Our curation of music and opera reviews
Country music ain’t always about cowboys and outlaws; there’s the distaff side of strong and righteous ladies too. Notably, in this instance, Loretta Lynn and her warning that You Ain’t Woman Enough (To Take My Man)…
There was almost as much hackery as brilliance in Johnny Cash’s career and even his terrific late American albums are pretty uneven. But when he was good he was very good…So here he is lamenting – or celebrating? – those old Folsom Prison Blues...
The world’s greatest festival of music continues to grow under the splendid stewardship of Roger Wright, but there is always plenty of missionary work to do, for the world will never run short of grouches. The world’s greatest festival of music continues to grow under the splendid stewardship of Roger Wright, but there is always plenty of missionary work to do, for the world will never run short of grouches. Perhaps, like Sir Harold Acton in his Tuscan grotto, who loved to ‘hunt philistines’, we should trap the blighters in cages and force them to listen to lashings of Beethoven and Wagner until they recant. Step forward, if you will,
When you really want to feel miserable, read a few lifestyle features in a glossy magazine. The other day, in a momentary loss of concentration, I started reading one about a family who were willing to admit publicly that they own five televisions. Obviously I ventured no further, assuming they all have enormous bottoms, brutally compromised digestive systems, failing eyesight, withered musculatures and the brains of ferrets. But then I thought of my own modest north-London flat. We have just the one television, unfashionably small in that it’s only about the size of a small car. Otherwise, the flat is crowded out with children, books, secret hoards of stationery, clothes
I’ve been listening to George Jones a lot, lately. So here’s video of a younger Possum singing, in his usual style, Things Have Gonel to Pieces which is, I suppose, a decent-enough summary of an entire school of country music.
Been a long time since this pair featured in this slot. Too long. So here they are performing their already-classic I Want to Sing That Rock’n’Roll at St Luke’s in London a few years ago: Bonus: There’s another, perhaps even better but sadly unembeddable version, here.
Taking Sophocles’ least-known play and reinterpreting via the hymns and songs of gospel music is, damn it, just the sort of thing that you expect from Edinburgh* in August. Thankfully, Lee Breuer’s plundering – adaptation is too limited a term – of Oedipus at Colonus is a monumental success. If you ever get the chance to see it in London, New York, DC, Chicago or wherever then for god’s sake get yourself a ticket. Most of the reviews of the Gospel at Colonus have focused, understandably, on the music and, unavoidably, on the tensions between Christian and classical Greek theology and you can certainly argue that the production loses some
Hands-up if you think Willie Nelson and Lucinda Williams are a good combination? That’s most of you, eh? Good. Well here they are with a very Nelsonesque take on Williams’s Over Time:
You can never have too much Emmylou and her appearance, backed by the brilliant Hot Band, on the Old Grey Whistle Test in 1977 is a joy from start to finish. Here she is with Making Believe – a Jimmy Work song that had previously been a hit for the great Kitty Wells too.
Arcade Fire’s third album The Suburbs is in a long, glorious tradition of pop lyricism inspired by everyday life, writes Christopher Howse Arcade Fire’s first album Funeral was not about a funeral. But, goodness, when we saw Régine Chassagne hammering away at her keyboard in red elbow-gloves with her husband Win Butler singing one of its tracks, ‘Power Out’, on Jools Holland’s show in 2005, we sat up and knew something had changed. Funeral was, in part, about the suburbs. Arcade Fire’s third album, The Suburbs, out this week, continues the interpretation of city life from the viewpoint of the ‘kids’, with particular reference to parents, and disaster. Not that
You don’t get much more old school than Jimmie Rodgers do you? No you don’t. Here he is with the classic Waiting for a Train. Terrific and chock-full of the things that would become country staples.
Many CoffeeHousers will have heard Ed Balls’ preposterous performance on the Today programme this morning. We have transcribed it below, to put it on the record. Three things jump out at me. The way that Balls is the last purveyor of Brownies, still talking about new jobs when all of the new jobs can be accounted for by immigration. Next, the way he airbrushes his record to strip out all the disasters. It was the Balls-Brown economic model which rigged the Bank of England so it would keep rates artificially low, flooding the economy with dangerously underpriced debt and putting not just the government but the whole economy on a
Been a while since Waylon was in these here parts. No longer! So here’s the Great Outlaw with some marriage advice for y’all…
Philip Glass doesn’t approve of intervals. Last week, at Yale University’s Sprague Memorial Hall, the prolific composer gave a preview of what audiences in Dublin, Edinburgh and Cork could expect from his piano performances a few days later. He starts by declaring that pauses in performance “damage the concentration” – and he ended it in front of an audience both entranced and exhausted by the musical equivalent of an optical illusion. For ninety minutes, Glass barely allowed a moment of silence to indicate where one piece ended and another began. His performance stands in a long East Coast tradition of using smaller towns – in his case New Haven, Connecticut
Occasionally, people complain that this series isn’t contemporary enough and that it ignores the good country music that is still being produced in spite of the commercial interests of Nashville-pap. That’s a fair criticism. So here’s an acoustic version of Josh Ritter’s Folk Bloodbath – a hymn to the murder ballad which is, as Radley Balko says, splendid and part of an album that merits your investment.
I reckon it’s been too long since Dolly Parton featured here. So here she is making her debut on the Porter Wagoner Show way back in 1967 and performing Dumb Blonde:
Way back when back in the distant times I was at college I had – still do, in fact – a friend who was a John Denver fanatic. Aged 20 or so he’d seen the great troubador more than 20 times. In those days I had not yet seen the country light and, sad to say, scoffed at this enthusiasm. So this one’s for you Nick. Here’s Mr Denver and his Wild Montana Skies….
This week I am handing over the column to David Vick, who has contributed what I regard as the best (so far) of all the Top Tens I have received. Sound in judgment and admirably wide-ranging, Vick has in particular introduced me to Kurt Elling, an amazing jazz vocalist, still only in his early forties, of whom I had never previously heard. Having checked Elling out on Spotify, it’s clear that he is a superb artist, and I have now ordered several of his CDs. Trust me, trust David Vick. This guy is sensational and I cannot understand why he is so little known. Now, over to you, Mr Vick.
In the unlikeliest situations the mind can tear off enthusiastically in unaccountable directions. In the bath, or in the watches of the night, or when almost too exhausted to stand, ideas can suddenly start coming at us, fast and furious. It can happen listening to music, too, as I found out last week. We were at the Wigmore Hall in London, listening to the Swedish pianist Bengt Forsberg play Bach, Schumann and Fauré with artistry and intelligence, when I found myself staring at the wheels of the big black grand piano. And slowly I realised how ball-bearings work. It took me the whole of Schumann’s Romance in F sharp major
Mercifully, the election ain’t the only show in town. There’s actual, real good news elsewhere. For instamce, 57 years after his death Hank Williams has been awarded a Pulitzer Prize for his contributions to American culture. Better late than never. So here, to celebrate, is audio of perhaps his most famous and thus perhaps the most famous song in the history of coutnry music, Your Cheatin’ Heart: