|
|
If, by some bizarre series of cosmic twists, I was forced to pick an adjective to describe this evening's events I suppose It'd have to be... eclectic. From the motley crew that comprise the audience - literally all walks of life - to the ostentatious white tuxedo that daubs the stage and the first edition books liberally scattered around the St Philip’s church airy pulpit.
Quite away from the pomp and circumstance of the stage is the Duke himself, quite affably signing autographs before the gig and personally introducing support act Hannah Peel. Peel's opening track Solitude is both beautiful in arrangement and delivery; this, despite some slight E.Q issues with her voice and the piano. This initial disparity with the vocals are further highlighted when Peel swaps the piano for a music box (believe me, it's a night for the charmingly outmoded) for a couple of mesmerizing tracks as her lilting delivery truly shines. It's clear her voice is perfectly suited to Celtic folk and, one superfluous Cocteau twins cover aside, her set is equal parts charming and mesmerising; as fitting an introduction to the Duke's set as could be hoped for.
What to make of the Duke Special? As he takes to the stage we see video footage of Neil Hannon, Matt Hales and several other recent collaborators discussing a fictious silent movie star Hector Mann, the audience is left to question the relevance of this before the Duke launches into 'Hearth and Home'; abrasive clarinets perfectly mimicking 1920s swing and paint a distinctive taste of the era. As a statement of intent it perfectly captures the evening; the Duke plays from start to finish his recently released 3CD box set The Stage, A book and the silver screen which document in turn; anti war stage play Mother Courage, a fictious silent movie star and a musical interpretation of Huckleberry Finn (Holy Shit…) For the two hour plus set Duke grants us two intervals and unapologetically refuses to pander to those expecting any singles from his first two albums.
Whilst the evening is, by and large, a homage to past genres; those familiar with the Duke's rag time back-catalogue shouldn't be too put out and given the ambition of the arrangements it's never less than a fascinating listen from All property is theft with its Tom Waits discordant flavouring to Country Weekend's menacing rag time. It speaks volumes when one of the few concessions to the pop mainstream is a lighthearted Bluegrass stomper the lighthearted Catfish, steeped in southern American charm. It’s impressive though at times the set does fall victim to over narration and literary allusion; at the risk of betraying myself a savage, I think that any song that tries to rhyme the name Pontius Pilates is stretching a little too far accommodate all that fancy book learnin'.
However, it’s testament to the scale and ambition and, of course, the songwriting of the Duke that the audience is so willing to indulge this sort of spectacle (though one naysayer I heard "it's all well and good... but after the interval play us something we recognise!"); the Duke's enthusiasm for the material is infectious as he affects Charlie Chaplin mannerisms for the first set; then screeches, howls and batters a stage drum for the war torn 2nd set.
The tribute to Hector Mann is understandable as, just as Mann laboured in an outmoded genre in the face of irrelevancy, so too does the Duke seem a man out of time; after struggling avoid being pigeon holed as the next Keane (an understandable concern for any musician), he has been granted the resources and the skills to indulge in what he loves. Happily, unlike many concept albums, he retains a keen eye for songwriting and melody, irregardless of genre and has the confidence to experiment, knowing what he's doing, frankly, isn't shit.
What to make of the Duke then? Plucky autodidact? Northern Ireland's Tom Waits? Rag-time vaudeville oddity? In any case, praise be you aren’t at a Keane gig. TAGS: Duke Special, St Philips Church Words by: Daniel Burt Links:
Duke Special - Myspace
|
