Music > Live Reviews
The Oli Brown Band
Norwich Arts Centre
01/07/18
Back in 2010, I was walking past a glorified beer tent at Glastonbury, where I vaguely remember being astonished by the fledgling talent of a preposterously youthful guitarist playing to a bourbon fuelled crowd as if his life depended on it. He was good – very good – but there are lots of good things on a Glastonbury so after while I moved on. Soon after returning home, however, I learned that the kid I’d passed by was a local lad from deepest Norfolk, and I kicked myself for not hanging around longer for what I was now convinced was a formative performance of a superstar in the making. Like so many of my predictions, things didn’t quite work out that way for Oli Brown, but he maintains a loyal and fervent following, and it was with great expectations I awaited his blues set at the Arts Centre.
First, though, there was Soho Blues to enjoy. Despite the name, Soho Blues is a Norwich outfit, and what a pleasingly quirky looking bunch they are. Appearances shouldn’t matter, and proved not to, but imagine Dan Aykroyd, Chris Addison, Kaley Cuoco, Leon Bernicoff and Ken Campbell forming a band and you’ll be somewhere close to the initial impression this motley crew made. Fortunately, appearances prove deceptive, and it very quickly became apparent that these were unusually skilled musicians. Notionally a covers band, this self-depreciating description does them a disservice, as they demonstrated by adding their own spin to classics from artists as diverse as Otis Redding and Peter Green.
My only misgiving was their insistence on constantly swapping vocal duties (by close of play only drummer Paul Hubbard had yet to have a go). When blessed with widespread singing skills I can see how tempting is to give everyone a chance, and Vic Bryant, Adrian Quinn and in particular Trevor Staff acquitted themselves well. But they were no match for Jan Jinkerson, who raised the bar every time she stepped up to the plate. I would have orchestrated matters so she didn’t have to wait three songs, self-consciously bashing a mute tambourine, before her reason for being on stage became apparent. The effect of all this chop and changing was to reduce themselves to a, albeit it pretty good, blues jukebox, and perhaps that’s what needed when you’re a gun for hire, But this was a proper gig, I wish I’d seen them have the confidence to offer up a more distinctive and developed style of their own, with Jinkerson at the helm. I think it would show them to be a better band that perhaps even they suspect.
Oli Brown is clearly a personable fellow, and was genuinely delighted that folk had taken the trouble to come out to see him. He has an excellent voice and is obviously an astonishing guitar virtuoso. Supported only by bass and drums this was a tight and committed performance by a trio who clearly knew and loved their craft (it was hard to believe that this was, apparently, the drummer’s first outing with the other two). So why did I start clock watching after barely 20 minutes had passed? The oppressive heat of the venue didn’t help, but after half an hour, I realised I was just a little bit bored.
I should say here that I was in a minority - possibly a minority of one - and for most of the audience this was a giddy opportunity to worship at the temple of Oli, which they duly did with whoops and fist pumps and pony-tailed head bopping. The ingénue I saw in that tent had long gone, replaced by a lank haired, skinny jeaned Russell Brand lookalike who cuts quite the dashing figure. He’s also a showman, unafraid to showcase his dexterity with frequent and lengthy guitar solos, the love for which bounced back and forth between him and his fans.
“It not you, it’s me,” I felt like saying, an island of ennui in a sea of adulation, wilting at the prospect of yet another tune spilling its unexpurgated guts onto the floor, all melody and rhythm lost in the squeal of his obstreperous guitar.
I think it’s significant that together with bassist Aaron Spiers, we were actually watching the heavy rock outfit Raveneye with a different drummer, and try as they might do to draw a line between rock and blues, the excesses of a former couldn’t help get in the way. For many of the crowd, not least those wearing Raveneye T-shirts, there was nothing wrong with that. But for those of us brought up on the gritty diet that came out of the Thames Delta, and who rejoice in the unique edge that the Brits have injected into blues music, this was just a tad too close to MOR soft rock for comfort.
“I’m never sure how much rock to put into these blues gigs” said Oli at one point, perhaps revealing his own unease and quite what this gig was supposed to be. “But you can love two things, can’t you?”
Maybe so, but I wonder if you can truly play two things, and I wonder at the good sense of trying to recapture a style he appears to have left behind. I felt the result, as my Lancastrian mum would say, was neither nowt nor summat.