Dunfermline
Carl Barât and Friends June 9th 2009
more ramblings
Not quite a year ago, Carl Barât played his first ever solo show at Glastonbury Festival. He’d been in hospital, was clearly nervous, but managed to charm several thousand people crammed into the Left Field Tent for a short collection of songs accompanied by Billy Bragg and Kieran Leonard. Almost exactly six months ago, he played his second solo show in San Francisco, a lone figure with an electric guitar, reclaiming some of the classic Libertines material he’d barely played since 2004. Last Saturday, at Camden Rocks, amidst chaos, angry crowds, haphazard security, inadequate safety and a massive police presence, the audience got a glimpse of a different kind of solo performance. A performance that emerged fully formed as a multi-part show last night at Carnegie Hall (Dunfermline, not New York). A show that was as tight and perfectly formed as rock and roll can be. From the opening bars of Kieran Leonard’s lovely, ‘Harold Pinter is Dead’, to the final flourish of ‘Bang Bang’, the performance hung together as a complete whole, the dynamic building throughout from lone acoustic singer-songwriter to full band with string section. It seems as if after eight gigs in 2009, something clicked into place, and what we got was bold, dynamic and full of absolutely great music.
The venue, Carnegie Hall, although more modest than its New York counterpart, was lovely. An art deco gem of a municipal theatre, it set the scene for an unusual night. To start with it was seated. Red plush proper theatre seats complete with raking and ushers with torches. You almost expected ice-cream sellers to appear at the interval. The seats were assigned, making the process of getting in seem more relaxed than at normal gigs. Moreover, the pretty space, the carpet and the fixed seating combined to make the mood respectful in a way not typical of gigs.
Kieran Leonard took the stage at just after eight, following a proper five minute ‘bell’ and the lights going out. It was dark, he was caught in a bright, tight spot, framed by a backdrop of tiny white light-stars, and the audience listened. Carefully. The sound quality was superb, and perfectly showcased his Dylanesque material. Somehow, the setting allowed Kieran to display his full magic, controlled crescendos lamenting the loss of innocence, moans of pain from failed relationships and bitter critiques of a materialistic world. He looked isolated and fragile caught in the spotlight’s glare, but his voice soared, filling the space. Despite the slightly formal atmosphere, Kieran seemed relaxed and chatted amiably with the audience, and in the dark hush, punctuated by friendly cheers and the odd well-intentioned heckle, few seemed to suffer from support-band impatience. As the 45 minute set drew to a close with his stunning ‘Jerusalem’, an inserted topical reference to the BNP’s success in the recent elections brought a lump to more than one throat.
Two cigarettes and a quick drink later the lights dimmed again and a lone Carl Barât
came onto the stage, dressed in a grey suit and white shirt, a protective costume donned as knights must have put on armour to shield vulnerable flesh from the ravages of the enemy. Or in Barât’s case, the audience. After a quick greeting, he grabbed an acoustic guitar and plunged into the first song. ‘9 Lives’, an adventurous choice of opener, and a much welcome addition to the set. He and Kieran had played a wonderfully misremembered version at Camden Rocks, and last night showed that lyric-studying hadn’t been the main activity on the tour-bus, since we ended up getting only five of the nine lives. But unless you knew the song you probably wouldn’t have noticed, and if you did, you were distracted by the pleasure of hearing this gem dusted and taken out of the cupboard after far too long on the shelf. The acoustic part of the set continued with ‘Ballad of Grimaldi’, ‘France’ (dedicated to friends in the audience), and then a new one… ‘So Long’, ironically over too quickly to be fully savoured, but demonstrating that there’s more tunes to be had from the Barât songbook. ‘What a Waster’ ended the solo portion of the set, perfect in the space created by Leonard’s introduction.
