by two minutes as I was foolishly yet understandably too weak to leave the Jazz Cafe while Neil Finn was singing Don't Dream It's Over, I might as well post the set list as I sit in this darkened station until midnight when I might execute a Plan B (or Z) for getting home. Add to that general worry the painful knowledge that I might as well have stayed in the Camden club rather than rush out and possibly miss another song. If he sang more, please tell me in a really convincing way that it was awful. [I understand now I missed nothing else.]

Off the top of my head:-

-Highlights: Neil joined on stage first by son & birthday boy (21!) Elroy, then Johnny Marr. And of course Neil's singing and rapport with the audience. And he was thankfully 'tache-less.

--Low points: standing for over three hours before Neil even appeared, as the same 10 photos of Q award nominees flashed on the screens in front of us over and over and over to insipid music, which makes me never want to see Q magazine again. Though we must perhaps appreciate them as Neil did say that he was in London was not just to celebrate Elroy's birthday and to play this (Q-organised) gig, but to attend the Q awards tomorrow, where apparently he's up for an award, or a catalogue of his and/or his brother's work is, though Tim wasn't with him.....we shall see.

The songs Neil played:-

1. Only Talking Sense (Neil on electric guitar for the next few songs)

2. I Got You (fantastic, but then everything was)

3. Driving Me Mad

4. Private Universe, (which then morphed into:-)

5. Black & White Boy (with some high-pitched Revolution-style screaming at one point)

6. Faster Than Light (on grand piano now)

7. Tired Eyes (That's a total guess at the title; Neil said it was one of the first songs he wrote, aged 15, after getting high & seriously drunk for the first time and listening to Vaughan Williams on a theme of Thomas Tallis; I could hear the influence of the former, not the latter. It was lovely, contemplative). This followed a chat about how he'd always thought brother Tim was awesome and had encouraged young Neil, though Tim recently revealed in an interview it had been a psychological scheme to dominate him

8. Message to My Girl (to constant sound of loud glass clinking etc from the bar, which prompted Neil, when he finished, to ask the staff if they needed a hand with the glasses as they were making a meal of it, so they quietened a bit at last)

9. Into the Sunset (marvellous)

10. Wherever You Are

11.Last Day of June (requested by audience members then and earlier. How many stunning ballads have Finns brought into this world?!) During this song, a girl up front fainted and I thought many others would follow, but she got up shortly afterwards and I hope was okay. Neil was singing with his eyes closed at the far edge of the stage on the piano so wasn't aware.

12. Rocket Man (kinda. One possibly confused man shouted for it repeatedly, even after Neil pointed out later that he'd obliged with half the song, despite needing us to feed him the lyrics. Neil later said he played Elton John when he [Neil] was younger as he [Elton] did write some good tunes, and said Elton had sent loads of Dom Perignon to Crowded House's first LA gig after Don't Dream It's Over became a big hit). Later requests came for Bowie's Heroes, which Neil said might be an idea for a future gig, and Stairway To Heaven (which caught Neil out as he said 'Which one?' scrutinising his set list for that tune).

13. Try Whistling This (he was going to do something else I didn't catch--sounded like 'Call to My God!"--'til this was requested)

14. Gentle Hum (audience knew their part and hummed the chorus beautifully)

15. Silent House (son Elroy on acoustic guitar and harmonies, Neil back on electric guitar--after we sang happy birthday to Elroy, and Neil said he had hours of home movies of Elroy as a babe that he could show us. Neil also said he and wife Sharon used to turn his baby monitor on & off quickly to make a tune from Elroy's screaming, which he might release one day...I'll skip the talk of 'seeding Lady Gaga').

16.Anytime (still with Elroy)

17. Sinner (after which Elroy left to be replaced by Johnny Marr!)

18. Distant Sun (Neil on small acoustic guitar, Johnny on electric with the---chorus?--accidentally switched on the guitar so he later joked they should do it again. The audience was shouting along with this as though it was the biggest hit ever)

19. There Is A Light That Never Goes Out (only Neil singing--apart from audience. Grand!)

20. She Will Have Her Way

Johnny Marr left after both launched some extreme (deserved) praise about each other's genius.

Neil then pointed out the tricky logistics in leaving before an encore at the Jazz Cafe (stairs, platforms, long walks still visible to the audience...) so just stayed. He said he'd considered lying down instead.

