The Wilko Johnson Band
Wilko Johnson’s acrimonious and precipitous departure from Dr Feelgood in the late seventies must rate as the most calamitous falling out since Gilbert and Sullivan quarrelled over the carpet at the Savoy, but every cloud, as they say. After the split Ian Dury offered Johnson sanctuary, and that led to his current and long standing partnership with the Blockheads’ bassist, the inestimable Norman Watt-Roy. Together with Dylan Howe they’ve been playing as a trio ever since, and it’s who I’ve come to see. Not before, however, the considerable bonus of a session from Hugh Cornwall.
I was really looking forward to seeing Cornwall – this was the man that fronted the Stranglers for over fifteen years, for goodness sake. Sadly, burdened by an insanely early start, he’d used up Leave me Alone and Nice ‘n’ Sleazy while the venue was filling up. Things warmed up nicely with the emphatic I Want One of Those, but hampered by a muddy sound system, much of Cornwall’s densely literate tunes remained beyond comprehension. Monster – a curio about stop motion maestro Ray Harryhausen - was very probably quirky and interesting, but I couldn’t understand a word of it. Genuine fans of Cornwall’s were able to mouth along to songs they were familiar with and were clearly having a better time of it than me, but this was not a good showcase for the man’s talents, and that was a terrible pity.
Although tickets were apparently available on the night, there seemed precious little room to squeeze in more by the time Wilko Johnson took to the stage. Looking around at a sea of expectant, and frankly mature, faces it was pleasing to see that enthusiasm for his music hasn’t faded along with the threat of his demise. There’s no doubt that his brush with cancer a few years back was instrumental in bringing him to the public’s attention (only a few year’s previously I saw him play at the Bricklayers Arms to an empty room) but it’s good to see he remains ensconced as national treasure and all round musical genius. In the spirit of full disclosure I should confess that I grew up within walking distance of Canvey Island, where the deity of Wilko is not so much agreed upon, as encoded within your DNA, so objective judgement will be in short supply here. Nevertheless, he is bloody good, is he not?
No matter how many times I see Johnson, and no matter how carefully it is explained to me, I cannot understand how he gets his guitar to play both rhythm and lead at the same time. As Johnson skittered and duck walked his way through over forty years of song writing, his unique playing style remains nothing less than a wonder to behold. As does the skill of fellow national treasure, Norman Watt-Roy, who can get noises out of a bass guitar that defy explanation. I always feel a little sorry for Dylan Howe – a pretty decent drummer, truth be told, but perennially in the shade of the long shadows of his compatriots. The three of them rattled through Johnson’s back catalogue with practiced ease and good humour, with a set split evenly between early Feelgood numbers and latter solo work, though it was nice to hear a solitary survivor from the ill-fated Solid Sender era, the hypnotic and atypically ska influenced Dr Dupree, with its seductive, yet utterly opaque, lyrics reminding us that Johnson is also a fine wordsmith.
My only quibble is that I do wish they wouldn’t arse about so much. There’s nothing wrong with a pithy one hour set – Wilko is getting on a bit and we’ve all got homes to go to – but if we’ve only got sixty minutes to play with, then every one of those minutes should count. Perhaps I’ve just seen the Tommy gun routine of Everybody’s Carrying a Gun one too many times, but it did go on a bit. And during Dylan Howe’s interminable drum solo I can’t have been the only one crossing songs off of my wish list as the seconds ticked by. Many of the classics were present and correct – Going Back Home, Roxette, Back in the Night – but a bass solo from Norman, however skilled, is no substitute for the sadly absent Sneakin’ Suspicion or Paradise.
Thankfully, there was a much better reason for trimming a few of the standards – whisper it – the inclusion of what sounded suspiciously like new material. Typically taciturn throughout, Johnson wasn’t about to say either way, but it was presumably off of the new album. Out in June, Blow Your Mind will be the first for thirty years, a thought that, for geeky fan boys such as I, does just that. I always enjoy Johnson in concert – to be honest, I enjoy the simple pleasure that he’s still with us - but now he’s out the woods, there’s no denying the set needs a shake-up. This briefest taste of a brand new album, one that next time round will be presumably be properly promoted and showcased, was enough to have me salivating.
