I went to see folk sensastion Seth Lakeman at the Shepherd's Bush Empire last night with my good pal TT (he blogs about Watford FC - obviously no one reads it). The last time I was at the Empire was to see Lucinda Williams, and faced with the notion of standing up for hours listening to the music of someone I was unfamiliar with was too much to bear, so we asked if we could sit down upstairs - and they said yes.
No such worries last night though, as I'm a big Lakeman fan and would have stood in the rain for five hours to watch him. Only an hour-and-a-half last night, but what a blistering show it was. TT thought the pacing was off, and he's right of course because one guitar song followed another, and what we wanted his fiddle wizardry throughout. Once he gets on that fiddle he's a demon. His blend of rocky nu-folk and traditional sounds, warm guitars blended with that tremulous voice was a absolute winner. He did all the hits - King and Country, Lady of The Sea, etc, so we could forgive him, and he was clearly having a great time.
I have to say, it's the first folk gig I've been too that had such a young demo, so many women and so much dancing. There was a couple dancing daftly on a balcony, while those around them were seated with their hands folded. They really should have sat down. Around us what seemed like groups of teenagers got down to the Lakeman sound. I never dance at gigs. Ever.
There's often a whiff of the Young Farmers about folk gigs, and this was no exception, but I do worry that young Sloanes have clasped him to their bosom today like they did Chris De Burgh 20 or more years ago. I seemed to be the only one not to know the words to Patricia The Stripper at the ISVA Ball in 1986.
Anyhoo, it's possibly because he's the nearest thing to a folk pin-up there is or has ever been, really. Nick Drake looked like a girl. So imagine Tim Henman crossed with Steven Moyer, with a hint of Andrew Collins and you've got your hunk. Girls were shouting 'I love you'. No one ever says that to Richard Thompson.
Talking of which, his son Teddy Thompson was the support, playing some awful dirges from his new country album. I've seen Teddy before, with his mum and his dad, and he's often been okay, but last night no one was in the mood for sub-George Jones melancholy from a man in a shiny grey suit.
We wanted Seth - and we got him. Another box ticked.