Anthony Rossamando was then introduced onto the stage, and together they played ‘Bloodthirsty Bastards’ after which we well and truly said goodbye to the notion that solo involved only one or two people. Drew McConnell with double bass, Stephen Irvine (formerly of Lloyd Cole and the Commotions) on drums, plus a string section of fiddle and cello. ‘This is an old song I wrote with an old friend of mine’, an emboldened Carl announced before the familiar strains of ‘Music When The Lights Go Out’ emerged from the cello. It is hard to describe the power of this evocation of Legs 11 era Libertines. The music was beautiful, the band gelled, and the sound conjured up poignant images of besuited boys from a long time ago. With little pause, they picked up the tempo with one of the best versions of ‘Deadwood’ I’ve heard. The bouncy bass line and wail of the strings counter-pointed the guitar twang perfectly. This was followed by ‘Come Closer’ and ‘Man Who Would Be King’, complete with mouth trumpet at the close, and ‘BURMA’. We smiled to hear that, according to Anthony, Drew has the clap.
The next surprise was the introduction of another new song with an apologetic, ‘we’ve only rehearsed this once at sound check’. ‘Monday Morning’, abandoned from the Camden Rocks set, has an almost threatening tempo, the wolf at the door apologising for sleazyness as he recounts his tale of corruption. Lacking the frenetic drive of much of the Dirty Pretty Things material, it’s as if Carl has been able to slow down a little, snarling out images of a bump-and-grind underworld. ‘Truth Begins’ ended this section of the set, and the band retreated for a few (fag-shaped) minutes.
On their return, McConnell had replaced the double bass with electric and the tempo was cranked up to full rock and roll splendour. They opened with ‘Don’t Look Back Into The Sun’, another moment of sheer joy as that classic opening sequence emerged in all its perfection. There is something almost breathtaking about hearing those songs played just as they should be. And the audience thought so too, theatre manners abandoned as people rushed to the front to bounce and sing along. The energy didn’t pause for a moment as they launched into the staccato opening of ‘Can’t Stand Me Now’ followed by ‘Time for Heroes’. And we didn’t even have to sing the guitar solo. They ended with ‘Bang Bang’ complete with an almost stately trumpet and strings lead in.
There were a lot of things about last night that made it good. Really, really good. The sound was brilliant, amongst the best I’ve ever experienced at a gig. The flow of the evening, from Kieran, through Carl on his own, to full band rock ‘n’ roll, was brilliant, a building mood and sense of energy. The dynamic was great, Kieran friendly and chatty, Carl, tense and nervous from the off, relaxing into gracious host as the stage was filled with friends and musicians. Anthony, Drew and Steve were tight and professional, and there was a strong sense of a bunch of musicians having a good time playing together. The evening wasn’t made up of headliner and support, but of a sequence of interlocking performances that fitted together as neatly as a jigsaw puzzle. The set list was interesting and well put together, including loads of back catalogue gems, hits and obscure tracks skilfully interwoven. The new songs were good and I’m looking forward to hearing more. But none of that gives any sense of just how good it was.
From Carl’s first solo shows it felt as if he was groping about for a mode that would suit him. Rabbit in the headlights in January, rocker who’d lost his band in March, in Dunfermline he found it. The magic recipe that works for him. The acoustic solo material was lovely and got the quiet context the songs deserved. Tension visible in his body language, the songs stand on their own, beautiful guitar accompanied only by Carl’s warmly crooning voice, both given needed space. The rendition of the Libertines material was emotional. It’s been a rare experience over the past few years to hear those songs played as they were intended… with a full band, with immaculate arrangements, and with love. It was delightful to finally hear a few new songs, and despite Carl’s clear trepidation over exposing them to the world, they showed that his creative seam has a lot more to offer. If the shows earlier this year were tentative steps to proving he can do it on his own, to reclaiming his past, then Dunfermline was about blending past and present into something new. But most of all, it was a night of bloody great music from wonderful musicians.
As we drove off into the night, and the tour bus headed south packed with justly celebrating performers and crew, we were glad that a last minute decision had propelled us into 1000 miles of lunatic driving. We did hope, though, that the boys on the bus teased Carl mercilessly about the vast billboard on the sloping lawn of Carnegie Hall, with the words, ‘Carl Barât’ in metre high writing.