21.Something So Strong (with a slightly different arrangement and slow, sweet, thoughtful tempo and delivery to the chorus [like part of Last Day in June], which he said was this song's original form, though he indulged the audience at the end with the chorus they love to shout along to)

22. Fall at Your Feet

23. One Step Ahead (bliss!)

24.Don't Dream It's Over ('that Susan Boyle song' someone kidded when requesting it')

....& then sadly some of us fled as it was past 11pm on a Sunday night, and public transport is usually off to bed about then. I'll elaborate on the above and correct things once I decipher my scribbled notes on my list, and will put the review and some more awful photos on my website shortly. But that's the set at least, and everything was outstanding (it just would have been boring if I wrote that after every song) and the audience was great (and patient!)

Many thanks to Patrick for the ticket; they were hard to get.

Travelling Town Crier

Sometimes, when Spring comes around, I feel a bit self-conscious and exposed once I’ve shed my winter coat. It seems to take a bit of adjustment in travelling to and from work, including the long walk to the station, the train journey into town, and then the walk to the office, in whatever outfit I’m wearing without the comfort of the cover of my coat.

And I don’t wear particularly remarkable outfits. They’re probably quite business-like and dull. It’s just a feeling I get.

But what if your daily work outfit was rather extraordinary, the type of thing that turns heads, and there was nowhere for you to change, so you just had to travel in that get-up? What if, for instance, you were the Town Crier? Perfectly respectable, certainly delightful in the right situation, but you might seem like a bit of a surprise in, say, a rail station.

That was the sight that startled me the other day at London Bridge Station as I tried to take the steps from the Charing Cross train platform to the Cannon Street platform in a single bound. At the top of one flight of stairs, I was dazzled by the unexpected site of a man standing there in an awful lot of bright red and gold, white stockings, pilgrim shoes and a big white feathery hat. The only thing he was missing was his bell, and he wasn’t calling out ‘Oyez, oyez!’ He was standing there silently, scrutinising the screens, waiting for information on his train to wherever needed a Town Crier that day.

I raced to catch my connection, it pulled away as I got there, and I just couldn’t resist going back up the stairs and getting out my camera (albeit the poor quality one that lives in my handbag). I didn’t want to be intrusive, plus I had to listen out for the next train, so I took a quick poor quality long-distance shot of him. But what I love is how, because we’re Londoners, no one else is batting an eyelid as he stands there amongst the other passengers. I love London for that bland acceptance of just about anything, and for the unexpected sights one meets every day. O yes, O yes.

I Saw the Pope (But I Didn't Touch Him)

During the Pope’s recent brief visit to London, I managed to see him. I didn’t touch him or anything, and it certainly wasn’t an audience with him or an encounter where he greeted me with glee. I just watched as his fantastic popemobile passed by. Was it a moving experience? Not really. Not at all. It was kinda neat though.

I am not Catholic, and whilst I respect the comfort that their faith gives my Catholic friends, I have strong problems with many of the Pope’s preachings about, for instance, homosexuals, women, the use of condoms to prevent disease, the treatment of innocent girls who have been raped and don’t want their rapist’s child…and of course I am disillusioned by the past cover-ups of the abuse of children by priests who were then just moved to a new place of trust where they could abuse again. That sort of thing. So this wasn’t going to be a spiritual quest for me.

Nor any sort of quest. Basically, I stumbled upon his path. I had been in town for the Open House weekend, and at about 5.30pm was wearily headed for my train home from Charing Cross station, but decided to walk via Trafalgar Square in case anything interesting was going on. Indeed there was, in the shape of a sort of robotic-armed squid, or a metal Venus Flytrap that occasionally sprang to life, an installation called OUTRACE, designed by Clemens Weisshaar and Reed Kram for the London Design Festival from 16 to 24 September (this was 18 September). Apparently, OUTRACE ‘empowers the general public to take control of eight industrial robots on loan from Audi's production line’. Visitors and people on the web could book a slot to interact with the installation via the website, and somehow the vacuum-attachment-looking light-heads attached to the synchronised mechanical tentacles allowed users to create a light trace in the air of messages they wrote. A bit baffling, a lot slick.

