Julian Cope
Saint Julian takes to the Waterfront
Julian Cope has pissed off more than his fair share of record companies over the last 37 years, yet his fans have remained doggedly loyal. It was therefore no surprise to see a packed Waterfront Studio buzzing with anticipation as we awaited the arrival of the Arch Drude himself. Even the support act, experienced local singer-songwriter Matt Watson, admitted to some nerves at having to precede such an auspicious performer.
Cope's appearance is reassuringly eclectic – sleeveless leather jacket and military cap combined with khaki shorts and black boots. Trademark wild hair and beard complete the Wild Man of Mercia / Biker From Hell reification.
This was never so much a gig as an 'audience with'. In between raconteurial anecdotery we are transported back to the heady days of The Teardrop Explodes ('If it's good enough for Kate Bush...', he quips), before decades are spanned seamlessly as if passing through cosmic wormholes. Acoustic treatments of The Culture Bunker and Sunspots are interspersed perfectly with recent compositions, They Were On Hard Drugs and Cromwell in Ireland. Never one to avoid a potentially confrontational trajectory, Cunts Can Fuck Off is presented as a paradigm of transatlantic consumerism. The voice is unmistakable, perhaps less guttoral than in the 'ba ba ba' days of Passionate Friend but still capable of extracting angst and venom in equal measures from each lyrical twist and turn.
Cope may co-exist on a different intellectual planet to the rest of us, yet behind that twinkle in his eye burnt a furnace of humanity that he seemed keen to share. There was no mistaking that this was the gospel according to Saint Julian, an omnium gatherum of his voracious mind.
9/10