It’s not clear what Carl’s going to do next in performance terms. A smattering of gigs in Italy later this month, the only scheduled performance coming up is Glasgow in August. Whether he will attempt to co-opt his friends into accompanying him remains unclear. What is now completely evident is that he can do the material on his own, and with a band, and that he knows precisely how to make each song sound as it should. And maybe that’s what he’s needed to do… to find the right way for his voice to be heard. Strong and loud and beautiful.
more ramblings
Not quite a year ago, Carl Barât played his first ever solo show at Glastonbury Festival. He’d been in hospital, was clearly nervous, but managed to charm several thousand people crammed into the Left Field Tent for a short collection of songs accompanied by Billy Bragg and Kieran Leonard. Almost exactly six months ago, he played his second solo show in San Francisco, a lone figure with an electric guitar, reclaiming some of the classic Libertines material he’d barely played since 2004. Last Saturday, at Camden Rocks, amidst chaos, angry crowds, haphazard security, inadequate safety and a massive police presence, the audience got a glimpse of a different kind of solo performance. A performance that emerged fully formed as a multi-part show last night at Carnegie Hall (Dunfermline, not New York). A show that was as tight and perfectly formed as rock and roll can be. From the opening bars of Kieran Leonard’s lovely, ‘Harold Pinter is Dead’, to the final flourish of ‘Bang Bang’, the performance hung together as a complete whole, the dynamic building throughout from lone acoustic singer-songwriter to full band with string section. It seems as if after eight gigs in 2009, something clicked into place, and what we got was bold, dynamic and full of absolutely great music.
The venue, Carnegie Hall, although more modest than its New York counterpart, was lovely. An art deco gem of a municipal theatre, it set the scene for an unusual night. To start with it was seated. Red plush proper theatre seats complete with raking and ushers with torches. You almost expected ice-cream sellers to appear at the interval. The seats were assigned, making the process of getting in seem more relaxed than at normal gigs. Moreover, the pretty space, the carpet and the fixed seating combined to make the mood respectful in a way not typical of gigs.
Kieran Leonard took the stage at just after eight, following a proper five minute ‘bell’ and the lights going out. It was dark, he was caught in a bright, tight spot, framed by a backdrop of tiny white light-stars, and the audience listened. Carefully. The sound quality was superb, and perfectly showcased his Dylanesque material. Somehow, the setting allowed Kieran to display his full magic, controlled crescendos lamenting the loss of innocence, moans of pain from failed relationships and bitter critiques of a materialistic world. He looked isolated and fragile caught in the spotlight’s glare, but his voice soared, filling the space. Despite the slightly formal atmosphere, Kieran seemed relaxed and chatted amiably with the audience, and in the dark hush, punctuated by friendly cheers and the odd well-intentioned heckle, few seemed to suffer from support-band impatience. As the 45 minute set drew to a close with his stunning ‘Jerusalem’, an inserted topical reference to the BNP’s success in the recent elections brought a lump to more than one throat.
Two cigarettes and a quick drink later the lights dimmed again and a lone Carl Barât
came onto the stage, dressed in a grey suit and white shirt, a protective costume donned as knights must have put on armour to shield vulnerable flesh from the ravages of the enemy. Or in Barât’s case, the audience. After a quick greeting, he grabbed an acoustic guitar and plunged into the first song. ‘9 Lives’, an adventurous choice of opener, and a much welcome addition to the set. He and Kieran had played a wonderfully misremembered version at Camden Rocks, and last night showed that lyric-studying hadn’t been the main activity on the tour-bus, since we ended up getting only five of the nine lives. But unless you knew the song you probably wouldn’t have noticed, and if you did, you were distracted by the pleasure of hearing this gem dusted and taken out of the cupboard after far too long on the shelf. The acoustic part of the set continued with ‘Ballad of Grimaldi’, ‘France’ (dedicated to friends in the audience), and then a new one… ‘So Long’, ironically over too quickly to be fully savoured, but demonstrating that there’s more tunes to be had from the Barât songbook. ‘What a Waster’ ended the solo portion of the set, perfect in the space created by Leonard’s introduction.