Standing so near Admiralty Arch, it occurred to me that the Mall, just on the other side, might be decorated for the Pope’s visit, as I believed he’d travelled down it earlier. I popped through to have a look and found the Mall bedecked with alternating flags--union jacks and the yellow and white ones of the Vatican City, all with miniature jewelled crowns on the tops of the flagpoles. The enormous number of people lining the Mall down to Buckingham Palace behind policed barriers made me realise that the Pope had not yet passed by, and my smartphone revealed that he was due at 6pm on his way to his Hyde Park Vigil. I took a few photos and found myself on a bit of grass on a small slope by the National Police Memorial by Horse Guards Road and realised that, without any jostling or struggling with the crowd (I have leanings towards enochlophobia) lining the barriers, I had a relatively good look-out position, and surely even impatient I could wait for 15 minutes.

The atmosphere was initially peaceful and somehow warm (in the ‘and fuzzy’ sense). There was a young family across the road cheerfully waving Vatican City flags even though there was no sign of the Pope. There were loads of foreign tourists from all sorts of backgrounds who seemed, like me, to have just wandered onto a potential spectacle. Others were middle-aged intellectual types or cyclists who seemed to have stopped to soak in the view. It was a glorious sunny day (I wouldn’t have braved it in the pouring rain) and everyone seemed happy, patient and a bit excited. A murmur of cheerful conversation filled the air, even from those who were on their own as they were chatting on their phones, telling people they were waiting to see the pope. Everything was delightfully pleasant and comfortable until the couple who’d been lying sprawled over each other on the grass behind me decided to force on everyone around them their hideous booming ‘music’ that seemed to be of the Hip Hop Bangra ilk, which I gather wasn’t to anyone else’s taste given the many hateful looks they were given, which I think added to their own pleasure. I sound like an old fogey, but with so many great headphones these days, and given that no one could easily walk away as they were waiting for something specific in limited space, I have little patience for forcing one’s noise on unwilling others. It turned the previously soft yellow-filter type atmosphere rather crusty and unpleasantly surreal.

We suffered that for quite a while. I kept my eyes on a vertigo-inducing high platform nearby that held a television camera and crew, noting that the cameraman, who would surely get a cue when the Pope was on his way, was relaxing in a chair some feet away from the camera.

The Pope was due at 6pm, and 6pm came and went. As did 6.10pm, 6.20pm…..I thought as I had just been passing, I wouldn’t wait much longer, but it became like waiting for a bus, where you fear that as soon as soon as you walk away, it was bound to come. So I continued to wait, struggling with the dreadful ‘music’, watching time tick past slowly on the clock tower housing Big Ben that I could see in the distance. I eventually said some things in my head that I’m not proud of like ‘Damn you, Pope, get on with it!’ for which I shall probably be struck by lightning.

Eventually, the police helicopters that had plagued London with their constant Pope-protecting din all day appeared overhead, which was a sign. I checked the towering telly platform, and the cameraman was leaning over his camera. Four police outriders drove past (the Pope’s no David Cameron, wisely) followed by—not the Pope—but a racing Jag then Range Rover. After that burst of excitement, we all had our cameras ready, and….nothing. More shameful grumbling in my head. Still nothing.

It seemed that another hour passed, but I suppose I was just frustrated that my initial plan to devote a casual 10 minutes to glance over this Papal parade had become an hour of my time, standing doing nothing, clutching heavy bags. Worse, people were now encroaching on my space. I got that frustrated feeling I get when I’ve queued for aeons at Marks & Spencer’s only for them to open a new till at last, enabling people who just walked up to be served before I could get there. Silly, but real. I felt the need to protect even an inch of my vastly diminishing potential view. I’d visited Princi’s on Wardour Street on my way there and loaded up with cannolis, cannoncinis and some pumpkin and feta salad, which had cost a rather startling amount, but I decided to risk sacrificing that fine food by placing my bag by my feet to prevent someone standing directly in front of me and blocking the view I’d been protecting for a while now. Happily, no one kicked my pastries away, and I later enjoyed pigging out on my goodies.

Finally, finally, finally, I could see down the road past the Horseguards Parade that a motorcade was heading our way. I’d imagined it would race past us and just be a papal blur, but it had clearly been acknowledged that it meant a lot to people just to see the Pope, so it crawled along, making sure that many could. Another Range Rover type of vehicle moved in front of the papamobile, and on its roof was what looked like two giant eye-like round webcams facing opposite directions, presumably enabling security to spot any potential assassins in the crowd. Several men in identical navy suits and ties, who looked more like church ushers than security, walked alongside the Pope’s vehicle.

