Dr. Feelgood + British Blues Foundation
The Greek historian and philosopher Plutarch, while pondering the metaphysics of identity, illustrated his conundrum by asking whether a ship could truly be said to be the famous vessel sailed into battle by the hero Theseus if, over time, all of its constituent parts had been gradually replaced. Had he been born two thousand years later, I dare say he would have made use of Dr Feelgood to illustrate his point. Feelgood were the biggest and the best, but still only one of countless pub rock bands that rattled the foundations of the Top Alex in Southend, the Grand in Leigh, Crocs in Rayleigh, and countless other sweaty, smoky, beer stained pub of South East Essex in the seventies. They were not just an Essex band, they were a Canvey Island band, briefly thrusting this otherwise undistinguished corner of the Home Counties into the spotlight. Sadly Wilko Johnson, their sole songwriter, was gone in the first couple of years, subsequently followed by the whole rhythm section. When Lee Brilleaux, who soldiered on until the mid-nineties, tragically died of lymphoma no one expected his backing band to pick up the baton and run with it. Yet twenty years later, Kevin Morris has now been in the band longer than even Brilleaux, while everyone else has outlasted the original line-up. Could they possibly measure up to the almost mythical reputation of Wilko, Brilleaux, Sparko and the Big Figure? I was here to find out.
Of course, not all British R ‘n’ B was rooted in South East Essex – sometimes you would have to travel south of the Thames Delta as far as Kent, where Jim Reilly was fronting Medway band Wipeout. He’s now back, fronting the British Blues Foundation, with a superb supporting set that kicked off with the much-covered Baby, Please don’t go, one of two Wipeout singles. Far from dwelling in the past, however, it was followed by Running Out of Time, an original composition that showcased Riley’s wailing harmonica, his powerful vocals, and a band that was not only tight, but was obviously having the finest of times. A mix of originals and covers then followed – all from the marvellously entitled A Very British Blues Explosion. Outstanding original material, most notably She can Fight for Herself, nestled comfortably with Sonny boy Williamson’s Help Me and Jimmy Reed’s Come Home, both of which were given a new lease of life. If this had been the headline band I would have gone home happy – and if I have a misgiving it was that they weren’t on for nearly long enough.
Dr Feelgood must face a bewildering task when compiling a set list from such an illustrious back catalogue. While original compositions were few and far between after the early departure of Wilko, the band still had an uncanny knack of making songs their own. Does anyone even remember the Otis clay original of Baby Jane or even know that Down at the Doctors was originally a Mickey Jupp song? Nerds like me do (both originals are excellent, by the way) but along with Stupidity I still think of them as Feelgood songs. It is a tradition that the new line up continued, so that while all these songs were played at the Arts Centre, so were a couple off Chess Masters, with Who Do You Love and One More Shot defiantly squeezed into the set list. Inevitably, however, a great chunk of time had to be given over to Johnson originals. Roxette, Going Back Home and Back in the Night are never going to be elbowed out of the Feelgood set even if national treasure Wilko Johnson is also playing them to bigger crowds at bigger venues.
It has to be said (whisper it) that Robert Kane is a better singer than Johnson, but quite what you otherwise make of him depends largely on the generosity of your own disposition. I found his pixie footed stage antics, forever preening and posing, a little tiresome but he is certainly an enthusiastic showman. He is also a fine harmonica player and one who more than does justice to the many numbers that require him to be. I rather admire the straight up, no nonsense bass playing of Phil Mitchell, who has a stoic stillness we have come to expect from bass players. Kevin Morris is also curiously (for a drummer) understated behind his kit. The noise generated sounds just fine, but the studied daintiness with which this big man drums – picture Tom Wilkinson using chopsticks – is hypnotic. Undoubtedly, though, it is Steve Walwyn who has become the star turn of the band – you find your eyes irresistibly turning to him again and again, not least when the crowd bellows Steve-o in homage. Apart from being technically excellent, Walwyn somehow manages to straddle the contrasting techniques of Wilko Johnson and the late, great, and criminally underrating Gypie Mayo. Consequently, Milk and Alcohol and No Mo Do Yakamo sound perfectly fine hammocked between All Through the City and She Does it Right, something that in the past wasn’t always the case. And while the interminable solo of Rollin’ and Tumblin’ tested patience to the limits, his final solo encore of John Lee Hooker’s Mad Man Blues felt like a fitting, and really rather brilliant, close to the show.
