This was, in any terms, the WEBB BROTHERS' night. And the WEBB BROTHERS 3 were terrific and good natured and goofy and broadmindedly musical. The informal and friendlier-than-usual Rocket Bar even had tables set out and the place was packed and cheerful. There was lots of smiling banter and many fine songs were sung.
But just for reviewing purposes I want to focus on the openers (HONEYMOON) and the support band (CLAYHILL). Hope that's OK with you, dear reader. It all seemed cool with the audience who had arrived early enough to give all three acts a good roomful of attentive listening. There will be no shortage of stringers out and about reviewing other legs of the WEBB's tour.
HONEYMOON are a London-based duo with Icelandic Thorunn Magnusdottir singing and Londoner Wayne Murray supporting with songwriting, acoustic guitar and vocals. The two voices work well together. It’s not just Thorunn with a backing vocal. Toby joins in with some deftly placed Telecaster. Thorunn has an attention grabbing red dress, a serene smile and a very sweet voice. The songs are gently subtle and everyone's following it all with a real sense of pleasure at having even the opening band as good as this. Outstanding song of the set is "Little Ways", where the so-far pedestrian guitars lighten and open out a little – to effect a tingling accentuation of the delicate tune rather than the brotherly hug that hinted at smothering some of the earlier songs. Notable among these was the sensuous "Stay All Night" and the dreamy "Summer's Gone". "PassiveAggressive", title tune on the current EP, is a song that's strong enough to suggest its studio grandeur even in this stripped down version. For my taste, the delicacy and simplicity of the trio on stage is much more agreeable than the lusher, smoother recorded version.
CLAYHILL are a different kettle of acoustic chips altogether. They're not pretty and they don't promise any kind of sensual fantasy fulfilment. The audience huddle a little grumpily, despite their generally warm intentions. Singer Gavin Clark is not what you would call winsome or dashing. He folds his arms a lot and has the rustic demeanour of one who has seen a lot but speaks little. He leans by the mic at improbable angles, like a man in a heavy wind. Ted Barnes is more up-beat, goaded into slightly manic garrulousness by Gavin's very truculence. Ali Friend (ex RED SNAPPER) quietly gets on with wrestling the daylights out of a sombre looking double bass, observing the main protagonists with slightly amused disdain. So it could be a dull half hour.
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But exactly as you'd expect, of course, CLAYHILL are not even a bit dull. There's a surreal delirium in the songs, gruffly or warmly delivered from the hidden depths of Gavin's unkiltered psyche. They have a mysterious and beguiling power. I find that my initial indifference is melted one song at a time, till the set reaches its end and I reach that perfect state of having "got it" as far as CLAYHILL are concerned. CLAYHILL burn slowly, but burn they surely do. It isn’t folk music, it isn’t jazz. It isn't pop. If I was setting them up as support for a bigger tour than this one, I think I might be inclined to suggest three seats on the bus with Van Morrison. His audience would appreciate the focus on the music, and the willingness to let a groove develop through the set. They would also pick up on the poetic vision and the outsider commentary, without feeling that CLAYHILL were doing even the remotest of musical photocopying from the Man's untouchable catalogue.
Their "Grasscutter" song is something about cutting a lawn in the middle of a desert with a pair of scissors. It’s at this point you realise the CLAYHILL are not your ordinary stoned whimsicals. Stoned, maybe. But in a good way that shifts the mind onto what matters. The fine tunes in songs like "Figure of Eight" and set-closer "Northern Song" have a touch of the timeless and a sense of gravity and purpose. Two days later, it’s CLAYHILL whose recordings I want to follow up. It’s their songs that have got under my skin, and it’s with them that I feel some kind of affinity. Listening to the 'Cuban Green' EP I get a hint of an older English tradition that would be comfortable with Bert Jansch, Syd Barrett or Robert Wyatt. But maybe a little lighter on the ear than some of that pioneering stuff. Maybe we're talking unfinished business here - CLAYHILL have planted something that could blossom over time.
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