Anthony Rossamando was then introduced onto the stage, and together they played ‘Bloodthirsty Bastards’ after which we well and truly said goodbye to the notion that solo involved only one or two people. Drew McConnell with double bass, Stephen Irvine (formerly of Lloyd Cole and the Commotions) on drums, plus a string section of fiddle and cello. ‘This is an old song I wrote with an old friend of mine’, an emboldened Carl announced before the familiar strains of ‘Music When The Lights Go Out’ emerged from the cello. It is hard to describe the power of this evocation of Legs 11 era Libertines. The music was beautiful, the band gelled, and the sound conjured up poignant images of besuited boys from a long time ago. With little pause, they picked up the tempo with one of the best versions of ‘Deadwood’ I’ve heard. The bouncy bass line and wail of the strings counter-pointed the guitar twang perfectly. This was followed by ‘Come Closer’ and ‘Man Who Would Be King’, complete with mouth trumpet at the close, and ‘BURMA’. We smiled to hear that, according to Anthony, Drew has the clap.
The next surprise was the introduction of another new song with an apologetic, ‘we’ve only rehearsed this once at sound check’. ‘Monday Morning’, abandoned from the Camden Rocks set, has an almost threatening tempo, the wolf at the door apologising for sleazyness as he recounts his tale of corruption. Lacking the frenetic drive of much of the Dirty Pretty Things material, it’s as if Carl has been able to slow down a little, snarling out images of a bump-and-grind underworld. ‘Truth Begins’ ended this section of the set, and the band retreated for a few (fag-shaped) minutes.
On their return, McConnell had replaced the double bass with electric and the tempo was cranked up to full rock and roll splendour. They opened with ‘Don’t Look Back Into The Sun’, another moment of sheer joy as that classic opening sequence emerged in all its perfection. There is something almost breathtaking about hearing those songs played just as they should be. And the audience thought so too, theatre manners abandoned as people rushed to the front to bounce and sing along. The energy didn’t pause for a moment as they launched into the staccato opening of ‘Can’t Stand Me Now’ followed by ‘Time for Heroes’. And we didn’t even have to sing the guitar solo. They ended with ‘Bang Bang’ complete with an almost stately trumpet and strings lead in.
There were a lot of things about last night that made it good. Really, really good. The sound was brilliant, amongst the best I’ve ever experienced at a gig. The flow of the evening, from Kieran, through Carl on his own, to full band rock ‘n’ roll, was brilliant, a building mood and sense of energy. The dynamic was great, Kieran friendly and chatty, Carl, tense and nervous from the off, relaxing into gracious host as the stage was filled with friends and musicians. Anthony, Drew and Steve were tight and professional, and there was a strong sense of a bunch of musicians having a good time playing together. The evening wasn’t made up of headliner and support, but of a sequence of interlocking performances that fitted together as neatly as a jigsaw puzzle. The set list was interesting and well put together, including loads of back catalogue gems, hits and obscure tracks skilfully interwoven. The new songs were good and I’m looking forward to hearing more. But none of that gives any sense of just how good it was.
From Carl’s first solo shows it felt as if he was groping about for a mode that would suit him. Rabbit in the headlights in January, rocker who’d lost his band in March, in Dunfermline he found it. The magic recipe that works for him. The acoustic solo material was lovely and got the quiet context the songs deserved. Tension visible in his body language, the songs stand on their own, beautiful guitar accompanied only by Carl’s warmly crooning voice, both given needed space. The rendition of the Libertines material was emotional. It’s been a rare experience over the past few years to hear those songs played as they were intended… with a full band, with immaculate arrangements, and with love. It was delightful to finally hear a few new songs, and despite Carl’s clear trepidation over exposing them to the world, they showed that his creative seam has a lot more to offer. If the shows earlier this year were tentative steps to proving he can do it on his own, to reclaiming his past, then Dunfermline was about blending past and present into something new. But most of all, it was a night of bloody great music from wonderful musicians.
As we drove off into the night, and the tour bus headed south packed with justly celebrating performers and crew, we were glad that a last minute decision had propelled us into 1000 miles of lunatic driving. We did hope, though, that the boys on the bus teased Carl mercilessly about the vast billboard on the sloping lawn of Carnegie Hall, with the words, ‘Carl Barât’ in metre high writing.
It’s not clear what Carl’s going to do next in performance terms. A smattering of gigs in Italy later this month, the only scheduled performance coming up is Glasgow in August. Whether he will attempt to co-opt his friends into accompanying him remains unclear. What is now completely evident is that he can do the material on his own, and with a band, and that he knows precisely how to make each song sound as it should. And maybe that’s what he’s needed to do… to find the right way for his voice to be heard. Strong and loud and beautiful.