The Popemobile was remarkable. It was a modified white M-class Mercedes sport utility vehicle, licence plate SCV1 (standing for both the Italian and Latin names for the Vatican City State, eg Status Civitatis Vaticanae), which might have been like an American pick-up truck with a camper shell, but instead there was a tall, clear rectangular bubble rising over its rear area. Sensible, as Pope John Paul II was shot four times in 1981 by a sniper when he was paraded around St Peter’s Square, exposed in an open-top car. Amazingly, he survived (guess he was blessed!), but people learned a lesson. Now the Pope was safely encased in a bullet-proof bubble, his throne a plain, plastic-looking white chair (which apparently rises into the glass ‘room’ by hydraulic lift after the Pope climbs aboard). It struck me as something like a Barbie’s Dreamboat vehicle, with a Barbie doll propped up inside on display.

Two ‘papal aide’ men were seated in the bubble, facing the Pope (I couldn’t have that job or I would be vomiting all over the pontiff, riding backwards like that, and I expect one would be shot for that or at least banished to hell), and he gave the impression of being a sweet little old man, waving cheerfully to both sides of the road, almost glowing in his white gear.

Naturally, as he came near, all the men up front who were over six feet tall suddenly lifted their children on their heads, becoming 10-foot tall obstacles, and everyone naturally held up their phones and cameras directly where I supposed the pope would be, and others wandered behind the row of people trying to get photographs, all of them blocking my way and my plan to get pictures myself. Ah, so standing on the slight hill rather than trying to fight my way towards the barriers was not as good an idea as it had initially seemed, but I did get to see the Pope as he slowly passed by. I just didn’t get a good photo, as you can see. The close-up ones are crops of distant photos and thus are low-definition blurs. But it’s enough to remember him by, in case I forget.

As the papal motorcade travelled down the Mall towards the Palace, it no doubt touched the lives of the many more people who were cramped against the barriers on that route, and my elevated cameraman carried on working as the rest of us started to disperse. Nearly everyone got on their phones again, saying in several different languages: ‘I’ve just seen the Pope!’
I warned before that this was never going to be spiritual for me. I did not feel touched or moved. But it indeed was kinda neat. This was the first visit to London by a Pope in 18 years, and I was there. I only needed a few minutes of it to make me smile. And despite my typical lack of patience, even the overlong wait standing amidst people full of the same anticipation on a lovely end-of-summer’s evening in London was in itself rather agreeable, apart from the cacophonous music that seemed a symbol of the rudeness and lack of respect of the yoof of today (but I know I am making too much of it). And hey, I stumbled upon two Barry Flannigan hares in front of the British Council building, which I never realised were there (I go to the Palace rarely these days!).

Later that night, I saw a few minutes of the televised mass being held in Hyde Park, which I wouldn’t have bothered to look at if I hadn’t seen the man in person a few hours before. In fact, I’d said to colleagues about how I would never ever have stood for the treatment of those people who had attended the mass in person and who, amongst other rules, were required to be in place several hours before the Pope was due to arrive—though at least they were allowed to sit, unlike the schoolchildren who were not allowed to do so as they’d waited hours for his visit that morning. (The Hyde Park vigil information said that Pilgrims must be prepared for a very long and onerous journey to the celebration and home again; well, we all must make sacrifices. And hey, an ‘outstanding range of official merchandise’ was on sale as consolation.) My main thought, watching him administer communion to the pilgrims, was wouldn’t you feel cheated if you went to take communion and ended up on the left side when the Pope was only doing the right side, so you had just some ordinary priest (or monsignor, but still). I guess that’s not very Christian of me. But I bet I wouldn’t be the only one thinking like that.

I was interested, the following day when I was passing through Hyde Park from Horseman’s Sunday at St John’s en route to Berkeley Square, to see how massive the papal mass area had been, which I had to manoeuvre around. What made me smile was the huge toilets sign, as even that had a little prayer of sorts beneath it. (Although I later learned that the ‘prayer’ was the theme of the Pope’s visit, the motto that Cardinal John Henry Newman, whom the Pope beatified during his visit, chose for his coat of arms). The giant sign in Hyde Park read: ‘TOILETS. Heart speaks unto heart.’

Amen.

South Africa Landscape in London's Bloomsbury

A while ago I went into town to photograph some of the elephant sculptures in the Elephant Parade, which was in aid of the conservation of Asian elephants, as I wanted to catch them in their ‘natural habitat’, ie the various places they’d been placed across London before they were lined up together as a giant herd on the lawn of the Royal Hospital Chelsea. I’ll post those photos later, but I made one diversion that day to an elephant-free zone that, oddly, was the one area where you might have more realistic expectations to see an elephant in that it was a South African landscape in London. (Mind you, these elephants were Asian and not African, so perhaps not.)

Kew Gardens annually transforms the forecourt of the British Museum in Bloomsbury into a different landscape, and this year they chose one depicting South Africa, given that at the time, the nation was looking forward hopefully (if not foolishly) to a successful, exciting world cup performance in that country.

Although it was raining and out of my way, I thought it would be an intriguing diversion, and I’m glad I stopped by. I was initially slightly disappointed as I anticipated towering rainforest trees and an elaborate landscape one could get lost in on the way to the museum’s steps, when instead there was a small section of the forecourt representing the semi-arid rugged desert-like terrain of South Africa.

My grand visions were an ambitious, if not ignorant, expectation, and there was still plenty to enjoy. There was a certain pleasure to be derived from seeing cacti (well, tree euphorbia) and quiver trees in front of 19th century Greek Revival architecture. Many of the smaller plants took a bit more inspection to realise they were something extraordinary, and not the usual daffodils or dandelions. The bird-of-paradise flower, African lily, restios, and aloe were a delight to behold.

I did come across an elephant after all. Not one of the large brightly painted sculptures that formed part of the official elephant parade, but—in addition to the elephant’s foot yam plant and elephant grass on display, there was a sample of African rock art with an elephant on it.

The South Africa landscape will be in place at the British Museum until 10 October, and it costs nothing to visit (the museum is free as well, so you might as well pop in there for some additional enlightenment whilst you’re in the area.) On the day I went, few people were wandering into it, the mass groups of foreign students choosing instead to flock on the museum entrance steps, so crowds were not a problem and I could meander peacefully, leisurely through. Stop by for a pleasantly subdued, unusual experience, a bit of Africa in Bloomsbury.

Tim Finn Live at Scala, London - 8 August 2010

This is probably unwise to do in the wee hours of the morn with no sleep, but I'm back from a remarkable Tim Finn gig at London's Scala in King's Cross, which I very nearly didn't go to, an insane near-tragedy. I will post my formal review with photographs to my AboutLastNight site [actually, I've now done so; see the Tim Finn page], but I meanwhile sent out an email with the setlist and some general comments that sprang to mind as I was typing that out. I've decided to go ahead and paste that in here, for those of you who have an interest in what was played. I'll write it up more coherently when I get a chance this week. For now, here goes:-

...I’m thankfully home safely after a last-ish minute decision to see Tim Finn despite Sunday travel being impossible and my elderly crippled back refusing to attend all-standing venues. But a message reminded me that I was insane not to go, and my trains were unusually running on a Sunday (ish), and I have strong painkillers. While other people liked Donny Osmond or David Cassidy in their teens, Tim Finn was the person I had a huge crush on and whose music I adored, and always have adored. I still fully admire and enjoy his talent, and how could I miss this chance? Even after I struggled into town and arrived not long before Tim took the stage, I still might have missed out as my ticket wasn’t waiting at the box office, so I had to buy another (thank goodness it wasn’t sold out). It was surprisingly uncrowded actually, but I know of other people who would have come were it not a Sunday, people who have worse journeys and earlier starts on Mondays than I do, so that’s a shame, although Tim said he loved doing Sunday gigs. It was certainly superb and I thank goodness I didn’t miss it; that would have been tragic.

I’ll write it all up formally for my long neglected website as I have some time off later this week, and will post a few blurry photos (lots of this will be on YouTube as peeps were filming on their cameras). But for now, I wanted to provide the setlist:-

1. Straw to Gold [I was too excited with Tim & band bursting on the scene to remember much about this]

2. Won’t Give In [wonderful, uplifting song always, and very catchy]

3. My Mistake [so exciting to relive the joy of hearing this very old Split Enz song (1977!)…I think I bought it on my first ever trip to London about 30 years ago. Gosh, I’m old. The tune wasn’t that recognisable at first.]

4. Chocolate Cake (this always works better live than it did on record. He updated the words from Tammy Bakker to ‘Barack Obama has a lot on his plate’]

5. Invisible [lovely poignant sad song surely about his mother, lyrics: ‘This is the end of knowing her, you’re going through her things…but you can’t find her there’….’All the ties that bind us are invisible’. This sort of song means a lot to those of us who are also struggling with the loss of a close loved one like a parent]

6. Luckiest Man Alive [from sad poignancy over loss of loved one, to the joy of a birth of a loved one, as he said he wrote this when his daughter was born, for the woman who made it all possible. He still sings it so jubilantly and speaks of his wife with such pure love, I am thrilled that he has truly found The One, as so few people do. He puts it into such simple but perfectly arranged words here to convey that.]

7. Dead Man [a bit of a rock-out chorus. He said he wrote the song after the Split Enz reunion show in 2000 in Auckland—the last performance that his mother saw, and a song was played on the PA/tannoi system called April Sun in Cuba by an Antipodean band called Dragon, and he’d just been listening to music by their singer Mark Hunter who had died not long before that….and a lot of things came together. At the end, he sang what I take to be some of April Sun in Cuba..., and the Kiwis cheered]

8. Persuasion [went straight into that after the last one. Breathtaking.]

9. Dirty Creature [the bass was so different, the song was unrecognisable at first, but it was fine, although Tim stopped after a few lines and chastised the bassist for doing it wrong, but then blamed himself and his jet lag when he realised how harsh it was to single out one player and make him re-do everything like he was the dunce in a classroom. Though he still said it wasn’t right then and so Tim started the song off on Take 3, and it all fell into place. But then he made it up to the bassist later in the song by letting him go wild with a remarkable bass solo that would make Mark King faint with envy. The guitarist got to add his own solo later but thankfully kept it sensible, not like an 80s 20 minute thing where we all would nod off but for the noise. They and the drummer were really impressively outstanding talents.]

10. Charley [always awesome. Started this one again, too; this time the guitarist was blamed as I think he missed his cue. In order to demonstrate that he wasn’t being as harsh and demanding as it might seem, Tim reminded Brett that Tim had f**ked up earlier as well when he was out of tune, and he turned to us to say ‘put that up on YouTube and be damned!’ with a smile]

11. Couldn’t be Done [‘a can do song’]

12. It’s Only Natural [he hushed the band to let us sing this from the beginning, though he thankfully joined in, too, shortly afterward; we weren’t that good. This song always lifts my spirits.]

13. So Deep [After threatening they’d take their shirts off, and discussing why they shouldn’t practically in a Three Bears style—eg ‘I’m too hairy’, ‘I’m too flabby’, ‘I’m just right’--and toasting his father Richard Finn who is 88. Neat to hear something from Big Canoe; wonder what made him choose this over the others. Done to a slower tempo, obviously toned down backing vocals without a choir of loud women, a bit more sensuous—but maybe I shouldn’t use that word when describing a song with this title lest someone think it’s pornographic! Quite atmospheric. Nice to hear the line ‘eating chicken curry with English tea’ now that it makes more sense to me as a Londoner; I was in the States when my father brought me this album from NZ.]
14. Stuff and Nonsense [my second favourite song by anyone of all time; couldn’t believe he played it. Used to think I’d like it played at my wedding, which may be why I’m happily single. Obviously reworked for guitars vs piano, a bit too upbeat perhaps for those of us who worship the original, but I was just thrilled to hear it, and it probably needed updating to travel well, though nothing ever needs slide guitar added. This tune started after a long discussion of accents and cities where people wanted him to play; he said if we bought 1,000 copies each of his album, he could do a national tour; someone pointed out that releasing the album would help, and he said it might be out in May or June next year]

15. Six Months in a Leaky Boat [All singing—badly again--with Tim working hard on the whistling bit, even restarting that as he said he was out of key, jokingly pointing at someone’s camera and saying ‘put that on YouTube and be damned! At the end, he wore a tongue in cheek delightful ‘aced it!’ expression fitting of Spinal Tap. No Pioneer-ish bit of ‘Da da da da’ etc bit at the end, stopped like a rock song]

Encore One (off stage for perhaps 20 seconds—great not to keep us waiting)
16. I Hope I Never [My number one super top favourite song ever of all time. Whenever MTV showed that video , I melted. This was what it was all about for me, and it makes me melt every time I hear it, which is rarely live. Again, a slightly different version given the lack of keyboards, but still lovely, still gentle and slow, and Tim’s voice was incredible, spot on. Moving stuff]

17. Forever Thursday [prefaced by a tale of meeting his wife—on a Thursday--who loved the song Tin Soldier, and he kept the lyrics in his back pocket…or something like that. He was surprised when we didn’t laugh but I think we were a bit lost and enjoyed the tale, but didn’t see anything ha-ha about it…..just sweet.]

18. I Got You [I’ve never heard Tim sing this song other than as part of the painting on the wall in the video….I wouldn’t say it shows that the Finns are exactly interchangeable, but it worked great. I thought he might have switched a couple lines at the end but I probably imagined it.]

Encore Two (this time they were off stage for a whole 4 mins)
19. Unsinkable [after a long story about how Harper loved the book Titanic so much that he took Harper to the 3D version of the film The Deep (actually it was Ghosts of the Abyss) about raising it—and Tim had a panic attack when he put the 3D glasses on; maybe he has labyrinthitis or something—and Harper said on the way home that he wished they could all go down together ie when the time comes so no one is left sad behind, which moved Tim to write this song. The song didn’t grab us as much as all the others, and went on a bit long with sound effects, but it’s amongst tough company, and the audience was still happy]

20. Shark Attack [a sort of calmer version that picked up, but even now Tim didn’t race about the stage like a man possessed. It’s not just that the boy’s grown up; he’s now a refined gentleman!]

21. History Never Repeats [another Neil Finn Split Enz track. Intriguing that he chose two of them, but they both worked well and I suppose it makes a change for him. The loveable guitar riff was altered to something a bit heavier, more fuzz, not so good—but the rest was wonderful]

He played from just after 9pm to 10.50pm, an impressive set. And stopping even a few mins later would have meant that many of us would have had to choose between leaving early or being stranded, so that was welcome. Tim was in fine voice and I love his choice of songs. (I’ve only just realised there was no Weather With You. I’ve often thought they should skip that for something wonderful like Stuff and Nonsense or Time for a Change and, whilst it’s a terrific song, I’ve never gone as gaga for it as the rest of the audience usually do.) He wasn’t that chatty at the beginning and then got into it a bit more, even stopping his band from moving on to the next song once, saying ‘repartee!’ to remind them that he needed to add some. And whilst he couldn’t help but do some of these scary eyes and histrionic hand gestures during Dirty Creature, he mainly stuck to strumming his acoustic guitar and walking in tight circles during instrumentals—no push ups, no mad dancing. Still delightful; it would have been destructive on that small, equipment filled stage to rush about, and just stomping knocked over his water behind him, which sent a roadie rushing out to remove it before any of our beloved musicians were electrocuted, and it gave Tim an excuse to have some whiskey brought out.

I think the young and enormously sharp band were Brett Adams on guitar (looks a bit like Eddie Vedder), the fantastic Tony Buchen on bass/harmonica ( I never found bass or harmonica so exciting before, and the rest of the time he spent smiling and loving where he was and what he was doing), and Carlos Adura on drums, who seemed to have something more like mini-kettle drums than snares built into his kit, and he often seemed to be playing the air, til I realised that he had shakers attached to his drum sticks and sometimes shook them without hitting the drums. ) I also might throw in here the random comment that is most unlike me and of which I will later be ashamed that Tim really is a slick silver fox now. I don’t mean I was standing there drooling over him, but really, he beats Ralph Lauren and looks just as moneyed and tailored, with a sharp grey suit and snazzy haircut (still on the longish side but not quite so mad—just lovely). It added to the whole experience that this was a quality show.

Even if you worry that you won’t be able to get home afterwards or if your back is in agony and you can’t stand for long, go see Tim if you get the chance. I did it (and there was an older woman with a cane at the front!) and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. We all left ecstatically happy.